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We could just transfer trains in Paris. Or….

We could stay in Paris for a few nights!

After quite a bit of countryside riding, with the food and lodging challenges taking their toll, we decided to just take a train from Limoges to…somewhere. Somewhere closer to Belgium which was on our want to go list. The easiest train from Limoges went to Paris, with just a few stops. Unfortunately we would not be getting on at the beginning of the run, the train was an Intercity coming from Toulouse. There was the usual medium stressful drama of getting the bikes and bags on the high boarding train, but two women, one taking her bike off the train, whom we helped, and another just boarding the train with no bike, both jumped in to help.

Two very nice Dutch cyclists whose names we failed to get were on our train. We had good platform chat and shared bike touring tips. They rode off to catch their connecting train in Paris.

We headed to our favorite neighborhood in the 12th, our fourth time in this area, this time at the Adagio Apartment Hotel.

Back to our favorite neighborhood bar, Bar & Beer Picpus.

And to Le 217 Brasserie Restaurant for dinner.

The joy of being somewhere familiar. Other nomads will understand how pleasant it is to walk out your door and know where the market is, where the metro is, how to pay for it, and how to get to the fabulous greenway down the block. And, as an added bonus we have our Amis des Louvre cards and they were still valid.

Somehow this was my first steak tartar of our time in France this year. Worth the wait as it was delicious.

The street life in the 12th is wonderful. So much density, wide sidewalks, and folks who take their house cats out for a walk.

This was the biggest and most curious missing cat poster we’ve ever seen. There were two attached to the front gate of a large apartment building.

Our Friends of the Louvre cards continue to more than pay for themselves. Once again we visited using the special members only entrance, and went to two of the special exhibits. The first was The Experience of Nature, Art in Prague at the Court of Rudolph II.

This work of art has a fascinating back story: Artwork recovered after the Second World War Provenance: Baudson collection, interior decoration (?), Paris; possibly acquired on 21 May 1941 by Jane Weyll, art dealer; auction Paris, Drouot, Baudoin, 16 December 1942, no. 41; acquired by Karl Haberstock, Berlin dealer, in 1943 for the Führer Museum in Linz, no. 2687; work recovered at the end of World War II; Central Collecting Point in Munich, 15 July 1945; transported to Paris on 25 June 1946; retained by the 3rd Commission for the Recovery of Works of Art and handed over to the Musée du Louvre on 22 December 1949 by the French Office for Personal Property and Interests; awaiting return to its rightful owners, should provenance research underway establish proof of spoliation or forced sale.

We’ve been to so many museums that display artwork still in limbo from WW2. It’s so moving to read the stories, and to see exhibits where remaining family members have made sure the work goes to a museum where it can be seen by the public, and the story of the family told, rather than disappearing into a private collection. The business of special exhibits also fascinates me. Imagine being able to put together an exhibit from not only the Louvre’s huge collection, but to borrow works of art from other world class museums to realize your theme?

Detail of animals from a painting by Roelant Savery, a Dutch Golden Age painter.

Rich and I decided we would have loved to been at the museum staff meeting where they discussed how to get visitors to venture into lesser known and less crowded parts of the museum. Maybe it was an intern who had the fantastic idea of placing 99 works of Haute Couture in the decorative arts wing?

Louvre Couture. Art and fashion: statement pieces.

Azzedine Alaïa, a Tunisian couturier who museum I visited with our friend Nancy on our previous Paris trip.

It’s not just inside the museum that we spot works of art. These new 100% electric buses are worthy of admiration. I call these the Bubble Butt Buses. Are they coming or going? That is the rear of the bus.

The push me pull you bus. Sadly we didn’t get to ride one, but I could see the seats in the rear were arranged in a conversation seating style.

Sunset bus glamour shot! I used the clean up feature to remove a car from the photo which is why the bottom left looks odd.

Bicycling in Paris is a blast. Rush hour can be pretty crazy but if you head out after rush hour it’s fantastic. You do have to be careful of the Parisian cyclists- they ride ‘em like they stole ‘em. Prepare to be buzzed with just inches to spare, and be super cautious when stopping at red lights or for pedestrians. You might get rear ended.

Our own bikes! Without panniers. So light and fun to ride.

The front is construction scaffolding free.

A mini Statue of Liberty, or Liberty Enlightening the World, and Le Tour Eiffel.

And back out in the afternoon for a visit to the Musée Cognacq-Jay.

During our last visit to Paris this museum was closed after a brazen robbery.

The museum has an exceptional collection of fine art and decorative items.

Our final day was a lot of walking. We were over our intense tiredness and ready to put some miles on our feet. Cimetière du Père-Lachaise.

What’s your one funny Paris tip? Ours is that the cemeteries all have public toilets.

New clothing! I ventured out for some shopping. Last dinner at Le 217 Brasserie.

Shhhh…don’t tell the French we bought our breakfast bread the evening before!

I can’t take many photos while cycling in Paris. Too much going on and a valid fear of crashing.

Gare de l’Est. We arrived nice and early, ready for the train dance.

But wait! What’s this? Smiling cyclist? Empty platform?

A very nice SNCF staff member saw us waiting with our bikes, confirmed which platform our train was leaving from, and let us on the platform early.

I’m sitting and reading my book, the bikes and bags are stowed, and all before any other passengers arrive.

The Happy Travelers celebrating a successful train boarding.

We needed that Paris break. To stop moving for four nights and rest. We slept a lot. We had breakfast and lunch in our studio apartment with kitchenette, and dinner out. After our month in Paris last year, four days felt short, but we knew our way around and had plenty to see, and eat. So we’re headed north now to the Ardennes and a few new countries!

Out into the countryside, Bordeaux to Limoges. For better and for worse.

Yes, we do stay in a lot of small privately owned atmospheric, charming, quirky places. But it can be a relief to check in to a corporate hotel. Here, leaving Bordeaux.

We love cities. When bike touring and when not on bikes. Public transport, loads of food options, museums, great people watching. But the countryside has a lot to love about it too: birds and animals, tranquility, beautiful scenery, quiet cycle paths and long stretches of empty roads with nice pavement. No museums but lots of history. There are the downsides too: not a lot of lodging options, even fewer food options – grocery stores and restaurants are a bit more simple, not a lot of choices. And those lovely roads? They go up and down a lot for no damn good reason.

Now that’s a bike lane on a bridge! And so much pedestrian space to the left. Pont Simone Veil crossing the Garonne River leaving Bordeaux.

Three routes converge on a partially sunny day; Eurovelo 3 is international, Route 80 is a French National Route and the last is a local route.

“Twin-foudre wagons. Built in the late 19th century, they were primarily used for transporting wine.
The numerous imports from Algeria and Spain transited through Béziers and Sète.”

Stopping to read about the wine wagons led to finding this article about the Algerian wine industry, which of course led to a rumination on colonialism- as it does.

Repurposed rail lines are fascinating. Imagine all the wine that went through this tunnel.

We are firmly in the Bordeaux wine region now.

Buttery yellow stones and blue shutters.

The wine industry has created wealth for so long.

Happily rolling along, looking for a lunch spot.

We’re carrying our little chairs but it’s nice to find a bench with a view.

A quiet riverside road in Branne, along the Dordogne River.

Better know a French river, the Dordogne. 118 km long.

More local yellow limestone buildings. And Rich.

I love that this little dirt road has a name: Chemin des Grandes Bayches.

Getting close to Saint-Émilion, a very famous wine town.

Which wine chateaux is this? No idea, but it’s sure pretty.

The town of Saint-Émilion. Beneath that lovely skyline heaves a mass of tourists on this Sunday of open chateaux. Actually, it was only awful if you were trying to park a car. On bikes it was fine.

We didn’t stay in Saint-Émilion, too busy. We headed to Libourne. On a bend of the Dordogne and at the confluence with the Isle River.

I took a quick dislike of Libourne riding in to town. It seems to suffer from ‘famous town adjacent’ syndrome. Folks were not friendly. Car drivers were downright hostile, and it managed to be both dead, with little activity in the streets, and hectic, with car drivers behaving as if they were negotiating a busy crowded downtown. It’s a difficult note to strike, dead but hectic, but they managed it. The first restaurant we went to, where our hotel had made a reservation for us, only had tall tables available. The last thing two tired cyclists want to do is perch on backless high stools to eat. We said no thanks and headed to the Vietnamese restaurant, the only other place open on a Sunday. It was quite good and with an impressive wine list. That must be expected in this area of famous wines.

The wind may have been adding to our crankiness. There was so much seed fluff blowing around that my eyes itch just remembering it. Leaving Libourne. Later nasty car drivers!

Attitude adjustment at the hyper market on our way out of town – the Wall Of Gazpacho! My favorite cycling lunch.

Who could stay irritable when faced with these cartoon-character-like sheep?

Or this cute calf grazing in a vineyard?

Quite a lovely color scheme going on, the luscious green and bright white.

Fantastic dinner at the wonderful Le Domaine du Haut Preau chambre d’hote. Run by a Belgium woman who does everything just perfectly while being so welcoming.

Back onto the Voie verte Galope Chopine. We didn’t make it far before the first informational sign beckoned us.

All about the folks who worked lighting the lamps for the trains, and who were usually blamed for any crashes. This gives you a sense of the detail on the trail side signs.

In a world of neon cycling clothing, be the fuzzy pink sweater.

Second lunch in Barbezieux-Saint-Hilaire, with a chateau view.

The view from the wall of the chateau. You can see Congnac noted on the map.

Châteauneuf-sur-Charente, where we spent one night in a BnB in an old old building. Full of old old furniture.

Hello kitty. Creaky floors and loud plumbing is forgiven.

A plus for small countryside towns is that the locals aren’t tired of tourists. We reliably get into conversations in small towns. Here it was with the restaurant owner who had moved from Chile decades ago. She told us about the fears of the US tariffs destroying Cognac sales, and by extension, the town we were in. She also walked us through the local dialect a bit – the name of which I cannot remember.

Cartoons by the town dentist. At the Beaujolais Nouveau party: “It tastes a bit of banana.” “A taste of cherry, no??” “There’s red fruit too.” Final snail “It’s a shame it
doesn’t taste like real wine instead!” Local wine humor.

“This is the only heaven where angels are not welcome.” I don’t get this one.

Heading out of town to the riverside path called Le Velo Flow.

The Charente River. I feel like we’re collecting French river badges. 381 kilometers long.

It’s a beautiful river, with clean water which attracts swimmers, kayaks, and boaters.

At Mosnac. Rich is grinning because I convinced him to ignore the sign saying path closed due to construction. Since it was VE Day the crew wasn’t working. It was a beautiful stretch of river.

Time out for some artistic close ups of grape vines.

How do we get anywhere, with all the photo stops?

Our bikes posing for their glamour shots.

Trois-Palis. We’re on our way to Angoulême, which we have just figured out is up on a hill.

Such a fascinating town, Angoulême. Full of young hippy types, and hipster folks, against the backdrop of an old fortified city.

We noticed an animation school and did a little googling: Angoulême hosts 40 animation and video game studios that produce half of France’s animated production. Wes Anderson‘s The French Dispatch was filmed in this city. We were not imagining all the young arty folks.

Football being shown makes for a lively evening on the plaza.

I was hoping for the Green Mouse sign to be lit up after dark, sadly it was not. But how cute is that little pipe smoking mouse?

The town is on a plateau overlooking a meander of the river Charente, and has the nickname “balcony of the south west.”

The gorgeous murals I saw climbing up to town, and didn’t stop to photograph, made sense given the city’s visual arts connection. Here’s one from our ride down.

Now brace yourselves for my new favorite river: the Touvre.

For starters; only 12 kilometers separate its source from its confluence with the Charente. Yes, a 12 km long river.

It has four sources, four springs (Le Dormant, Le Bouillant, La Lèche, and La Font de Lussac, the most recent of which appeared following the Lisbon earthquake of November 1, 1755. Chronicles of the time tell us that “on the same fateful day, an underground noise was heard, and shortly afterward, the earth opened up, and a torrent laden with red sand flowed out (…).” This is from the trail side info signs.

The Touvre has an average flow rate of 13 cubic meters per second. Experts will tell you that the volume of water flowing here is disproportionate to the surface area of its topographical watershed (which covers only about 100 km). Really, some seriously good info signs.

It wasn’t until the early 20th century that science finally unraveled the mystery surrounding the origin of this water (which allows the Touvre to double the flow of the Charente). Several explorations then established the existence of a system known to geologists as the Rochefoucauld karst.

Scientists discovered that a formidable network of underground rivers extends over 450 km beneath the Braconne forest and in the La Rochefoucauld region. It was gradually formed by the infiltration of rainwater into highly soluble limestone rock, and by the inflow of water from the Bandiat and Tardoire rivers.

The springs of the Touvre constitute the second largest resurgence in France after the Vaucluse fountain. And if you’ve read this entire bit you too have now earned your Touvre River badge. Congratulations!

The path only hugs the Touvre for half its 12km length, so off we went on Eurovelo 3, la Flow Velo, Tour Charente, and one I can’t even read.

Again, just amazingly detailed history signs. Our average speed was going down down down with all the stopping and learning.

Tiny little tunnels that ran under the rail line originally for small tractors and livestock.

Separating free France from occupied France in World War 2.

Really, how can we get anywhere when there is so much to learn, and then we need to stop to eat.

And cute dogs to snuggle. This is Cola, his owner, a lovely Irish woman, had been living in France for over twenty years.

More stops for artsy photos. More up and down roads where the rail trail, the Velo Flow, couldn’t follow the rail line.

An old mill which powered the forge which made cannons for the French military.

How do you even keep a building this old standing?

Another quirky, cold, not super well run lodging.

The Velo Flow crossed over a newly restored trestle. Nontron has some tourist gold with this bike path and a lovely town.

Oh wait, divert to cute cafe in Saint-Jean-de-Côle where the town was prepping for a flower festival.

Delicious cookies at the Pink Elephant Cafe.

Carry on! Headed to Jumilhac-le-Grand for the night. Highly rated BnB, two restaurants in town. What can go wrong?

Both restaurants closed. We threw ourselves on the mercy of the one bar open, not serving food that Friday night, and the lovely proprietors fixed us what she claimed would be a very simple meal. It was lovely.

The group of ex-pats outside the bar happily absorbed us into their evening drink and chat and we spent a pleasant evening.

A view of the privately owned Château de Jumilhac and gardens. Imagine keeping that repaired and running.

It’s a beautiful town, Jumilhac-le-Grand. Us after going from thinking we can choose between two restaurants, to pleading for food from the one place open. But again, lovely lovely people.

Leaving Sous le Chateau Chambre d’hote. Very comfortable, very well run.

Out of town up some more hill under the watchful eye of the school cat.

And this stallion who looked like he was spoiling for a fight.

Just after this handsome horse there was a field with a huge bull standing very close to the road with his herd of ladies on the other corner of the field. At first I could see no fence at all between me and him. As I got closer I could see one single strand of wire – electrified? Maybe? The wire barely came up to his chest. I wish I had a photo, he was like an anime cartoon bull, so muscle bound and very angry looking. I was way too nervous to stop, seeing Rich riding away in his red cycling jersey made me think this bull was not up for photos.

Our favorite sign of the trip. Richard the Lion Hearted Route.

Who are the friendliest cyclists? The Spanish! We saw him twice in one day (failed to get his name), he was headed to Limoges that night, we had one more night on the road to Limoges.

Downside of road riding, not many places to stop for a picnic lunch. This shady wall came through for us.

Flavignac. It’s on a Camino Route. It’s on a bike route. The one new Chambre d’Hote will probably do quite well with a steady supply of hikers and bikers.

An easy walk into town along a small lake.

What had been part of the owners barn was now accommodation.

We had a short day into Limoges so we tried to wait out the rain before heading out.

Breakfast was pretty slim so we were tempted by the pizza machine. But heavy rain and no shelter made us decide no.

Limoges! Arrived in the rain. Got a chance to walk around.

We stayed for two nights, which was honestly one night too long. Other than the porcelain museum, Musée national Adrien Dubouché, which had an extensive collection of pottery, there was not a lot to recommend Limoges.

A cute old town, but it was quite small, and ringed by unpleasant roads. Awful town in which to be a bike or pedestrian. On a hill. Long traffic signals. No bicycle infrastructure.

From Bordeaux to Limoges. Each heart is a place we slept.

We cycled for 8 days with no day off. Taking a day off in a small town, at a little pension or BnB isn’t super easy or interesting. But moving every day for 8 days isn’t easy either. It can make travelers cranky. Every morning as we pack up our panniers it seems like one of us packs something in the bottom of a pannier that we actually wanted out for the days ride – rain gear, seat cover, leg warmers, something- if we manage to get going without one of us having to reopen a bag it’s a miracle! And, the amount of route planning and lodging research that Rich puts in for each day is significant. He’s constantly adjusting his plans and figuring out where the grocery stores are that are on or close to the route. To go back to a familiar place, like Paris, is such a treat.

Spring 2025 tour so far. Up next, four days in Paris and on to…?

French Basque Country and the Atlantic Coast. And some rain.

Infrastructure like this makes us so impressed with France. Obviously new, and so wide with a lovely surface. On our way out of Saint-Jean-de-Luz.

We knew the weather was changing. And boy did it! We woke in Saint-Jean-de-Luz to heavy rain. Nothing to be done but put on rain gear and hit the road. It was Saturday am and the hotel rooms that were available in this beach town were quite expensive, so on we went after a one night stay. A quick stop at the grocery store for lunch food and I did stop myself from buying espadrilles from the colorful display inside the Carrafour City grocery store, but only just. Absolutely no room in the bags for another pair of shoes.

Hiding from the rain in the vestibule of a Church in Ascain. Rich went inside and told me I had to go in to see the cool wooden balconies.

It is a traditional Basque church. Église Notre-Dame-de-l’Assomption de Ascain.

The wooden galleries were new to us. We later learned in the Basque museum in Bayonne that they were added to accommodate the increase of population, and so women and men could sit separately. I imagine there was much making eyes and flirting going on across the way.

Seafaring was an important part of Basque life. I love the model ship with its wee Basque flag.

Churches with covered porticos are much appreciated.

But, time to leave the church and head up another hill. With another helpful/motivational sign. 5% grade. This was the second segment after a starting 7% pitch.

We topped the climb and the sun welcomed us to the downhill.

Whee! Pay no attention to those big grey clouds.

Focus instead on these fascinating stone fences. Walls? Enclosures?

Whoops. While we were focused on the stone fences the clouds had their way.

The little stand across the square was selling Gâteau Basque.

The houses had a look to them in this French Basque area, the Pays Basque.

White render (a surface coating), half timbered, and trim and shutters in the emblematic Basque red or green. The carved stone lintel usually tells the story of who first lived in the house when it was built, this one in 1662.

Blue shutters and wisteria. This is in Ainhoa where we spent the night in what we shall always refer to as “dead mouse room”. No body was found but the smell was pretty recognizable. Staff was apologetic and thankful we didn’t pitch a fit. Eh, we said, old buildings have their challenges. We left the window open, they comped us wine.

Stone fence AND a 1670 lintel stone! Pays Basque bingo anyone?

Not many photos on this rainy Sunday. We’re trying to get to Bayonne in time to visit the museum of Basque History.

Fragments of the old town walls still exist.

Rich demonstrates how narrow some Bayonne buildings are – just about a Rich and a 1/2, about nine feet wide.

We made it to the museum. So much information. If you don’t speak or read French it’s a bit of work to figure it all out, but worthwhile.

A really picturesque town, and very lively.

And one of the few towers still standing. This was the executioner’s tower, now a private residence.

The Nive river is running fast and high from all the rain.

Looking down the Nive, towards the confluence with the Adour River.

The look of a cyclist who knows she has a long day ahead of her. At least no rain!

Into the scrubby forests of the Atlantic coast.

And the wide sandy beaches of the Capbreton area. We are still on the Bay of Biscay.

Sand dunes and blue sky. A welcome change.

Still smiling. Long day and headwinds haven’t gotten us down yet.

And then the photos kind of stop for the day. After about kilometer 60 or 70 I just focus on pedaling.

It was a lot of this. But at least the weather was nice!

We made it! Giddy with relief and post shower. 90k/55m later.

Contis les Bains and our long shadows on the beach at 8pm.

The main drag down to the beach is packed with folks and noticeably car free. Space for restaurant and bar tables instead of parking.

If you weren’t on the Main Street you were up on the dune watching the sunset.

Sunset, happy humans, and a weathered fence.

The reality of bike touring is a lot of packing and unpacking of panniers. We each have two back, two front, and one handlebar bag. Good times. When you have so many one night stays it’s a lot. But, it all came out of the bags so it must all fit back in, right?

More Atlantic coast scrubby pine forest riding. This long stretch of bike path was just a dream. Lovely pavement, nice swooping curves.

Take a break. At the grocery store. Big shaded entrance so why not relax?

Riding by one of the lakes of Biscarrosse.

The sunsets! Biscarrosse Plage where we spent the night.

Breakfast fuel up for another day riding.

The campgrounds were filling up on this Wednesday, April 30th. Folks ready for the May Day holiday.

Giant sand dunes! Folks practicing paragliding.

Dune du Pilat in the background. Happy beach goers and a slightly cranky cyclist – this part of the coast is getting very busy. A long weekend and nice weather means lots of people out.

Pour some more coffee in him! That might help.

And tea for me. We’re in Arcachon, very close to where we will spend the night.

The beach stretches were fascinating. Boardwalks and such a mix of old and new buildings.

Rich wisely booked us out of the fancier beach area and in a more relaxed area of the fascinating Arachon Bay: Gujan-Mestras. Oyster heaven.

The oyster cabins. They serve oysters and wine. That’s it.

The potholes in the dirt path are filled in the oyster shells.

A friendly cat helped us enjoy the sunset.

On the jetty looking back towards the town.

Celebrating the night before the May Day holiday. The barbecue is raging. Couldn’t tell if they were barbecuing oysters or other seafood. Or hamburgers.

So many oyster shells. In most areas they are returned to the water to give the larvae of the next generation somewhere to hold on.

Kitty showed up again to drink at the doggie bar.

We’re off to Bordeaux for a much needed break. Three nights!

We expected this road, Avenue de La Cotê d’Argon (D1250), to be an unfriendly bike route. But look! New cycle path! Not all the way but along a lot of it.

May Day is a workers’ holiday, like Labor Day in the US, but way more widely celebrated. Little posies of Lilly of the Valley are sold at small road side stands.
La Fête du Muguet (Lilly of the Valley Day).

Why? In 1561 King Charles IX of France was given a posey of Lilly of the valley flowers as a present on May 1, and a tradition was born.

Vineyards just outside Bordeaux. We hear they have good wine here?

Who’s a good boy checking into the hotel? And sporting the French dog collar du moment – very wide.

A huge bricolage, or flea market. I’d call it an antique market. Book a container and ship it all home…oh wait, we don’t have a home!

A bottle drying rack and enamel ware pitchers.

Rich checking prices on bottle drying racks.

Bassins des Lumières, a WW2 German constructed submarine base now a light show exhibit.

Place de la Victoire has two stunning creations by Czech sculptor Ivan Theime to celebrate the culture of wine.

First, the mama and baby tortoises. Rich added for scale. I didn’t realize how lucky we were to get a photo free of other people- ok, kids.

And she is festooned with little figures, also holding or wearing grapes.

The red marble obelisk, same sculptor. Makes an imposing focal point to go with the more whimsical tortoises.

Since returning to France. The top heart is Bordeaux. We had seven days of riding, which explains why we were so tired when we got to Bordeaux.

The tired happy travelers enjoying a tram ride in Bordeaux.

Next up, some pretty rural and remote riding through the French countryside, roads that go up and down for no good reason, and a train to Paris.

Donostia – San Sebastián Bring us all the Pinxos. Then climb another mountain.

Looking out over Bahia de La Concha at night.

We both had been looking forward to coming back to San Sebastián. We visited two years ago while walking the Camino with Christine and Cecily and did a fantastic food tour that helped us all learn to love Pinxos. Not that much help is needed, but the scene can be a bit intimidating. Here in San Sebastián they prefer that you pay as you go, order drinks and pinxos and tap your card to pay. In less busy towns and cities you could pay once you were ready leave. When the popular bars open there can be quite a rush of folks piling in.

Stop one on our first night, Bar Txepetxa. A rather famous bar with photos of famous people on the walls.

Antxoa con jardinera. Anchovies with jardinera sauce, peppers, and onions.

Gildas: anchovy, olives, and
guindilla peppers.
Piquillo Peppers Stuffed with Tuna (Pimentos del Piquillo Rellenos de Atún).

Hungry from the ride. Need more Pinxos. Loads of youngsters outside, let’s try this one!

Belfast Irish Tavern! With Pinxos, of course.

Two boccadillas and another round of drinks.

A stroll around old town to keep our appetites up and admire the graffiti.

Probably the same food tour we did two years ago, Mimo Bite The Experience. An excellent tour.

Bar Martinez. We scored two bar stools at the side counter which meant we got table service. It was nice to have a menu to order off of. (We ate more than the stuffed peppers)

La Viña. Our final stop of the night. We had a nice conversation with the Spanish couple to our right after Rich copied her red wine order – it was excellent and we thanked her.

La Viña is famous for their Basque cheesecake, left. Anchovies on the right. Don’t get those two confused.

Basque Cheesecake. Our final dish of the evening. We over ordered and had two plates with two slices per plate! Time to waddle back to our hotel.

The street scene in old town is lovely and relaxed.

Through the decorative railing along the promenade.

This guy makes art in the sand. You throw coins onto the white sheet to show your appreciation.

On our first rest day we walked a lot and visited the small maritime museum which had a decent history of Basque seafaring history and a cute exhibit about animals on board ships.

On our second rest day we had a bus failure trying to get to an outdoor sculpture park. On line info was not just confusing but incorrect. There are two bus providers in town and we walked around searching for the stop for the bus that would take us right to the sculpture park. Fail. Asked people. Fail. Finally found someone who helpfully pointed us towards the stop, on a totally different street! and we watched the bus roll by since we were a block away from the stop. Schedule wrong. Next bus probably in 45 minutes. When Rich can’t figure out a bus system you know it’s confusing. So we walked around town, took a small community hill bus and had a lovely conversation with a young woman who grew up in San Sebastián but now works as a nurse in Edinburgh, Scotland.

Dinner in our neighborhood at La Cervecería del Antiguo. It’s fun to try a neighborhood place and enjoy inventive Pinxos.

Baked confit tomato with sheep cheese flakes and walnuts.

Gamberro bluefin tuna tartare and pulpo.

Heading out to ride to Saint-Jean-de-Luz, France. Only thing between us and France is another big climb.

Not every mile is beautiful and picturesque. I try to remember to take photos of the less glamorous parts of a ride.

Turning up the road to the Jaizkibel summit.

The spine is the Jaizkibel mountain range. Our climb started in Lezo and had a gain in altitude of 455 m (1,493 ft) over 8.0 km (5.0 mi).

Fueling for the climb with chocolate milk.

I never seek out climbs, but Rich loves them, and I’m never daunted by them. I say my spirit animal is a Shetland pony. I’m not setting any Strava records but I’ll get there eventually. Rich waits at the summit. So, big climbs are not a deal breaker. This one was again made fun by the Basque road cyclists. They are the nicest riders ever. I don’t think a single one went by me (me as if I was standing still and them in their sleek cycling kits) without a greeting. And the work crew chopping back vegetation for which traffic was held one way at a time? The guys in their fluorescent yellow with safety googles and gas powered weed trimmers and chainsaws? My personal cheering section as I ever so slowly rounded a hairpin turn.

And this is what I was wearing. Pink flowery top and a straw hat helmet cover. Sandals. Sun gloves. Hilarious.

Rich waiting, not at the summit yet, but up the worst of the climb.

At the summit. The view back to San Sebastián.

Rich and the summit sign. King of the Mountain!

I like the signs put up to inform cyclists how steep the road is. Motivational?

Mountain bikers, road cyclist, and faint words on the asphalt from
the Clásica San Sebastián road race.

A shade break at the Hermitage of Guadalupe. Familiar to us from our Camino which started in Irun, just down the mountain.

Across Etorbideko Zubia, the bridge over the Bidasoa River, the border with France.

We give the nod to France over Spain for bike infrastructure. But Spain wins for super nice cyclists and considerate car drivers.

Hendaye, a sunny day at the beach before the storm blowing in.

Over another hill. Coming into Ciboure, the town before Saint-Jean-de-Luz where we’ll spend the night.

More beach goers. It’s a Friday and this weather is not going to last much longer.

The happy travelers overlooking the Grande Plage of Saint-Jean-de-Luz.

Our Basque horseshoe. The blue dot is us in France again. We’re actually still in Basque territory, French Basque.

Celebrating with pizza right before the wind blew in. All the other outdoor diners headed inside. The next day’s ride will be a bit wetter.

So did we enjoy our Spain bike tour? Yes! The Coast around Barcelona was not our favorite, as we’ve explained we both avoid hot weather and I’m about as sun phobic as they come. I think we just hit the right season for us, any hotter and there would have been epic meltdowns. And, as I’ve repeated, Basque cyclists are so welcoming and friendly. Spanish car drivers are among the best around cyclists, maybe the Swedish are just a bit better but that’s also due to better cycling infrastructure that gives bikes their own space. Spanish car drivers behave admirably well around bikes even without much infrastructure. Food – yum! Late dinner hours – eh, we adjusted and slept later than we usually do. There is no fighting local customs. All in all a lovely small dip into Spain. And now we are even bigger fans of the Basque Country.

Basque Mountains! Basque food! Basque People!

One is amusing, two is a trend. Rich in front of the second Spanish town sign we found.

The drill when we arrive in a new town is as follows. Roll up to the hotel, Rich goes inside while I get the bikes ready to go stay wherever they will spend the night- garage, storage room, corner of the lobby, or occasionally our room. I empty the water bottles and stuff them all in one of my front panniers for easy carrying so we can rinse and refill for tomorrow. Rich checks us in, a new rule in Spain makes this longer than we think it should take. Not just scans or xerox of the passports but address, names, and signatures on either actual paper, or a tablet form. We haul all the bags to the room, frequently at the end of a loooong hallway, dump bags, shower, wash out the days’ cycling clothes and drape them all over the room to dry. If there is a heated towel rail we struggle to figure out how to turn it on to sped up the laundry drying. Chill for a bit then head out.

After a quick early (by Spanish standards) dinner we head to the procession route. It’s Good Friday. We stake out a spot right at a turn.

Charmed by the children in the procession. Note the thorny crown with small Jesus on it.

I guess due to the hill on which the Cathedral sits, these floats are on wheels. The other two processions we saw were not wheeled.

As the darkness came on, the drama heightened.

Even without understanding the full meaning, these processions are powerfull.

I spend some time imagining everyone ironing their robes and fretting over which shoes to wear.

We got a glimpse of snowy mountains as we headed to our Cathedral tour the next morning.

The old cathedral tried its hardest to fall down and the tour of the restoration is just amazing. Thank you for the tip Hannah!

Another city, another pretty chocolate shop.

A sculpture by Juan Jose Eguizabal
“El Caminante” The Walker.

“The Bullfighter” by Casto Solano. A popular spot to sit and snap a photo.

Dinner at a gem of a restaurant near our hotel, Restaurante asturiano “El Chigre ALI13”. This is a cachopo. An Asturian dish of pounded veal stuffed with ham and cheese.

What and where is Asturia? Another autonomous region of Spain.

We had never really heard of the Asturian region of Spain. This is our favorite part of travel, finding out about all the things we don’t know. As we headed into the Basque countryside on our bikes we would come to see and understand how different the culture is. At one point we said this is foreign on top of foreign!

Leaving Vitoria-Gasteiz, Easter Sunday, on a colorful trail through an industrial area.

Rain and a junior pro bike race. Rich started chatting with Mikel, a local cyclist, and he filled us in on the race and rode us down the big hill for coffee.

Our first taste of how friendly and welcoming the Basque cyclists would be. Thank you Mikel.

Even though it was Easter Sunday and we assumed most places would be closed the cafes were open until 2 pm, at which point everyone headed home for Easter lunch with family. We were glad to meet Mikel for many reasons, and I was so happy to have him explain to me that what the road cyclists were calling out to us was “Opa!” which loosely translates as “go up” in Basque. I’m not sure I have the spelling correct, but once I learned that did I call it out to almost every cyclist who passed me on the climbs? Yup.

We said goodbye to Mikel and headed towards Bergara. More tunnels.

And stunning new infrastructure too. This is a train trestle.

Crossing the Deba River going into Bergara.

One of the many beautiful buildings in Bergara.

It is Easter Sunday and we were wondering if anything would be open at all. Would we be able to find a drink and dinner? Answer, yes! The bars and cafe were all open and restaurants were opening up for dinner at 8 or 8:30. We joked that Easter Sunday in Spain shares a tradition with Christmas Eve and Day in the UK – go get a drink. Or a few. On our ride to Bergara I passed a group of young men standing outside a bar smoking and drinking. Oh fun, I thought, my favorite- young dudes drinking. I was greeted with Opa! Fuerte! Hola! and then Hello! when they saw my American flag! Where are you from? A quick exchange and they waved me on my way still cheering. Not what I was expecting at all.

We’ve learned to adapt to Basque time. Pinxos and a drink at 6:30, after a 6:00 paseo (stroll) around town.

Our 8:30pm reservation – the earliest we could get. We are the only ones in the restaurant for at least 30 minutes.

We’re finishing up at 9:30 and folks are just arriving and ordering drinks.

An after dinner walk around town. The lighting was so atmospheric and town so peaceful.

The rain soaked cobbles made for an extra pretty evening.

Ready to go the next am. We leave our hotel and immediately start our big climb of the day, up to the Elosua pass, 681 m/2,234 feet.

Ready to climb? Starting at 160 meters for a 510 meter climb with loaded touring bikes.

There’s Bergara, 30 minutes into our climb.

An hour into the climb and Rich finds a bench to wait for me.

Now we’re seeing other cyclists. Not many bike tourists on this pass (none) so we get loads of hellos and opas!

Clouds are coming in and another view of town, to the far left you can see the train trestle from the day before.

Rich had enough time at the top waiting for me that he set up a chair! He graciously gave it up for me once I arrived. My time was two hours up the climb. Not setting any Strava records, that’s for sure.

Starting down on smooth asphalt. A hint of rain coming on.

There is a little tiny Rich in blue. He’s off like a rocket sled on rails.

A turn onto a smaller less smooth road to connect us to a rail trail.

Lunch stop in Azkoitia. Iglesia Santa María la Real de la Asuncion.

The view down the Urola River. I love how folks hang laundry out the windows, but I would worry about wind taking my clothing and flinging it in the river. Good pegging skills I guess.

The wisteria on this riverside building. Dramatic.

It was so nice to know we’d find water taps.

This was a first. A bike wash station. Just as we headed out of town.

Our bikes needed it. They were still showing signs of our muddy Pyrenees crossing and gravel riding in the Navarre.

Our audience while at the bike cleaning station was a young mom and her tiny son on his scoot bike. He watched, fascinated, and his mom obliged him by spraying off his little bike when we were done. My Spanish is quite basic but enough to start a conversation, and the little US flags again did their jobs and she switched to excellent English for the rest of the chat.

Hanging with the locals in Aizarnazabal.

A day bike touring can feel so long. You really get to experience the changes in terrain and whiplash from city to town to countryside. No grocery stores in town but one bar sold some basics, so eggs it is for breakfast.

These stunning sheep across from our casa rural in Aizarnazabal!

Heading out in the morning after a scrambled egg feast.

Barely two minutes from the hostel and I’m already pushing my bike.

Headed through Zarautz to San Sebastián. But first, another hill.

Pastry break in Zarautz, a famous surf town and on the Camino del Norte.

We came through here two years ago, on foot, with our friends Christine and Cecily.

Camino Pilgrims headed to Zarautz and eventually Santiago de Compostela.

We leave the Camino (which we are riding reverse direction here) and head up a steep steep little path to avoid the busier road along the river.

Steep enough that Rich comes back to push my bike up some stretches.

Stunningly beautiful as we ride by farm land.

A perfect weather day. Sunny at times, cloudy at others, no rain. Just us, the road, and the occasional farm vehicle.

And there it is! San Sebastián. A three night stay awaits. And a lot of yummy food. But that’s for the next post.

The lower heart is Zaragoza, the long gap is the train hop to Pamplona, and then our horseshoe route in the mountains.

North to the Basque Country. A two train journey.

Zaragoza. Cathedral-Basilica of Our Lady of the Pillar behind us.

Our first train hop to get me out of the sunny Spanish coast was from Tarragona to Zaragoza. Rich could tell from the map landscape that it would not be a good idea, or fun, to pedal across the plains of Spain with a sun adverse travel companion like me. So trains it was. Mission: get Cheryl to greener northern climes. And it wasn’t even hot yet. So much for our Spanish bike touring, huh?

The Renfe media distances trains in Spain seem to have two distinct types of rolling stock.

These older train sets with narrow doors and three steps. This was our first train to Zaragoza.

With bike hooks – my nemesis. I can lift my bike up, but only if the train is not moving and I have loads of space. Rich is the bike lifter when it comes to trains.

The other type are these lovely wide doored newer train sets. Second train to Pamplona.

These newer cars have much easier access: one small step in and loads of leaning space.

Of course, you have no idea which train you will get. The waiting is stressful.

Bikes with touring gear on trains are not always, almost never, easy. Our first train hop ended up being the older and less bike friendly train cars. A train station attendant told us the bike car would either be the first or last car, so we waited at the beginning of the platform so the train would go by us and we could see the bike car. First car. Of course. High boarding. Of course. As we ran up the platform to reach the bike car, dodging other passengers and their rolly bags, we knew it would be a fire drill train boarding. Yank the bags off the bikes since they would be too heavy to lift up into the train. Rich grabs the bags and chucks them on the train as I stay on the platform with the bikes. Rich gets through the narrow door with one bike and by now the conductor is blowing his whistle so I grab my bike and attempt to jam it up the stairs as the doors start to close and I search for the door open button with both feet still on the platform and half of my bike through the closing door. We are saved by a super nice Belgium cyclist who is already on the train which started in Barcelona where he lives. He helps Rich get both bikes on and through a second narrow door to the bike hooks. Phew.

A strong rain had just passed so we got a nice ride to our hotel in Zaragoza and got to see this Zaha Hadid designed bridge.

When possible Rich books trains where we get on at the beginning of the run, and get off at the end. Mid trip stops like our boarding in Tarragona can be super challenging, especially if there are bikes other than ours and we have to navigate a bike dance – handlebars tangling, pedals hooking on spokes. Zaragoza was the last stop for this train so we had a calm exit. It would be a one night stay and a second train the next day. And that one ended up being a lovely low floor wide door media distance.

This was a fun first. The hotel brought out a ramp so we could wheel our bikes right into the lobby with panniers still attached.

The sky cleared and all of Zaragoza came out for a walk. Zaragoza is in the Aragon Region Spain. Not Basque yet.

Do I have room in my panniers for a cake? No.

A beer, a glass of wine, and a little bag of chocolates, which I do have room for.

After a quick ramen dinner we headed out to join the crowds waiting for a Semena Santa procession. Our second of the trip.

Rich deployed his long arms for over the crowd shots.

This was a somber and somewhat chilling procession. The drum beats were very loud and los penitentes in their capirotes (cone-shaped hats) were numerous.

Our next train left after noon so we had time for a workout in the hotel gym, breakfast, and a walk to see the Roman bath ruins in town. These were discovered (uncovered) in 1972 when a neighbor noticed something in a construction site. Now it’s a museum and the ruins are protected by a canopy.

Off and a slight backtracking to the Zaragoza Miraflores train station, so we’d have an end to end journey. Get on at the start, get off at the end in Pamplona. Pamplona is in the Navarre province of Spain. Still not Basque yet.

Riding into Pamplona old town for a one night stay.

Now the Pinxos feasting begins in earnest.

Hello my darling Gildas. Olive, anchovy, and guindilla peppers. Spicy sweet little peppers pickled in wine vinegar.

Water prep. We each carry two bottles and an extra liter water bag. Once we realized how often we find taps of potable water in Basque towns we stopped filling the water bags and saved the weight.

We would head out of Pamplona on a Camino route, such fun signage. From here we bike. No more train hops.

One route for walkers and one for bikers.

The Camino markers always make me happy. Fond memories.

The still snowy Pyrenees mountains in the distance. Hello friends.

The trail unwinds like a ribbon ahead of us.

It’s fun to follow a Camino route. This is the main Camino Frances. We got to greet pilgrims and be greeted with “Buen Camino”.

A countryside stay at Casa Nahia Alojamiento Rural in Lorca. Home made dinner and a bottle of wine. Still in Navarre.

I love a good livestock sign. This cow’s legs look short to me.

Oh, actual cows. And yes, they do look a bit short legged. With those distinctive Spanish horns.

A quick stop in the town of Estella to buy pastries and start on the Vía Verde del Ferrocarril Vasco-Navarro. We part ways with the Camino Frances here. (Still in Navarre.)

Town was super busy with market day and pre Easter holiday shut down so we took our pastries up the trail a bit.

The Via Verde is one of the area’s repurposed rail lines. Tunnels and bridges, oh my!

The surface was quite good for riding, such a treat to ride long car free stretches. The route has a few nice hilly diversions where tunnels have not been restored.

Happily listening to a podcast on my Bluetooth speaker and pedaling along.

A valley near Metauten reminded us of the Grand Valley in Colorado with stunning mesas. Maybe a little greener.

You can see from the map that we were flirting with the foothills. Pamplona to the right, and far left is Vitoria Gastiez. There were good trails keeping us to the valleys, but inevitable climbs up those ridges.

The Vasco Navarro Railway Nature Trail Greenway follows the route of the Trenico, which between 1927 and 1967 ran between Estella-Lizarra and Mekolalde (Gipuzkoa)Between Estella-Lizarra, Vitoria-Gazteiz and Bergara (Gipuzkoa)
**Length:** 133,7 km; 27 km in Navarre

Ancín, in Navarre. A stunning backdrop of oilseed rape. We know it as canola oil but it also used for industrial applications and animal feed. Most Americans call it mustard seed, and both are members of the Brassicaceae family and are cultivated for their oil-rich seeds.

Our destination for the night is not far away. The Easter holiday week has been challenging already and this night, Thursday the 17th of April is about to get even more logistically tough.

The rail trail gets us through the edge of the Codés mountains. Rail trails will only ever have about a 3-5% max incline, which makes riding them up quite easy, and riding down super fun.

This trail is loaded with benches and picnic tables, which is so nice. And some are even in the shade.

We arrived in Campezo/Kanpezu – finally in the Basque Country – and checked in to our hostel, Aterpe Kanpezu Hostel, showered, threw a load of laundry in, hung it to dry and then wandered into town. We knew that finding an open restaurant in this small town the night before Good Friday would be challenging- but we assumed one of the restaurants would be open. Open yes, for drinks. Food? Not so much. After asking at three places which all said the kitchen would not be open tonight we were directed to a restaurant down one the main road next to a gas station which had the worst reviews. A range of rude, bad food, slow service. Yippee! They lived down to their reviews and the kitchen didn’t open until 9pm, at which point two hungry cycle tourists would be desperate. Part of the challenge was that now in the Basque Country we encountered what may have been our first Basque only speakers. However, they did have the most delicious home made tortillas, the Spanish potato and egg omelette. So two of those and a drink later we decided we’d survive and headed back to old town.

We found a small Bodega now open and got ice cream bars. Then a bar for drinks and Gildas (anchovies, olives, and peppers). It was an odd food progression but you do what you need to do on Good Friday Eve.

We joined the rest of the town enjoying the car free main street and watching the children play while enjoying our drinks.

The Spanish do public spaces so well. And everywhere we visited we enjoyed the Paseo, the traditional 6pm evening stroll.

Spring blooms over a weathered fence in town.

As we were getting on our bikes the morning of Good Friday we heard this van honking as it rolled through town. We realized it was the bread van so we hustled over to buy bread for our picnic lunch. Basque bread van.

Headed to Vitoria Gasteiz for a two night stay. Only 38 kms, and all on rail trail, right? Not quite.

I’m not the only one who finds the cows picturesque.

The walled town of Antoñana and our fearless tour guide, Rich.

Good Friday Holiday meant a lot of road cyclists out.

Other cyclists meant we could follow them to a water source.

And then the sound of a sad trombone. There is a tunnel through the highest part of the mountain ridge that is not open, so the trail diverts up and over.

My little flag is blowing forward! Tail wind to the rescue.

The summit. It must have been one long tunnel, it was quite a climb.

We had a nice decent on asphalt before joining the rail trail again for our final stretch in Vitoria Gastiez.

It’s nice to get off the trail and into towns. In Spain churches are our first try for benches for lunch.

This one came with a friendly dog who would have happily shared our lunch. You know, to be helpful.

I think I will always recognize the shape of a Basque church and spire.

We made it to Vitoria-Gasteiz, which is the capital of the Basque Autonomous Community and where we will spend two nights.

Up next, our time in the Basque mountains and why I am now a huge fan of the Basque.

The Happy Travelers. Looking forward to a rest day in Vitoria-Gasteiz.

Cycle touring days are like dog years.

Leaving the Vallée Verte, France, on a clear day.

Suddenly you look up and two weeks have gone by! But you think back and can’t believe it was only two weeks ago that we got on our bikes (March 31) and headed to the train station in Annemasse. A hop through Lyon to Avignon to spend the night, and then train to Béziers, and ride on to Narbonne. Phew. That sounds easier than it really is, which is why we spent two nights in Narbonne to get our bike touring mindset on.

Lyon’s wonderful bike lanes. Our long train transfer was between stations so we got to leisurely ride across town.

Rich’s American flag doing its job and attracting a chat from a local.

My panniers match the train. Although the high speed Ouigo train is not for us.

Our plan to get on our way was derailed by a long chat with another bike tourist, Martin from Holland.

Our plan was to use trains to get south and ride in Spain before the weather got hot. Neither of us are happy cycling in hot weather. We had been in Béziers on bikes before, but this time we’d ride out a different direction. After a good long chat with Martin who was also riding a Koga bicycle, it was time for a lunch stop.

Lunch in the shade alongside Le canal du Midi. We brought our little travel chairs with us this trip.

We decided to stay in Narbonne for two nights once we realized we’d be arriving quite late in the day, and it gave me an opportunity to have the brakes on my bike fixed.

Narbonne at dusk. Like a lot of French towns there is a focus on new public space, here a lovely newly redone stretch along the Canal de La Robine.

Narbonne Cathedral’s gargoyles. I would love to see these spouting water. But that would mean rain.

Canal de La Robine. The work on the canal side path is ongoing to the south.

The small black poodle being groomed inside this shop would certainly attest to the accolades on the sign.

The canal trail. This is going to be a lovely day on a champagne gravel (hat tip to Annie) trail.

Or will it? Blocked by fiber optic construction.

A 47 kilometer detour. Thankfully a local road cyclist stopped and told us the detour was a fine route, one he rides often.

So off we went, better know the marshes.

A bit windy. Was it a headwind or a tailwind? I can’t remember. (Kidding. It was a headwind.)

Lunch at the boules court in Bages and a chat with some locals. The flags doing their jobs again by drawing folks in and starting a conversation.

Still smiling. It’s chilly enough that my fuzzy pink sweater comes in handy.

Bicycle signage is quite good in France.

Peyriac de Mer, after a quick snack and map stop. Such a sweet street I stopped on an uphill climb to snap a pic.

Although he was technically closed for lunch the owner came out from his apartment behind the shop to sell us some much needed fruits and veggies and home made cookies. Sigean, still in France.

Out of Sigean the route climbed up a rocky pass. Definitely best suited to mountain bikes or gravel bikes, but here we go.

This look says ‘Yes, I did just fall in that mud puddle’. My rear pannier caught on a branch as I tried to skirt the edge of the puddle and I ended up in the puddle.

Ortleib panniers act like bumpers for the bike when you go over sideways. My bike and panniers were fine, I was very muddy with a few scratches on my left leg. Pride? Slightly wounded.

Still in France so the signage is still strong.

Headed down a very rocky route. Lots of walking the bikes.

Leaving Leucate where we spent the night and a bit of time de-mudding me and my gear.

Headed to Perpignan and our first good view of the snow capped Pyrenees mountains. Don’t worry, Rich says, we’ll have even closer views.

Getting closer to those mountains along a very nicely paved cycle path.

Are we riding or just always stopping to take photos?

Oh photos, definitely stopping for photos.

Perpignan. The French buildings and palm trees made me smile.

The Basse canal, an off shoot of La Têt River. Coming in to Perpignan from the north it didn’t look promising but once in the heart of town it’s charming.

Polite and obvious reminder of where your ciggy butts go.

The days are long, sunset at 8:30, so lovely long twilight light.

Oops – an entire bottle of red wine. And a lovely chat with a Swiss/Spanish couple. In light of what’s going on in the US some of our conversations have gotten more intense. Not confrontational, but intense.

Leaving Perpignan, next stop: Figueres, Spain. In the way: mountains.

Ok, next stop actually still in France. Brouilla. But it’s starting to look like Spain.

Through vineyards. That little orange speck is Rich. Who’s anxious to get to some mountain climbing? He is.

This low pass closes not for snow, but for risk of fires.

Unlike France, information on cycle touring routes was a bit spotty as we headed into Spain, but we headed up the pass optimistic about our new adventures coming in Spain. Stay tuned.

Singapore Swing

Sunday picnic time in Fort Canning Park.

Our last trip through Singapore was foiled by a Taylor Swift concert. We didn’t want to pay the expensive hotel room charges so we ended up just flying in, spending a day and flying out. A long layover. This trip we splashed out and stayed at a hotel that has probably caught the eye of many a visitor, the Parkroyal Collection Pickering. We were there for three nights on our way back to Europe.

It’s certainly eye catching with the lofty spaces and masses of greenery.

One office tower on the right, and two hotel blocks.

A view from the 5th floor where the gym, pool, and garden walk are. The pool was closed for maintenance, but a shuttle took us to the sister hotel 5 mins away to swim.

All the shade and plants kept the temperature down.

The shower was on a corner with a wraparound view.

The breakfast buffet – a little chocolate donut treat.

View from the swimming pool area of the other Parkroyal hotel. The famous Marina Bay Sands hotel in the background.

Hawker center lunch. Yes, I did splash broth on my nice new t-shirt. And yes, I did get it out.

This was on Sunday, so many folks enjoying lunch and buckets of beer.

We followed the signs to the tree tunnel to find an Instagram Tik Tok hoard.

All waiting for this shot. I do appreciate how collaborative folks are for their photos, all politely taking turns. But I still don’t really understand why.

Further down the tunnel- empty. I need some practice, this was much cuter on the young lady I stole the pose from.

The greenery in Singapore is impressive.

We missed this greenery and shade in Saigon. Singapore has been all in on greening since the 60s, and it shows.

The metro is good and the buses are easy and fast.

I so appreciate the shaded bus stops. All cities should have such comfortable bus stops.

The bike share system has bikes with child seats.

We didn’t see a lot of folks on bikes, the transit is very good, but I think bicycling has a lot of potential in Singapore.

Singapore does great messaging on the metro. How to get along on board.

One last sweaty hike on the new rail corridor path.

Who doesn’t love repurposed rail bridges?

At the old quarry – a Black Capped kingfisher. Look at that beak.

Our final lunch of soup dumplings before heading to the airport.

The Jewel at Changi Airport Singapore. The obligatory waterfall photo.

And back to France! Happy travelers with a great friend, Hannah.

It’s always a culture shock to leave Asia for Europe, and we’ve been feeling more fragile and worried about not only our country, the US, but the impact of recent political decisions in the US on the rest of the world. We know that people everywhere want similar things; peace, prosperity, the ability to live and raise a family, and have a home. Our standards for prosperity may differ around the world, but we all deserve the opportunity to have that peaceful home. That is feeling at risk right now. But we pedal on.

Next adventure- bike touring again in France and Spain.

Vietnam: Jungle to City.

Crocodile Lake in Cát Tiên National Park.

Square peg, round hole. That’s what we say to each other a lot when we’re in a hot and humid place where walking is tough and sweaty and the constant heat makes us cranky. We always need to get some physical activity. Long walks, a hotel gym, or hours of bicycle touring keeps us calm and sane. Without that we quickly become out of sorts. And in some countries it’s really hard for us to get enough exercise, and when one of us gets extra cranky about it, the other says “square peg, round hole”. But, in Vietnam our occasional query of why, why do we do this to ourselves is silenced when we get to experience a place like Cát Tiên National Park.

Monkey marks the spot. That’s Cát Tiên Park.

Our lodge host showing us where to catch our predawn ferry for the next days gibbon walk.

Cashew nuts. Vietnam is a big cashew grower and exporter.

Cát Tiên is not super popular with western tourists yet, but on weekends it explodes with Vietnamese up from Saigon to experience the countryside and jungle, and catch glimpses of gibbons, silver langurs, macaques, and crocodiles, and lounge by the river enjoying the wide open spaces while drinking beer and singing along to Karaoke. “It has an area of about 720 km² and protects one of the largest areas of lowland tropical forests left in Vietnam.”

Huge Tung tree in the park. During the American war this area was sprayed with agent orange exfoliant, but the large trees survived and the jungle has grown back.

Our lodge host explained that the park had gained some fame on Tik Tok recently, prompting loads more weekend visitors. It was great to see so many visitors, but we did find that our slightly expensive tours with park guides were mostly if not all western tourists since the prices were quite high for most local tourists. We are always game to spend money trying to spot wildlife since it supports conservation and provides jobs for locals, and, we are fine taking our chances seeing or not seeing wildlife. Our gibbon trek seemed to be going badly after a dark morning walk into the jungle and no sound from the gibbons who usually sing a pre-dawn chorus to each other.

The forest canopy as the sky grew lighter. Come on gibbons, where are you?

A German couple on our tour, we were all thrilled to actually spot gibbons. They came swinging through the trees.

A male gibbon. Males are black and the females are light brown.

Our guide making sure the giant hollow in the tung tree was snake free before letting us in.

There were bats inside, and a big spider.

On our walk back, a group of Taiwanese birders.

Back to the Green Hope Lodge to relax by the river.

A walk out for lunch and a cafe stop.
The small concrete street was lined with cashew and pomelo trees. Hot enough for Rich to use the shade puddle umbrella.

The dominance of local tourists meant there wasn’t much in the way of food variety in town. Our lodge served food, much the same fairly simple menu served by other lodges and hostels in the area, so even when we walked out to eat somewhere other than our lodge, the food was very similar. There was very little flavor in most of this local tourist variant of Vietnamese Food. We decided that the first place to expand to even a slightly western menu would be super successful. We were there for five nights and by day three we were craving some variety from the fried rice and noodles. A pizza or burger would have been a welcome change.

Out for a sunset river boat ride to look for birds and more monkeys. We seriously thought our boat driver was going to charge up these rapids! He faked us out and then did a photo shoot.

A Bee-eater keeping watch over their nest, which is a perfectly round hole in the riverbank.

Our boatman pivoted from fishing to taking visitors in boat tours. He also spends time picking trash out of the river and taking up abandoned fishing nets.

He was a pro. Helping us take photos, binoculars to borrow for bird watching, and feeding us pomelos as we looked for macaques – which we saw.

And he let Rich drive the boat for a little while.

The travelers to Vietnam who are motorbike or scooter competent or capable have a very different experience than those of us who aren’t comfortable driving a scooter, or who might feel uncomfortable as a scooter passenger. Scooters are the main form of transportation in Vietnam, with locals scootering literally everywhere. Why walk when you can scoot? Families of four, five, sometimes six or seven, all ride on one scooter. Dogs, shopping, all manner of goods are piled on. I do regret that we’re not scooter drivers, but I think that ship has sailed.

Our host insisted on giving us rides to the ferry dock one morning. It was a nice short distance for us to experience being passengers.

The ferry coming across the river to take us to the National Park.

And then another small boat took us to the island where the Primate Rescue Center was located. What a worthy organization. Most of the monkeys are rescued from the illegal pet trade and most can eventually be released back into the wild.

Rich was very happy to perch on a tiny chair and eat some more flavorful Pho for lunch at a small local restaurant.

It was a typical small local restaurant, with very good Pho.

We were charmed by the small streets and the local custom of evening strolls in the slightly cooler temperatures.

Friday and Saturday nights brought not only more visitors but weddings as well.

Canopies were set up to make more party space.

We were a bit worried about the noise as this party was quite close to our hotel, but the loud sound system was pointed away from us, and quieted down about 11pm.

In our constant quest for physical activity we borrowed bikes from the lodge to ride out and visit some local sites – including a cacao farm.

In the rural areas there are still locals on bikes, not everyone scooters. Yes, we’ve made that a verb now. Scootering.

I gave up and turned back to save my wrists from my ill fitting bike, but Rich pressed on and brought me back cocoa powder from the farm.

And another Pho lunch. These photos don’t capture the heat and humidity. The owners took pity on us and aimed a fan directly at our table.

We weren’t done trying to see wildlife so the next day we headed off for a hike to Crocodile Lake, to hopefully see crocodiles. Back to the ferry dock, a 20 minute ride in a truck to the trail head, and a 5 kilometer hike to the lake. We got going early since you have a better chance seeing crocodiles early in the day.

I must have said “No more jungle hikes!” at least twenty times in Vietnam- and here I am on another jungle hike!

We thought we’d seen big trees already, but this 400 year old Tung was stunning. It’s nicknamed the Thunder Lizard.

Our hike out to the lake felt fast as we had met up with a young Canadian cycle tourist and we chatted the whole way. She had flown into Saigon from New Zealand, bought a bike, and started pedaling. Much cycle touring chat ensued. When we got to the ranger lodge at the lake I waved at the three workers on the boardwalk to the dock and they gestured to come down and yelled “crocodile!”. We hustled down.

It was a bit unclear how the crocodile ended up with an oar on him, but the ranger needed it back before he could head out on the boat to drop the other two off across the lake.

Why are you wearing an oar, Mr. Crocodile?

I guess he finally got tired of us exclaiming over him and headed back into the lake.

With Alison, the intrepid cycle tourist. We were all very happy to have seen a crocodile. There was one more small crocodile sunning by the lake but the big one was the hit of the day.

Alison headed out to where her bike was parked and we relaxed and bird watched for a little while.

Siamese Crocodiles had disappeared from the lake and were successfully reintroduced in 2002.

Ferry back to the other side of the Dong Nai River.

And a very welcome iced coffee at a cafe just up from where the ferry docks.

And Allison showed up! She had a problem with loose handlebars and had no Allen wrench. The cafe owner told her to wait, he hopped on his scooter and was back in five minutes with an Allen wrench to fix her handlebars. The Vietnamese are so nice. Maybe not super friendly right off the bat but helpful.

And she’s off again! I loved her intrepid spirit. Not sure I could handle the heat cycle touring in Vietnam. She was looking forward to getting to cooler northern areas. That’s the bike she bought for $200 in Saigon when she landed.

Our time at Cát Tiên was ending, a car and driver took us on the 3 hour drive to our hotel in Saigon, the Park Hyatt Saigon, where we were really looking forward to the gym and swimming pool. We like to mix it up when we travel. A basic but comfortable room at a lodge and then a fancy city hotel. Simple food in the countryside and then anything you could want in Saigon.

Including a pretty strong craft beer scene.

Hồ Chí Minh City People’s Committee building. With a statue of Hồ Chí Minh in front.

Fantastic dinner at The Old Compass Cafe and Bar. Tucked down an alley and up a narrow staircase.

Handling the heat and crowded streets is still tough in Saigon. No one calls it a walkers paradise, that’s for sure. Our schedule was pretty set with a morning swim, breakfast, excursion and lunch out, then retreat to the hotel to relax, cool down, gym and swim, and then out again for dinner.

Lots of ducking in to cafes to cool down and relax.

Always pick a cafe on a quiet side street.

It looks like it takes nerves of steel to ride in Saigon.

We don’t have nerves of steel so we opted for a tour through XO Tours.

First stop, a 24 hour street market where we could finally learn the names of some of the fruits we’d been eating.

Such amazing selection of fruits and vegetables. Just watch out for folks shopping by scooter.

Dinner stop with delicious food and fun company.

It was only us and two sweet young Australian guys, and the all female tour drivers were so much fun.

The restaurant was in the ground floor apartment of the building where Hong, the woman at the head of the table and one of the company’s founders, grew up.

The French and American built apartment blocks in district 10 are a fascinating bit of real live history. Still full of families and shops on the ground floor.

A living space carved out of an unused bit, and Hong’s auntie who had stopped by for a visit.

Hello Auntie! The building behind us is the new high rise version of public built housing. Newly built but not as well built according to the locals.

Definitely higher density, but lacking the community feel of the old blocks.

The ground floor apartments are more expensive since you can run a restaurant out front. The old apartment blocks are called vertical villages.

Riding around Saigon at night on the back of a scooter is amazing. A bit nerve wracking, but the ladies are so skilled at handling traffic and nervous visitors, all while pointing out sites and explaining Vietnamese life. After the dinner stop Hong took us up to the third floor apartment where she grew up with 15 or so other family members, and where her Uncle still lives.

The water towers which used to be the water supply. The leaking water was a draw for the neighborhood children.

Every bit of spare space housed someone. This open air dwelling was at the foot of the staircase.

One of the hallways. Every apartment we went by folks inside called out hello and waved.

Hong’s Uncle in the apartment which so many family members shared. The ladder behind Rich led to an attic space where a family slept.

Looking across at another vertical village.

Hong explained that the people living here always shared the space available. Families moved in to whatever space was livable, and some we western visitors wouldn’t believe was livable. The former trash room? Now an apartment. The final landing on the stairs? Someone’s living space. But we were greeted with smiles and waves. Hong explained that residents were glad that visitors took the time to come to District 10 and see how they lived instead of just staying in wealthy District 1, where our hotel was.

Our drivers waving back to us as we peered over the hallway railings

Dessert drinks on our final stop after a scooter ride through the flower market. Tamarind peanut on the left, and coconut and lemon grass jelly.

And almost at the end of a unique and moving experience.

One last photo of us all pretending to ride one scooter, true Vietnamese style.

It was jarring to return to our fancy hotel, and sobering to think about the road Vietnam has traveled.

Of course we had to celebrate Saigon’s newest step forward- Metro Line 1, opened in December 2024.

Already popular, and with five more lines planned and under construction sure to be a success.

Already an Instagram Tik Tok photo shoot location.

This line quickly goes above ground as it heads out of downtown, a fun sightseeing ride.

Thảo Điền station. A popular ex-pat and foreign worker area.

On our last full day, a walk around the river.

Our last visit to Saigon was nearly 20 years ago. It is unrecognizable.

But still the traditional fishing goes on.

It was a good reminder that a country can be torn apart, face horrific destruction, pit citizen against citizen, and come out the other side and rebuild.

The Happy Travelers looking forward to an extensive Saigon Metro System.

Sabolon Besar – Pirate Island Resort.

On our second night in Maumere a Portuguese/German couple who had just finished a weeks long motorbike trip on the islands of Indonesia told us that they were headed to Pirate Island for 7 nights, as a final destination and ultimate relaxation to finish their trip. Pirate what what, now? We decided we’d go too, and we would get to meet up with them, Merrick and Isabelle, again. It’s nice to be able to share tips and gather advice from other travelers.

Fabian, from Germany, also headed out to the Island. He was at our hotel in Labuan Bajo, Cool Breezes, so we all walked over to the Pirate office together to board the boat.

Leaving Labuan Bajo harbor, and ready to settle into the island vibe. Aaarrggh!

Pirate Island is like summer camp for adults. You buy a package for all meals, there is no air conditioning or hot water, and you have snorkel gear waiting at your glamping tent for you. They also arrange scuba dives. Your tent has a fan, and when we stayed you could turn it on all day and night, but since the island is only powered by solar, in the busy season we read that the fans and the electricity may not be available all day. We brought headlamps which meant we didn’t need to turn on the overhead lights in our tent if we didn’t want to.

Leaving LB and admiring the mountains of Flores Island.

After a boat ride of a little less than an hour we arrive. Welcome to Pirate Island.

Rich and I are just the age to keep making allusions to and jokes about Fantasy Island, Survivor, and White Lotus.

The boat which arrives once a day bringing new guests.

It’s a shallow water disembark. The lovely staff bring your luggage and shoes off the boat for you.

You start your stay with a welcome drink and an orientation by staff. There is a map to show the snorkeling area, and a red or white flag for when you can snorkel from the beach (white flag high tide), or when you should walk out the jetty (red flag low tide.) Then the lunch buffet (you preorder your choice of main), and check in to your tent.

Our tent. Rich chose sunrise beach, so we got morning sun and then nice deep shade in the afternoon. Our own private bathroom.

Our first night of two had the most dramatic sunset.

Even the staff were out taking golden sunset light photos.

A few people watched the sun set from the jetty.

The open air dining and hang out spaces were comfortable and had fans blowing a breeze. We had dinner at tables with other folks, but there were plenty of tables at which couples could be by themselves. Did I mention that Pirate Island is adults only? No guests under the age of 16.

Sunrise from our bed. There is a mosquito net. If you prefer not to be woken by the sunrise you would lower the tent flaps, but then you wouldn’t get the nice ocean breezes at night.

We let the sun wake us for a six am swim.

Coffee and tea are available from about 6:30 am to 9 pm.

Super clear water, this is taken from the jetty.

The resort is working to protect and restore the coral reefs. Indonesia suffers from dynamite fishing. Apparently still a challenge to stop. When you snorkel you can see the newly started coral on wire frames. We always like to support tourism that celebrates natural beauty and wildlife as a way of preserving it.

Baby black tipped reef sharks cruising the shallows.

At low tide you start your snorkel by jumping from the jetty. I would have preferred a ladder but it got the job done.

Rich went first, I tossed his gear, waited, and then tossed my gear and jumped. Ok, it wasn’t that fast. I had to psyche myself up a bit to jump.

The snorkeling was fantastic, especially at higher tides when you could pass over the entire protected coral area. Massive schools of fish all around and a huge variety of colorful species. Not to mention turtles and sharks.