At 430 I got up at to get ready to go to the airport and discovered that there was no water in my room. The toilet wasn't even running like usual. I went downstairs to ask the guys down there and they told me they printed newspapers next door at night so there was never any water until 515. Too late for me. They sent me to the bathrooms in the 1st floor restaurant, where the tap would give a trickle when coaxed, to brush my teeth and shave. Not a very auspicious start to the travel day.
My cab was waiting outside and it was no trouble getting to the airport. I guess that’s one of the advantages to leaving so early. When we pulled up to the airport, we were stopped at three separate police roadblocks. At the first, we were summarily waved through. At the second, one officer looked in the trunk and another checked my passport and ticket situation. At the third, one officer looked in the trunk and another in the hood. The cabbie dropped me off in front of the terminal. To get into the airport, I sent all my stuff through an x-ray machine, walked through a metal detector and was patted down. After checking in, an airline representative looked over my papers and sent me away. I went as if to go to my gate, and realized that 1) I didn't have a gate assignment and there were no departures screens with them listed and 2) there was no one at the passport control desks to get to the gates anyways. It was early anyways. While I was waiting, I found the document I had to fill out to clear passport control and filled it out. Eventually, a guard opened the sliding door to passport control and started ushering people through. After getting my visa stamped again I went through security screening. Same cocktail of X-ray. Metal detector and pat down. Once in the terminal, I set out unsuccessfully to find my gate. It was a small enough place, So I just sat down somewhere central and waited. About the time my flight was scheduled to board I found an airline representative and asked him where the gate was. He told me not to worry, that that's how things normally happened. He said there'd be an announcement when anything was settled. There was no announcement, but a flurry of activity by one gate made me suspect it was the one. The sign lit up with my flight number. As if by silent predetermined signal, people started to form a line, and, one again without any public address, started to board the plane. There were more security measures at boarding. An airline representative ripped my ticket, but handed me back both halves. A police officer collected my stub at the door to the jet way. Further down, there was a hand search of carry-on luggage and a final pat down before entering the plane. When I got to my seat, the sun was rising outside.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Sat Jan 12
In approaching days in many different ways I've gotten as many different views on Algeria. It really wasn't intentional, I mostly just didn't go on a crazy wandering everyday because it would have been exhausting and anyways, there are so many more things to see. Today I was tired and mostly out of places to go—I just had things to wrap up—and I would normally be embarrassed to admit that I stayed within a block and a half of my hotel, but it ended up working out.
I ate lunch at the sandwich shop across from the university, where I'd been before and experienced mostly low quality meat and disappointing if passable sandwiches. I discovered in Oran (l'épi d'or!) that the Algerian preparation of ground beef is exceptional, so I thought I'd try it out in Algiers too. I ordered their special, which is ground beef (They just call it ground meat, no pork served here!), fried egg, white cheese and fries all thrown together on the grill, then topped with lettuce, tomato, spicy sauce and mayonnaise. It was delicious—perhaps the best taste I've experienced here so far. I was sitting in a park enjoying my sandwich when I discovered the secret of Algerian street crossing. It was kind of a sewing machine moment, where everything became very obvious at once. I was watching traffic and wondering if I’d be able to apply my new found street navigation skills in Lancaster when it occurred to me that the cars were only going about ten or fifteen miles per hour. The perpetual traffic and lack of regulation at intersections ensures that no one gets up any kind of speed, so it's workable to wend your way through a moving intersection. I'll be interested to see if I'm surprised at first at the pace of traffic at home.
I came back to the hotel, and since the maids were still in my room (though not literally, my bed just didn't have any sheets on it), I sat down in the lobby and read. I only got a little ways in my book, though, cause some men came and started working on the elevator, which was much more fascinating. It's one of those elevators where the door's only on the outside, so when you're on the inside, three walls are moving with you and one is sliding by on the side. They send the cabin up, unlocked the door manually and hopped down into the shaft. The door to the service room next to the elevator was open as well, so I poked my head in to look at all the machinery. I hadn't been aware of any mechanical troubles with the elevator, except that it makes a pretty nasty noise when slowing down on the approach to the bottom floor. It could have been routine maintenance. In any case the noise is still there.
I was thinking of how, depending on how you look at it, studying a culture through its music is increasingly worthless. Worldwide, music is more and more and industry than an art. Anywhere I've ever been, there's been Justin Timberlake and Eminem playing, and the locals singing along.
Apparently I'm really running out of steam. I did want to add that there are police Vespas here. It's a nice variation on the motorcycle cop/bike cop/mounted police/segway cop theme. I'd love to see policemen on skateboards, or mopeds or something, though. Maybe next trip.
I ate lunch at the sandwich shop across from the university, where I'd been before and experienced mostly low quality meat and disappointing if passable sandwiches. I discovered in Oran (l'épi d'or!) that the Algerian preparation of ground beef is exceptional, so I thought I'd try it out in Algiers too. I ordered their special, which is ground beef (They just call it ground meat, no pork served here!), fried egg, white cheese and fries all thrown together on the grill, then topped with lettuce, tomato, spicy sauce and mayonnaise. It was delicious—perhaps the best taste I've experienced here so far. I was sitting in a park enjoying my sandwich when I discovered the secret of Algerian street crossing. It was kind of a sewing machine moment, where everything became very obvious at once. I was watching traffic and wondering if I’d be able to apply my new found street navigation skills in Lancaster when it occurred to me that the cars were only going about ten or fifteen miles per hour. The perpetual traffic and lack of regulation at intersections ensures that no one gets up any kind of speed, so it's workable to wend your way through a moving intersection. I'll be interested to see if I'm surprised at first at the pace of traffic at home.
I came back to the hotel, and since the maids were still in my room (though not literally, my bed just didn't have any sheets on it), I sat down in the lobby and read. I only got a little ways in my book, though, cause some men came and started working on the elevator, which was much more fascinating. It's one of those elevators where the door's only on the outside, so when you're on the inside, three walls are moving with you and one is sliding by on the side. They send the cabin up, unlocked the door manually and hopped down into the shaft. The door to the service room next to the elevator was open as well, so I poked my head in to look at all the machinery. I hadn't been aware of any mechanical troubles with the elevator, except that it makes a pretty nasty noise when slowing down on the approach to the bottom floor. It could have been routine maintenance. In any case the noise is still there.
I was thinking of how, depending on how you look at it, studying a culture through its music is increasingly worthless. Worldwide, music is more and more and industry than an art. Anywhere I've ever been, there's been Justin Timberlake and Eminem playing, and the locals singing along.
Apparently I'm really running out of steam. I did want to add that there are police Vespas here. It's a nice variation on the motorcycle cop/bike cop/mounted police/segway cop theme. I'd love to see policemen on skateboards, or mopeds or something, though. Maybe next trip.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Fri Jan 11
Ah. Home sweet Algiers. Today was pretty long, mostly just the train though. I got up and hit the last spots I wanted to see, the cathedral and the park in front of the citadel overlooking the port. Then I went to hit up an internet café, only to discover that everything was closed for Friday. I took a walk through a street market and circled back to the hotel. The receptionist allowed that I might use the computer at the concierge provided that I could get it to work. I had an hour to kill and nothing better to do, so I got to work. After tweaking Microsoft's beak over the pirated copy of windows (register later!), I got to work on the connection. It was a two-layer thing, where they had a cable connection, but only access to the Internet through a ISP from there. After fiddling with settings and much restarting of the router and the computer, everything clicked and the Internet roared to life. It was a beautiful thing. I responded to my e-mail, especially the three from my mother all concerned cause I hadn’t e-mailed her in a couple days. Then I left for the train station.
On the way, I happened by the carcasses of a pigeon and a rat sitting in a pile of rubble near a streetlight. Of course, 'dead rat in Oran' sets off all kinds of literary alarm bells, so I took some pictures. I arrived at the train station at the same time as the army woman and her son pulled up in a cab, at which point all of my suspicions about traveling alone being more efficient were confirmed. We took long enough getting their ticket situation sorted out that there weren't three spots together on the train when we got there, so I found a place to myself in another car. Every once in a while, the kid would come back and visit me, but he spoke very little French, so our conversations were pretty funny. His hands were dark from henna, so I asked him why they were dyed. He understood the question, but had no idea how to answer it. I also established that he likes pizza more than couscous.
Every once in a while he'd start speaking in Arabic and I'd have to remind him that I still didn't understand (That is, I hadn't picked it up since the last time he tried). He was consistently disappointed. Once time I responded in colloquial English. I think he got the idea. I didn't have anything amusing in my bag (not even a deck of cards), so I wanly tried to interest him in a game of rock paper scissors. He didn't take me up on it and eventually went back to his seat. When we got to Algiers, I got off the train quickly and waited for them. They had to wait for a taxi, so I ended up walking to the hotel.
And now, like I say, I'm back! Same room and all. I was very excited to see that my yogurt was still in the fridge (and I wondered whether it was intentional or an oversight). The guy at the front desk asked me if I felt the earthquake, and I sad 'no, what earthquake?'. Apparently there was one in Oran the night I arrived there. Nothing major, just 4.8. Funny though that I was there and awake and didn't even notice it. I'll chalk it up to growing up near a quarry (or something?).
I'm mostly in endgame mode right now, thinking of packing and timing and taxis and connecting flights and last things I want to buy and how much money I have left and how to spend it quickly enough so there's none left but slowly enough that it lasts and yeah. I'm at the point of the trip where I can be pretty sure I've survived it, so it's a sort of victory lap. 300 pictures and 10 000 words later I'm ready to take it home.
On the way, I happened by the carcasses of a pigeon and a rat sitting in a pile of rubble near a streetlight. Of course, 'dead rat in Oran' sets off all kinds of literary alarm bells, so I took some pictures. I arrived at the train station at the same time as the army woman and her son pulled up in a cab, at which point all of my suspicions about traveling alone being more efficient were confirmed. We took long enough getting their ticket situation sorted out that there weren't three spots together on the train when we got there, so I found a place to myself in another car. Every once in a while, the kid would come back and visit me, but he spoke very little French, so our conversations were pretty funny. His hands were dark from henna, so I asked him why they were dyed. He understood the question, but had no idea how to answer it. I also established that he likes pizza more than couscous.
Every once in a while he'd start speaking in Arabic and I'd have to remind him that I still didn't understand (That is, I hadn't picked it up since the last time he tried). He was consistently disappointed. Once time I responded in colloquial English. I think he got the idea. I didn't have anything amusing in my bag (not even a deck of cards), so I wanly tried to interest him in a game of rock paper scissors. He didn't take me up on it and eventually went back to his seat. When we got to Algiers, I got off the train quickly and waited for them. They had to wait for a taxi, so I ended up walking to the hotel.
And now, like I say, I'm back! Same room and all. I was very excited to see that my yogurt was still in the fridge (and I wondered whether it was intentional or an oversight). The guy at the front desk asked me if I felt the earthquake, and I sad 'no, what earthquake?'. Apparently there was one in Oran the night I arrived there. Nothing major, just 4.8. Funny though that I was there and awake and didn't even notice it. I'll chalk it up to growing up near a quarry (or something?).
I'm mostly in endgame mode right now, thinking of packing and timing and taxis and connecting flights and last things I want to buy and how much money I have left and how to spend it quickly enough so there's none left but slowly enough that it lasts and yeah. I'm at the point of the trip where I can be pretty sure I've survived it, so it's a sort of victory lap. 300 pictures and 10 000 words later I'm ready to take it home.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Thurs Jan 10
I woke up this morning feeling funny and very nervously checked the time. It was ten to eight. I was safe. Inspired by my impressions from the night before, I decided to go for a run. I went down a ramp to the waterfront and went along. It was quick, 20 minutes out, 20 back. It felt really good to be out with, but the hills were steep and I haven't run for a while, so it was good a stopped when I did. My throat wasn't happy with the exertion. Too much crowding of lymph nodes and phlegm and air rushing up and down. In retrospect though I feel a little better now. Maybe running helped clear things out. By the time I got back, breakfast was done here, so I went right out. Since this hotel only takes cash, I had to go get more at the bank. Knowing more or less what I was doing this time, it didn't take very long. There was a crowd at the bank, but no babies got punched. I just muscled my way through and held my position. Apparently I looked mean enough that no one tried to sneak in front of me.
From more reliable sources this time, I had an address for Camus in Oran as well. I checked it out, and it was a pretty nondescript apartment building on a semi-main street. I took some pictures for posterity. I got a pain au chocolat and a bottle of water for breakfast and headed back towards the main square. I looked around, and my guidebook said that the town hall was open, so I went in to check things out. I was initially stopped by some guards, but then I talked to them for a little while and one ended up giving me a tour. At the top of the marble staircase, we could hear the mayor in a meeting with some councilmen. It was a pretty cool open building. There were even some pigeons inside, which contributed to the atmosphere, but upon further consideration is pretty nasty. There was a scale model of the center of town, so I asked the guard some questions. I found out the sky-tram to the top of the mountain had recently reopened, so I decided to go there next. It was a little bit of an adventure to get to the tram, going through non-orthogonal streets and up broken stairs through the shibby side of town. There was a one eyed cat perched on a throne of garbage. Generally, the cats here are sicker looking than in Algiers.
On the way up the mountain, I saw some packs of dogs running without owners. They might have just been herding and I couldn't see, but still, packs of dogs! I explored the top of the mountain, walked down and back up to another peak where there was an old fort (sadly under renovation) and some sort of Christian installation. It was a little square surrounded by arcades, with a tower on one end topped with a statue, and on the other side a dome with a cross on top. The view of the city was impressive, though since it was hazy I'm sure the pictures aren't anything special.
The misuse of English is as funny in Algeria as anywhere. There are many variations on the theme. There is the direct bootleg with small grammatical mistake or spelling error. For example, a jacket with a crudely rendered Lowe's logo that read 'Love's'. There's the unfortunate random English text, like the sweatshirt with a stylized lion and the text 'congenital defect sport gear' in script below. Then there's the English in an effort to look high class, which inevitable fails since, when a hotel advertises 'modern conforts/runing water/baths, douches', it's more likely to inspire laughter and inner cringing than respect. I appreciate how, in all cases, unintentional meaning is added. Lastly, in overheard conversation, I often hear 'oh my god!' as a throwaway exclamation. It's not exactly misused, but pretty funny in the context of a conversation that otherwise stretches out in Arabic in either direction.
After dropping by the hotel, I went in search of food. I stopped at 'l'épi d'or' (the golden ear!) and ate a sandwich and slice of pizza, which set me back 125DA. Near the main square I'd seen a sign for a supermarket, and being as I have yet to see a supermarket in Algeria yet (it's like the ultimate anti-wal-mart country [or an example of where we'd be without wal-mart…]), I went to check it out. It was a European style supermarket. Five floors, only one of food, then clothes, housewares, paper products, &c. I bought a booby prize gift for Thomas and some other things so that the guards (yes, there too!) wouldn't give me trouble for trying to walk out without going through checkout. I walked down a side street to try and get a good view of the citadel, but the route ended up dead ending, leaving me in a crowd of cats. There was a nice view of perhaps the biggest construction in town, a structurally complete poured concrete building that towers over the seafront, but is in absolutely no other way complete. I considered sneaking through the gate and climbing the stairs for a view, but decided that I wasn't really in the mood to die or get arrested.
Here's the thing. Oran smells bad. Not just like 'Oh, that's cute. We're not in America.' bad smelling either. It'd distinctly stronger than Algiers, Shanghai, anywhere. I was hit in the face with the smell the first I went out this morning. It was like none of the cars had air filters and all of them were burning diesel. I thought it might get better once I got out of the city, but then it was just heavier vehicles and suffocating. The strange thing is that the smell is apparently thicker than not, cause it was still there even when there were no cars directly around. As I was walking through the shibby side of town, the car smell was trumped by the smell of garbage and rotting biomass. On top of the mountain the air was fresh. I drank it in. Once back in the soup, at some point I started smelling something distinctly fecal. I got back to my hotel room and the smell was still there. I guess it doesn't help when you step in it.
I ran out of the bottled water that I brought from Algiers today. There's no alimentation right by my hotel, so, feeling rebellious, I just filled by old bottles up at the tap. I'm a little skeptical of clean water issues in cities with modern plumbing, and I certainly survived my bout with a liter of tap water in Hangzhou. I figure worst case I'll end up with an intestinal parasite and best case I'll end up with more diverse bacterial culture in my bowels. For the moment, it's just convenient.
Once again, I'm so deep into the strangeness of being here that I almost forget to mention some priceless moments. At l'épi d'or there was a tv playing a german cop show or movie dubbed in French, starring a german shepherd whose Lassie-like instincts saved the day in wacky and unexpected ways (Come on! What novelty! A dog! Who fights crime!). Later, there was an Arabic language soap opera with much wailing and dramatic glaring. I had no idea what was going on, but bad acting knows no language barrier. Someone changed the channel again to a Spanish league soccer game. It was in the 85th minute and Seville was up 3-0, so nothing exciting. I haven't been watching TV in my room, but I figure that that was as good a sampling as any. Bonus question: how many TV stations are there in France, thus, via satellite, in Algeria? (I'll give you a hint: Six!)
Also in l'épi d'or, at one point a pair on men came in, both bald but one about a foot taller than the other. They were wearing matching striped sweaters. My only other adventure from last night was checking out the French cultural association, since I'd read they show movies there on Thursday night. The film was "Le Père Noël Est un Ordure" (Santa Claus is Garbage), which sounded interesting enough. It had started a couple hours before I arrived, though, so no dice.
When I got back to the hotel, I consulted the guy at the desk about the train schedules and he didn't really know. Just then, a woman came up and asked to get a cab to catch the 3:30 train, which answered my question. She asked if I wanted to share a cab, and I said I'd rather walk. I was surprised at how threatened I felt by having someone try and put something in my schedule. Operating on my own time is one of the advantages of traveling alone, and the last thing I wanted was the responsibility of being somewhere at a certain time that might not be convenient. I had a bit of trouble explaining, but generally got the point across (ma reponse: "euh…non"). In the morning, I ran into her at breakfast and we talked a little bit. She's with the army, working for the equivalent of the FBI. We agreed to make our own ways to the train station, but she insisted on dropping me off at my hotel in Algiers. I'm looking forward to asking her about some of the subtle cultural points I've noticed. It might make for an interesting train ride.
From more reliable sources this time, I had an address for Camus in Oran as well. I checked it out, and it was a pretty nondescript apartment building on a semi-main street. I took some pictures for posterity. I got a pain au chocolat and a bottle of water for breakfast and headed back towards the main square. I looked around, and my guidebook said that the town hall was open, so I went in to check things out. I was initially stopped by some guards, but then I talked to them for a little while and one ended up giving me a tour. At the top of the marble staircase, we could hear the mayor in a meeting with some councilmen. It was a pretty cool open building. There were even some pigeons inside, which contributed to the atmosphere, but upon further consideration is pretty nasty. There was a scale model of the center of town, so I asked the guard some questions. I found out the sky-tram to the top of the mountain had recently reopened, so I decided to go there next. It was a little bit of an adventure to get to the tram, going through non-orthogonal streets and up broken stairs through the shibby side of town. There was a one eyed cat perched on a throne of garbage. Generally, the cats here are sicker looking than in Algiers.
On the way up the mountain, I saw some packs of dogs running without owners. They might have just been herding and I couldn't see, but still, packs of dogs! I explored the top of the mountain, walked down and back up to another peak where there was an old fort (sadly under renovation) and some sort of Christian installation. It was a little square surrounded by arcades, with a tower on one end topped with a statue, and on the other side a dome with a cross on top. The view of the city was impressive, though since it was hazy I'm sure the pictures aren't anything special.
The misuse of English is as funny in Algeria as anywhere. There are many variations on the theme. There is the direct bootleg with small grammatical mistake or spelling error. For example, a jacket with a crudely rendered Lowe's logo that read 'Love's'. There's the unfortunate random English text, like the sweatshirt with a stylized lion and the text 'congenital defect sport gear' in script below. Then there's the English in an effort to look high class, which inevitable fails since, when a hotel advertises 'modern conforts/runing water/baths, douches', it's more likely to inspire laughter and inner cringing than respect. I appreciate how, in all cases, unintentional meaning is added. Lastly, in overheard conversation, I often hear 'oh my god!' as a throwaway exclamation. It's not exactly misused, but pretty funny in the context of a conversation that otherwise stretches out in Arabic in either direction.
After dropping by the hotel, I went in search of food. I stopped at 'l'épi d'or' (the golden ear!) and ate a sandwich and slice of pizza, which set me back 125DA. Near the main square I'd seen a sign for a supermarket, and being as I have yet to see a supermarket in Algeria yet (it's like the ultimate anti-wal-mart country [or an example of where we'd be without wal-mart…]), I went to check it out. It was a European style supermarket. Five floors, only one of food, then clothes, housewares, paper products, &c. I bought a booby prize gift for Thomas and some other things so that the guards (yes, there too!) wouldn't give me trouble for trying to walk out without going through checkout. I walked down a side street to try and get a good view of the citadel, but the route ended up dead ending, leaving me in a crowd of cats. There was a nice view of perhaps the biggest construction in town, a structurally complete poured concrete building that towers over the seafront, but is in absolutely no other way complete. I considered sneaking through the gate and climbing the stairs for a view, but decided that I wasn't really in the mood to die or get arrested.
Here's the thing. Oran smells bad. Not just like 'Oh, that's cute. We're not in America.' bad smelling either. It'd distinctly stronger than Algiers, Shanghai, anywhere. I was hit in the face with the smell the first I went out this morning. It was like none of the cars had air filters and all of them were burning diesel. I thought it might get better once I got out of the city, but then it was just heavier vehicles and suffocating. The strange thing is that the smell is apparently thicker than not, cause it was still there even when there were no cars directly around. As I was walking through the shibby side of town, the car smell was trumped by the smell of garbage and rotting biomass. On top of the mountain the air was fresh. I drank it in. Once back in the soup, at some point I started smelling something distinctly fecal. I got back to my hotel room and the smell was still there. I guess it doesn't help when you step in it.
I ran out of the bottled water that I brought from Algiers today. There's no alimentation right by my hotel, so, feeling rebellious, I just filled by old bottles up at the tap. I'm a little skeptical of clean water issues in cities with modern plumbing, and I certainly survived my bout with a liter of tap water in Hangzhou. I figure worst case I'll end up with an intestinal parasite and best case I'll end up with more diverse bacterial culture in my bowels. For the moment, it's just convenient.
Once again, I'm so deep into the strangeness of being here that I almost forget to mention some priceless moments. At l'épi d'or there was a tv playing a german cop show or movie dubbed in French, starring a german shepherd whose Lassie-like instincts saved the day in wacky and unexpected ways (Come on! What novelty! A dog! Who fights crime!). Later, there was an Arabic language soap opera with much wailing and dramatic glaring. I had no idea what was going on, but bad acting knows no language barrier. Someone changed the channel again to a Spanish league soccer game. It was in the 85th minute and Seville was up 3-0, so nothing exciting. I haven't been watching TV in my room, but I figure that that was as good a sampling as any. Bonus question: how many TV stations are there in France, thus, via satellite, in Algeria? (I'll give you a hint: Six!)
Also in l'épi d'or, at one point a pair on men came in, both bald but one about a foot taller than the other. They were wearing matching striped sweaters. My only other adventure from last night was checking out the French cultural association, since I'd read they show movies there on Thursday night. The film was "Le Père Noël Est un Ordure" (Santa Claus is Garbage), which sounded interesting enough. It had started a couple hours before I arrived, though, so no dice.
When I got back to the hotel, I consulted the guy at the desk about the train schedules and he didn't really know. Just then, a woman came up and asked to get a cab to catch the 3:30 train, which answered my question. She asked if I wanted to share a cab, and I said I'd rather walk. I was surprised at how threatened I felt by having someone try and put something in my schedule. Operating on my own time is one of the advantages of traveling alone, and the last thing I wanted was the responsibility of being somewhere at a certain time that might not be convenient. I had a bit of trouble explaining, but generally got the point across (ma reponse: "euh…non"). In the morning, I ran into her at breakfast and we talked a little bit. She's with the army, working for the equivalent of the FBI. We agreed to make our own ways to the train station, but she insisted on dropping me off at my hotel in Algiers. I'm looking forward to asking her about some of the subtle cultural points I've noticed. It might make for an interesting train ride.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Wed Jan 9
Hooray for Oran! I've been here for an hour and have nothing but great things to say about it. But first, the rest of today.
One thing that I've been neglecting to mention is the inconstant street signage. I have kind of mentioned getting lost and/or wandering around a lot, so maybe it's been implicit. Anyways, in Algiers, the signage is few and far between. There might be a plaque with the name of the road once every couple blocks and it's only sometimes in non-arabic characters. Most buildings aren't numbered, with the exception of offices like lawyers, who have the who French style 'agréé par la cour supreme' plaque going on. Maybe in an effort to help orient people, the numbers are occasionally spray painted on the side of buildings. This all comes to relevance since I was searching for the apartment where Camus grew up today. According to sources, he lived at 93 rue de Lyon in Belcourt. Easy enough, except both the district and the street have changed names. I figured out, both from historical sources and wandering around, that Belcourt was roughly where Mohamed Belouizdad is now. One of the guys at the hotel said that rue Hassiba ben Bouali was the old rue de Lyon, and it checks out. It's one of the main streets down near the port. So, now we're looking for rue Hassiba ben Bouali in Mohamed Belouizdad. Say that three times fast. With the blind hope that maybe the numbers are still the same, I went down to see what I could find. The whole 90 block on the odd side was warehouses, so either the building's no longer there or the numbers have changed. Curiously (but, in the final analysis, like many streets in Algiers) the block was lined with ficus trees, which fits with what Meursault describes in his view from the balcony of the same building. Either way, I took some pictures.
Here's another curious fact. I don't think I've seen a single traffic light in the capital. Major four way intersections are manned by cops at rush hour and otherwise it's a free-for-all. To be fair, there are a good number of traffic circles. To be realistic, there are a fair share of regular old four ways and not so much as a yield sign to drivers.
I kept almost getting hit by cars, which made me all the more happy to be leaving for a smaller city. I ate lunch and killed some time before my train.
The train was pretty much as expected, but I thought it was funny that first class means individual seating, while second class is just benches (like restaurant booths). The scenery was similar to the other side of the Mediterranean, but greener. Provence is really desertlike at times, but here there was pretty abundant growth all over. There were some scrubby bits, but even those had more lively greenness than their northern equivalents. There were stands to trees lining the roads and fields. The train ran over swollen rivers and around mountain curves. There were plenty of people out and about in the areas the train passed, working, standing around, walking somewhere. One time a kid reared back and hurled a rock at the train. It hit the window a foot behind my head and left a pretty good divot. He couldn't have been aiming at me, but still startling. At a later stop, younger kids were throwing pebbles. Maybe it's a thing (?). We passed an apartment complex with a giant portrait of president Bouteflika hanging on the side. It made me think of the eight-story LeBron ad in Cleveland.
Once I cleared the train station in Oran and took a look around, I was surprised to see that the city was exactly what I expected. Provincial, the way Tours is to Paris, and brown shutters to the Algiers blue. Apparently Camus did a great job of describing the city in La Peste, cause he really captured the square tops to buildings and more generally the background noise, the atmosphere. Now I'm excited to see it by day.
I didn’t feel like pulling out my map (and there were no street signs anyways), so I just headed in what I thought was the general direction of the hotel. Like I hoped, I ended up hitting the main street and just followed it down to here. I filled out some information and got myself a room, no extra charge for the conversation about how passports are issued differently here and in the US. This hotel is pleasantly more modern feeling than the Albert 1. The room is smaller, but the window is doubled so there's less sound (which I didn’t mention, but was a factor in Algiers). Still no Gideon bible. Also, for some reason, neither room has had a clock.
I went down for dinner, and it was easily the most excellent meal I've had in Algeria. Also, by three times, the most expensive. I splurged on a $13 fish medley. It was calamari and two different smaller fish, served whole. One of them was cooked in a circle, with the tail in the mouth. I drank Stella and was so happy with it that I contemplated what it would be like to have a daughter named Stella. Dessert was ice cream. I was one of three people in the restaurant besides the wait staff, which can sometimes make for overbearing service, but they timed it well. The maître d'hôtel served me mostly. He was wearing a Pepsi watch. It's a little funny to be eating in a new place alone, since I usually take cues for how to do it from other, more experienced eaters, nearby. I've kind of just gone for it. Nothing disastrous so far.
when i'm walking the streets i try not to call attention to myself by smiling ridiculously for no apparent reason. unfortunately i constantly have the impulse to, since when i'm walking alone i like to tell myself jokes, which are always all the funnier since they're private. my method for containment is to say to myself 'very serious' in a very serious (but not really) way. it's like 'vrr srrs' qnd accompanied by an imagined very serious look. it's surprisingly effective, something i'll keep in mind if i ever decide to go on the professional poker circuit. on the other hand, to inject some levity into any situation, i say 'trés serieux' in a wobbly voice.
these are the secrets of my mind.
Now I'm trying out my new bed, which is distinctly harder than the one at Albert 1. It's got a sea wave patterned blanket instead of tigers.
One thing that I've been neglecting to mention is the inconstant street signage. I have kind of mentioned getting lost and/or wandering around a lot, so maybe it's been implicit. Anyways, in Algiers, the signage is few and far between. There might be a plaque with the name of the road once every couple blocks and it's only sometimes in non-arabic characters. Most buildings aren't numbered, with the exception of offices like lawyers, who have the who French style 'agréé par la cour supreme' plaque going on. Maybe in an effort to help orient people, the numbers are occasionally spray painted on the side of buildings. This all comes to relevance since I was searching for the apartment where Camus grew up today. According to sources, he lived at 93 rue de Lyon in Belcourt. Easy enough, except both the district and the street have changed names. I figured out, both from historical sources and wandering around, that Belcourt was roughly where Mohamed Belouizdad is now. One of the guys at the hotel said that rue Hassiba ben Bouali was the old rue de Lyon, and it checks out. It's one of the main streets down near the port. So, now we're looking for rue Hassiba ben Bouali in Mohamed Belouizdad. Say that three times fast. With the blind hope that maybe the numbers are still the same, I went down to see what I could find. The whole 90 block on the odd side was warehouses, so either the building's no longer there or the numbers have changed. Curiously (but, in the final analysis, like many streets in Algiers) the block was lined with ficus trees, which fits with what Meursault describes in his view from the balcony of the same building. Either way, I took some pictures.
Here's another curious fact. I don't think I've seen a single traffic light in the capital. Major four way intersections are manned by cops at rush hour and otherwise it's a free-for-all. To be fair, there are a good number of traffic circles. To be realistic, there are a fair share of regular old four ways and not so much as a yield sign to drivers.
I kept almost getting hit by cars, which made me all the more happy to be leaving for a smaller city. I ate lunch and killed some time before my train.
The train was pretty much as expected, but I thought it was funny that first class means individual seating, while second class is just benches (like restaurant booths). The scenery was similar to the other side of the Mediterranean, but greener. Provence is really desertlike at times, but here there was pretty abundant growth all over. There were some scrubby bits, but even those had more lively greenness than their northern equivalents. There were stands to trees lining the roads and fields. The train ran over swollen rivers and around mountain curves. There were plenty of people out and about in the areas the train passed, working, standing around, walking somewhere. One time a kid reared back and hurled a rock at the train. It hit the window a foot behind my head and left a pretty good divot. He couldn't have been aiming at me, but still startling. At a later stop, younger kids were throwing pebbles. Maybe it's a thing (?). We passed an apartment complex with a giant portrait of president Bouteflika hanging on the side. It made me think of the eight-story LeBron ad in Cleveland.
Once I cleared the train station in Oran and took a look around, I was surprised to see that the city was exactly what I expected. Provincial, the way Tours is to Paris, and brown shutters to the Algiers blue. Apparently Camus did a great job of describing the city in La Peste, cause he really captured the square tops to buildings and more generally the background noise, the atmosphere. Now I'm excited to see it by day.
I didn’t feel like pulling out my map (and there were no street signs anyways), so I just headed in what I thought was the general direction of the hotel. Like I hoped, I ended up hitting the main street and just followed it down to here. I filled out some information and got myself a room, no extra charge for the conversation about how passports are issued differently here and in the US. This hotel is pleasantly more modern feeling than the Albert 1. The room is smaller, but the window is doubled so there's less sound (which I didn’t mention, but was a factor in Algiers). Still no Gideon bible. Also, for some reason, neither room has had a clock.
I went down for dinner, and it was easily the most excellent meal I've had in Algeria. Also, by three times, the most expensive. I splurged on a $13 fish medley. It was calamari and two different smaller fish, served whole. One of them was cooked in a circle, with the tail in the mouth. I drank Stella and was so happy with it that I contemplated what it would be like to have a daughter named Stella. Dessert was ice cream. I was one of three people in the restaurant besides the wait staff, which can sometimes make for overbearing service, but they timed it well. The maître d'hôtel served me mostly. He was wearing a Pepsi watch. It's a little funny to be eating in a new place alone, since I usually take cues for how to do it from other, more experienced eaters, nearby. I've kind of just gone for it. Nothing disastrous so far.
when i'm walking the streets i try not to call attention to myself by smiling ridiculously for no apparent reason. unfortunately i constantly have the impulse to, since when i'm walking alone i like to tell myself jokes, which are always all the funnier since they're private. my method for containment is to say to myself 'very serious' in a very serious (but not really) way. it's like 'vrr srrs' qnd accompanied by an imagined very serious look. it's surprisingly effective, something i'll keep in mind if i ever decide to go on the professional poker circuit. on the other hand, to inject some levity into any situation, i say 'trés serieux' in a wobbly voice.
these are the secrets of my mind.
Now I'm trying out my new bed, which is distinctly harder than the one at Albert 1. It's got a sea wave patterned blanket instead of tigers.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Tues Jan 8
I don't have a whole lot of new cultural perceptions to relate today. I put in a little downtime and got ready for going to Oran tomorrow, took a nap in the afternoon, &c. It's just about the halfway point of this trip, so as good a time as any to regroup.
This morning after breakfast, I wrote all of my postcards, then killed two birds with one stone by sending them and touring the grande poste all at once. From there, I headed generally in the direction of the basilica notre dame d'afrique, but I didn’t have extremely high hopes since it's far enough away not to be mentioned on any of my maps and the guy at the hotel kept telling me about different things and mumbling 'you should take a taxi,' so I just shot from the hip. I walked out to Bab El-Oued and started climbing the mountain. I was talking about wanting to spend more time outside of Algiers, and this really did the trick. Once I was into the hills, the streets were less crowded and the air felt noticeable clearer, but I think it was probably just an effect of not being between buildings and people and piles of rotting garbage and cars. Not that the road up the mountain lacked its fair share of rotting garbage. I took the road, then cut through on some stairs, then took the road some more and then I saw an old man picking his way up a path through the underbrush. I followed and ended up at the summit (the road went there too, just not as directly). It was a great view on the harbor and the back side of el-aurassi. I realized how far I was from my hotel when I saw that I'd come around the promontory of Algiers at sea level and gone up another mountain altogether. From the top I could see notre dame d'afrique, so I headed back down the road. On the way down, a lot of the houses on the mountain were ready to grow. Almost all of them had a skeleton extra story, with empty window holes and no roof. I guess when you want to add on, there's no need to add a roof, just put a ceiling on the next level and put up some new walls. There was an organic/industrial feel to the place. Not too many people sitting around, and a lot of people working on the houses. On one otherwise empty stretch of street there was a fat little kid blowing on a harmonica. Later, another kid was doing some work on a house with some men. He'd pick up a hammer, throw it against the wall from a couple feet out, walk up, pick up the hammer and do it again.
When I got to the church it was closed. I didn't really mind, cause the goal was just to get there. Given the path I took, I don’t blame the guy at the hotel for not wanting to describe the way to me either. I came back down the mountain very tired. I stopped by the hotel and ate some things, then made arrangements for my two-night absence. They're letting me leave my big suitcase here. I'll just bring my backpack. I checked the train station, which was a good thing since it wasn't where I thought it was, and bought my ticket for tomorrow. I don't have a hotel in Oran yet, but that's mostly how I roll anyways.
I forgot to mention, the Berber security guy at Tipasa told me about a joke he made. He said before the French elections a French couple came by and were asking about some pottery for sale by the entrance. The woman asked what one was for and he said 'couscous royale." The man, a supporter of Sarkozy, asked if there was anything for him. He assented and pointed to the cemetery "les sarkophages." I thought it was pretty good.
Another random note: there are very few blacks here. I've only seen four or five that I've noticed. It's not that interesting of a thing to mention, other than that, as a city, Algiers seems really un-diverse up to Arabs and Berbers. Also, it helps me make the point that you can't be politically correct and call people with dark skin 'African' or 'African-American,' cause everyone here's African and Dave Matthews is an African American. And thus ends my moment of moral superiority.
Anyways, I'm off to Quick for dinner. I'm actually really excited slash nervous for this, cause it's the Algerian version of a French fast food, which in itself is a McDonald's pastiche. McDonalds is an interesting low quality experience of its own, and Quick in France is a pretty weak imitation (for that matter, McDonald's in France is a pretty weak imitation). Also, I've had an Algerian cheeseburger, and it was served on a pita with fries inside and shredded cheese. I guess we'll see. Could be like Chinese KFC, which was a decided improvement on the original. I'm not counting on it, though (French KFC was bizarre at best, anyways).
My report: the food was mostly unexceptional. The cheeseburger was sub par beef (or overcooked or something), with white cheese, ketchup, mustard (maybe?) and onion bits. The bun was slightly different from what one would find stateside but tasted pretty much the same. The fries were fine, served of course with ketchup and mayonnaise on the side, which I like, and the coke tasted like coke. The atmosphere was funny in the way that people were acting much like one would in a McDonalds in America, but it wasn't America. A woman scolded one of her children for taking two balloons, kids were excited to see what toy was in their 'magic box'. At one point a girl working there came up to me and asked if I was a student (she was handing out a special student card). I said yes, she asked where, I told her, she was surprised slash amused and didn't give me the card. In an unusual turn, everyone in there was speaking French.
This isn't something I noticed at Quick, but generally, the Algerian concept of waiting in a line is ridiculous. Even in very official settings (banks, post office), there's no queue, and people pretty much just crowd around the desk until someone pays attention to them. If someone's going through a complicated operation at the bank, you can go up to that teller and they'll start serving you too at the same time. I've never been in a crowd trying to do that, though I'm sure it would be very interesting, as long as it's not important. For example, I think I'll start punching babies if my flight out of here gets cancelled and I have to deal with that kind of line at customer service.
Also in the same vein, an Algerian woman cut the line at security in the airport in Paris, saying she was late and that someone told her to do it. She kept saying, 'It's not my fault, they told me to do it'. She was clearly lying, since I was on her flight and it wasn't boarding for another hour. Also, it was a pretty futile gesture, since the plane wasn't getting there any faster either way. That kind of shortsighted rudeness and trickery (She cut in front of a couple with three kids who were kind of in a hurry to board their flight to Budapest) tends to excite my baby punching impulse as well. I'm just hoping it doesn't come down to that.
In Quick I saw a man with his tie tied basically sideways, with a distended knot and the skinny end hanging down next to the fat end, which was at and angle outside of his jacket. Either he didn't notice or he didn't care. Yesterday, here at the hotel, one of the clerks had his tie tied ridiculously short. In a pretty weak showing, he'd tucked the long, skinny end into his waistband. At the bank, the director didn't have a tie on when I came in, so he quickly reached into his drawer and put one on. It was pre-tied, all he did was loosen it, put it on his neck and retighten it. It wasn't straight but not a terrible result all in all. These are just a few examples of unusual neckwear decisions. I'd say at least half of all ties I see here are noticeably mistied in one form or another. I'm kinda curious about the phenomenon. Is that the equivalent of leaving your shirt untucked—a little messy but often acceptable, even a sign of relaxation? I have no idea. I have trouble believing that that many people can't tell the difference or are too rushed to do anything about it. Maybe if that clerk is here tomorrow morning I'll ask him.
Something cool that's happened is that I've ceased to feel different from the people here. The first couple of days when I was walking around, I was constantly aware of being different from everyone else (and it's not even like in China, where everyone just stares at you). I was clearly just being self conscious, because for the most part, everyone takes me in stride. I sometimes wonder how obvious it is I'm foreign. Probably more so because of what I'm wearing than my face, but maybe not so much there either. As long as I keep my mouth shut and don't take pictures I'm pretty anonymous. Even when I'm talking, I have no idea what they make of my accent. No one's called me out on it directly, and everyone here speaks accented French in the first place. The dead giveaway that I'm not from here is that I don't speak Arabic, but nothing in that says I'm not Dutch or German or Swiss or something. Even at that, no one who I've told I'm American has seemed put off by it.
Here's the million-dollar question: which city has more Algerian beggars. Algiers or Paris?
This morning after breakfast, I wrote all of my postcards, then killed two birds with one stone by sending them and touring the grande poste all at once. From there, I headed generally in the direction of the basilica notre dame d'afrique, but I didn’t have extremely high hopes since it's far enough away not to be mentioned on any of my maps and the guy at the hotel kept telling me about different things and mumbling 'you should take a taxi,' so I just shot from the hip. I walked out to Bab El-Oued and started climbing the mountain. I was talking about wanting to spend more time outside of Algiers, and this really did the trick. Once I was into the hills, the streets were less crowded and the air felt noticeable clearer, but I think it was probably just an effect of not being between buildings and people and piles of rotting garbage and cars. Not that the road up the mountain lacked its fair share of rotting garbage. I took the road, then cut through on some stairs, then took the road some more and then I saw an old man picking his way up a path through the underbrush. I followed and ended up at the summit (the road went there too, just not as directly). It was a great view on the harbor and the back side of el-aurassi. I realized how far I was from my hotel when I saw that I'd come around the promontory of Algiers at sea level and gone up another mountain altogether. From the top I could see notre dame d'afrique, so I headed back down the road. On the way down, a lot of the houses on the mountain were ready to grow. Almost all of them had a skeleton extra story, with empty window holes and no roof. I guess when you want to add on, there's no need to add a roof, just put a ceiling on the next level and put up some new walls. There was an organic/industrial feel to the place. Not too many people sitting around, and a lot of people working on the houses. On one otherwise empty stretch of street there was a fat little kid blowing on a harmonica. Later, another kid was doing some work on a house with some men. He'd pick up a hammer, throw it against the wall from a couple feet out, walk up, pick up the hammer and do it again.
When I got to the church it was closed. I didn't really mind, cause the goal was just to get there. Given the path I took, I don’t blame the guy at the hotel for not wanting to describe the way to me either. I came back down the mountain very tired. I stopped by the hotel and ate some things, then made arrangements for my two-night absence. They're letting me leave my big suitcase here. I'll just bring my backpack. I checked the train station, which was a good thing since it wasn't where I thought it was, and bought my ticket for tomorrow. I don't have a hotel in Oran yet, but that's mostly how I roll anyways.
I forgot to mention, the Berber security guy at Tipasa told me about a joke he made. He said before the French elections a French couple came by and were asking about some pottery for sale by the entrance. The woman asked what one was for and he said 'couscous royale." The man, a supporter of Sarkozy, asked if there was anything for him. He assented and pointed to the cemetery "les sarkophages." I thought it was pretty good.
Another random note: there are very few blacks here. I've only seen four or five that I've noticed. It's not that interesting of a thing to mention, other than that, as a city, Algiers seems really un-diverse up to Arabs and Berbers. Also, it helps me make the point that you can't be politically correct and call people with dark skin 'African' or 'African-American,' cause everyone here's African and Dave Matthews is an African American. And thus ends my moment of moral superiority.
Anyways, I'm off to Quick for dinner. I'm actually really excited slash nervous for this, cause it's the Algerian version of a French fast food, which in itself is a McDonald's pastiche. McDonalds is an interesting low quality experience of its own, and Quick in France is a pretty weak imitation (for that matter, McDonald's in France is a pretty weak imitation). Also, I've had an Algerian cheeseburger, and it was served on a pita with fries inside and shredded cheese. I guess we'll see. Could be like Chinese KFC, which was a decided improvement on the original. I'm not counting on it, though (French KFC was bizarre at best, anyways).
My report: the food was mostly unexceptional. The cheeseburger was sub par beef (or overcooked or something), with white cheese, ketchup, mustard (maybe?) and onion bits. The bun was slightly different from what one would find stateside but tasted pretty much the same. The fries were fine, served of course with ketchup and mayonnaise on the side, which I like, and the coke tasted like coke. The atmosphere was funny in the way that people were acting much like one would in a McDonalds in America, but it wasn't America. A woman scolded one of her children for taking two balloons, kids were excited to see what toy was in their 'magic box'. At one point a girl working there came up to me and asked if I was a student (she was handing out a special student card). I said yes, she asked where, I told her, she was surprised slash amused and didn't give me the card. In an unusual turn, everyone in there was speaking French.
This isn't something I noticed at Quick, but generally, the Algerian concept of waiting in a line is ridiculous. Even in very official settings (banks, post office), there's no queue, and people pretty much just crowd around the desk until someone pays attention to them. If someone's going through a complicated operation at the bank, you can go up to that teller and they'll start serving you too at the same time. I've never been in a crowd trying to do that, though I'm sure it would be very interesting, as long as it's not important. For example, I think I'll start punching babies if my flight out of here gets cancelled and I have to deal with that kind of line at customer service.
Also in the same vein, an Algerian woman cut the line at security in the airport in Paris, saying she was late and that someone told her to do it. She kept saying, 'It's not my fault, they told me to do it'. She was clearly lying, since I was on her flight and it wasn't boarding for another hour. Also, it was a pretty futile gesture, since the plane wasn't getting there any faster either way. That kind of shortsighted rudeness and trickery (She cut in front of a couple with three kids who were kind of in a hurry to board their flight to Budapest) tends to excite my baby punching impulse as well. I'm just hoping it doesn't come down to that.
In Quick I saw a man with his tie tied basically sideways, with a distended knot and the skinny end hanging down next to the fat end, which was at and angle outside of his jacket. Either he didn't notice or he didn't care. Yesterday, here at the hotel, one of the clerks had his tie tied ridiculously short. In a pretty weak showing, he'd tucked the long, skinny end into his waistband. At the bank, the director didn't have a tie on when I came in, so he quickly reached into his drawer and put one on. It was pre-tied, all he did was loosen it, put it on his neck and retighten it. It wasn't straight but not a terrible result all in all. These are just a few examples of unusual neckwear decisions. I'd say at least half of all ties I see here are noticeably mistied in one form or another. I'm kinda curious about the phenomenon. Is that the equivalent of leaving your shirt untucked—a little messy but often acceptable, even a sign of relaxation? I have no idea. I have trouble believing that that many people can't tell the difference or are too rushed to do anything about it. Maybe if that clerk is here tomorrow morning I'll ask him.
Something cool that's happened is that I've ceased to feel different from the people here. The first couple of days when I was walking around, I was constantly aware of being different from everyone else (and it's not even like in China, where everyone just stares at you). I was clearly just being self conscious, because for the most part, everyone takes me in stride. I sometimes wonder how obvious it is I'm foreign. Probably more so because of what I'm wearing than my face, but maybe not so much there either. As long as I keep my mouth shut and don't take pictures I'm pretty anonymous. Even when I'm talking, I have no idea what they make of my accent. No one's called me out on it directly, and everyone here speaks accented French in the first place. The dead giveaway that I'm not from here is that I don't speak Arabic, but nothing in that says I'm not Dutch or German or Swiss or something. Even at that, no one who I've told I'm American has seemed put off by it.
Here's the million-dollar question: which city has more Algerian beggars. Algiers or Paris?
Monday, January 7, 2008
Mon Jan 7
I slept with some semblance of normalcy last night. I fell asleep around 1030 and woke up around 5, but quickly fell back asleep until my alarm at 8. My morning adventure was getting travelers checks exchanged at the bank. At the first bank I went to (the one the hotel clerk recommended), one cashier sent me to another, who sent me to the director upstairs who made a phone call and sent me back to the first cashier, who said he still knew nothing and sent me to the second cashier, who sent me to the floor manager, who said he didn't know anything and made a phone call. He ran off upstairs and fifteen minutes later came down and motioned for me to come over. Eventually the floor manager, the director and one of the cashiers were all around a computer pointing at things and talking, then they stopped and the director told me they didn't exchange traveler's checks. They sent me to another bank, down the street.
At the second bank, I had a quicker experience, same answer. I went through two more banks on the block before coming to the national bank of Algeria. I went through two security screenings and was checked in to the bank floor by my passport number. I asked the receptionist, who sent me to the cashier who handles traveler's checks, who said everything was in order, but he'd need to see a receipt from my bank. Meanwhile, I thought that the point of traveler's checks was to be able to securely carry money around without having to carry extraneous documentation. I could always get a receipt faxed me from California, but certainly not this instant (it's 2AM California time). I came back to the hotel to reorganize.
I decided to try and draw cash on visa, which is the other recommended way of getting money (that or bring cash and haggle a good rate with the black market money changers). I went back to the original bank, where they were happy to help me out. The guy who I talked to, upon seeing my American passport, asked me where I'm from. When I said Ohio, his eyes lit up and he explained that he had a brother in Cleveland. He took me upstairs, where someone explained to him that they had no connection to the visa line that day. He sent me to the bank's other branch, right down the street. I went there, the receptionist sent me to a counter downstairs where a cashier took my information, then gave a puzzled look at my passport and credit card. She left and came back with another cashier, who ran my card, put in the last four digits, and had me sign the receipt. He made a copy of my passport and stapled it to the receipt, then sent me to a different cashier upstairs to get my money. When I got to the desk, there was no one there. Ten minutes later the cashier showed up, helped the two people in front of me (one of whom struck up conversation with me as well. It turns out he had lived in Canada for four years), then counted out my money and cancelled my receipt. Simple as that, I had my money.
I came back to the hotel, where the reception told me that Mohamed had been by, and he said he'd come back. They're going to call when he does.
One thing I haven't mentioned is that it's hot today. Kinda sneakily so, since the air isn't very hot, but the sun is bright enough to make one feel like shooting an arab four times in the face. It might be a good day to head to the beach.
Here's are some things that I've somehow neglected to mention:
-My bathroom doesn't have a door, rather, a curtain. Still in my bathroom: up until today, I've flushed my toilet by filling up a large red bucket in the shower and dumping the water down. Today it started working. Now it just runs all the time.
-Cigarettes here are sold by the individual stick. That is, you can walk into a store and say "I'd like eight, please." And they'll bag eight cigarettes for you. There's a booming business of street side cigarette and pocket tissue vendors. They set up little folding carts of levels of complication varying from cardboard stand to glass display and hawk their wares to passersby.
-Crossing the street is an interesting business here, because sometimes there's just not a break in the traffic. The opposite of china, where cars wont stop for anything and pedestrians scatter like chickens, one just walks blindly into the street, I guess with the thought that the average driver would prefer not to hit you either. It's a little disconcerting, but I'm getting used to it. I still tend to let locals run interference for me.
-There are stray cats all over the place here, but more so in Tipasa. The only place where I've seen more is an alameda in Puerto Rico where everyone just left out cat food. They're pretty skinny but not all that sickly looking in the final analysis. I was talking to Mohamed about it yesterday and mentioned that at least there were no mice, and he shivered and told me he hated mice. Makes me think of la peste somehow. By the way, I love how dorking out about Camus is totally in line with what I'm going for here.
I waited an hour for Mohamed, and when he still hadn't shown up I left the money with reception and went on a walk through the casbah. I took the upper casbah first, which is supposedly sketchier, but I stayed on the main streets so it wasn't so bad. While I was up there I walked by a mosque where they were calling to prayer. People don't react too strongly to the call. I guess people who are going are already on their way and it doesn't make a difference to people who aren't. I came out the other side and headed down to the water. On the way I took a picture of some colorful laundry hanging in the bright sun and soon after was stopped by an undercover cop who wanted to make sure I hadn’t taken a picture of the government installation across the street. I hadn't. He too told me to be careful. I was, even with him. Since he was undercover I told him he didn't look legit so he called over a uniformed man.
I came down by a derelict hotel and took a picture of a homeless man sitting in an upholstered chair in front of a wooden coffee table on the ruined terrace. Also of the empty swimming pool with diving platform by the sea. Further down the coast I found a set of stairs leading down to the beach. The staircase smelled awful. It was covered in thick slime and had paper and plastic trash all over it. At the bottom, where the beach dwellers made their toilet, loose piles of stool dotted the landing. The beach itself was nicer, and made for some nice shots of the lighthouse. I also took some of the beach dwellers' sweet shack with the guard dogs on top. The sun was still brutal, so I was enjoying the experience. I went back up the beach towards the stairs, skipping stones. Some kids called me over and one of them asked me "Tu es un étranger?" That's certainly what I was going for.
I walked through the lower casbah, and even ventured into some of the really back streets. There were very few points on my walk where I wasn't within reach of a wall. I passed a few mosques and the men coming out from prayers were all stopping on the steps to put their shoes back on. When I came out the other side of the Casbah, I stopped for a drink and merguez-frites sandwich at the Tantonville café at place port saïd.
There are so many ways in which this trip has been a disaster. From the trouble I had getting a confirmed hotel reservation to the trouble getting a visa to being sick and tired to carrying travelers checques instead of a useful form of currency it's been pretty stressful in sly ways. I'm just glad that it's come off. I would be less happy if it hadn't. As far as that goes, I'm not sure how good it is for me to have all these opportunities to laugh at death. It's like circumstance is egging me on, saying "Yeah. That's right. You're invincible. Even when everything goes wrong everything you wanted happens." I don't believe that, and I like to think it's healthy to laugh at the ridiculousnesses that happen along the way of any adventure. After all, I could have given up. I guess, in a way, the point is, it's easy to feel like the world's on your side as long as there are some people on your side. That is, I did this alone, as long as you don't count $1000 from school and close to the same from my parents, a pro-bono travel agent uncle, my mom again for calling the embassy when I'd already left for California and was infected and envirused, and so on. It doesn't take a whole lot of people really caring for me to feel cared for.
At the second bank, I had a quicker experience, same answer. I went through two more banks on the block before coming to the national bank of Algeria. I went through two security screenings and was checked in to the bank floor by my passport number. I asked the receptionist, who sent me to the cashier who handles traveler's checks, who said everything was in order, but he'd need to see a receipt from my bank. Meanwhile, I thought that the point of traveler's checks was to be able to securely carry money around without having to carry extraneous documentation. I could always get a receipt faxed me from California, but certainly not this instant (it's 2AM California time). I came back to the hotel to reorganize.
I decided to try and draw cash on visa, which is the other recommended way of getting money (that or bring cash and haggle a good rate with the black market money changers). I went back to the original bank, where they were happy to help me out. The guy who I talked to, upon seeing my American passport, asked me where I'm from. When I said Ohio, his eyes lit up and he explained that he had a brother in Cleveland. He took me upstairs, where someone explained to him that they had no connection to the visa line that day. He sent me to the bank's other branch, right down the street. I went there, the receptionist sent me to a counter downstairs where a cashier took my information, then gave a puzzled look at my passport and credit card. She left and came back with another cashier, who ran my card, put in the last four digits, and had me sign the receipt. He made a copy of my passport and stapled it to the receipt, then sent me to a different cashier upstairs to get my money. When I got to the desk, there was no one there. Ten minutes later the cashier showed up, helped the two people in front of me (one of whom struck up conversation with me as well. It turns out he had lived in Canada for four years), then counted out my money and cancelled my receipt. Simple as that, I had my money.
I came back to the hotel, where the reception told me that Mohamed had been by, and he said he'd come back. They're going to call when he does.
One thing I haven't mentioned is that it's hot today. Kinda sneakily so, since the air isn't very hot, but the sun is bright enough to make one feel like shooting an arab four times in the face. It might be a good day to head to the beach.
Here's are some things that I've somehow neglected to mention:
-My bathroom doesn't have a door, rather, a curtain. Still in my bathroom: up until today, I've flushed my toilet by filling up a large red bucket in the shower and dumping the water down. Today it started working. Now it just runs all the time.
-Cigarettes here are sold by the individual stick. That is, you can walk into a store and say "I'd like eight, please." And they'll bag eight cigarettes for you. There's a booming business of street side cigarette and pocket tissue vendors. They set up little folding carts of levels of complication varying from cardboard stand to glass display and hawk their wares to passersby.
-Crossing the street is an interesting business here, because sometimes there's just not a break in the traffic. The opposite of china, where cars wont stop for anything and pedestrians scatter like chickens, one just walks blindly into the street, I guess with the thought that the average driver would prefer not to hit you either. It's a little disconcerting, but I'm getting used to it. I still tend to let locals run interference for me.
-There are stray cats all over the place here, but more so in Tipasa. The only place where I've seen more is an alameda in Puerto Rico where everyone just left out cat food. They're pretty skinny but not all that sickly looking in the final analysis. I was talking to Mohamed about it yesterday and mentioned that at least there were no mice, and he shivered and told me he hated mice. Makes me think of la peste somehow. By the way, I love how dorking out about Camus is totally in line with what I'm going for here.
I waited an hour for Mohamed, and when he still hadn't shown up I left the money with reception and went on a walk through the casbah. I took the upper casbah first, which is supposedly sketchier, but I stayed on the main streets so it wasn't so bad. While I was up there I walked by a mosque where they were calling to prayer. People don't react too strongly to the call. I guess people who are going are already on their way and it doesn't make a difference to people who aren't. I came out the other side and headed down to the water. On the way I took a picture of some colorful laundry hanging in the bright sun and soon after was stopped by an undercover cop who wanted to make sure I hadn’t taken a picture of the government installation across the street. I hadn't. He too told me to be careful. I was, even with him. Since he was undercover I told him he didn't look legit so he called over a uniformed man.
I came down by a derelict hotel and took a picture of a homeless man sitting in an upholstered chair in front of a wooden coffee table on the ruined terrace. Also of the empty swimming pool with diving platform by the sea. Further down the coast I found a set of stairs leading down to the beach. The staircase smelled awful. It was covered in thick slime and had paper and plastic trash all over it. At the bottom, where the beach dwellers made their toilet, loose piles of stool dotted the landing. The beach itself was nicer, and made for some nice shots of the lighthouse. I also took some of the beach dwellers' sweet shack with the guard dogs on top. The sun was still brutal, so I was enjoying the experience. I went back up the beach towards the stairs, skipping stones. Some kids called me over and one of them asked me "Tu es un étranger?" That's certainly what I was going for.
I walked through the lower casbah, and even ventured into some of the really back streets. There were very few points on my walk where I wasn't within reach of a wall. I passed a few mosques and the men coming out from prayers were all stopping on the steps to put their shoes back on. When I came out the other side of the Casbah, I stopped for a drink and merguez-frites sandwich at the Tantonville café at place port saïd.
There are so many ways in which this trip has been a disaster. From the trouble I had getting a confirmed hotel reservation to the trouble getting a visa to being sick and tired to carrying travelers checques instead of a useful form of currency it's been pretty stressful in sly ways. I'm just glad that it's come off. I would be less happy if it hadn't. As far as that goes, I'm not sure how good it is for me to have all these opportunities to laugh at death. It's like circumstance is egging me on, saying "Yeah. That's right. You're invincible. Even when everything goes wrong everything you wanted happens." I don't believe that, and I like to think it's healthy to laugh at the ridiculousnesses that happen along the way of any adventure. After all, I could have given up. I guess, in a way, the point is, it's easy to feel like the world's on your side as long as there are some people on your side. That is, I did this alone, as long as you don't count $1000 from school and close to the same from my parents, a pro-bono travel agent uncle, my mom again for calling the embassy when I'd already left for California and was infected and envirused, and so on. It doesn't take a whole lot of people really caring for me to feel cared for.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Sun Jan 6
Small defeats: I fell asleep at 630 and woke up at 1230. I kinda forget how I passed the night. read some, looked at some stories, wrote a postcard. I fell back asleep around 6 and woke up at 8. When I got up I looked outside to see what the weather was like. I started looking at how people were dressed and immediately realized the futility of it all, since everyone was dressed in winter coats and scarves—how I might dress if it was 30 out—and it was 70 and sunny. I had a pretty big breakfast, which ended up being a good idea since I wouldn't eat again until 630.
I got directions to the bus station from my friend the German/English speaking receptionist, and ended up at the local terminal, which was pretty much useless. For the experience, I took the bus back to the hotel. With traffic, it took about as long as walking. I was walking back to the hotel for new instructions when I ran into Saïd, who greeted me with a "Hey, my friend!" I was surprised, so I responded in French. He responded, "Ah, vous parlez français!" and was subsequently more talkative. He said he'd get a deal on a taxi ride to Tipasa for me and we sat down and talked world politics. An interesting business, I can't recount the conversation blow for blow, but I thought it was interesting that he gave credit to the Americans for apologizing for their foreign policy faux pas where the French just tried to let things slide (en indochine, par exemple). He talked about the new Algerian strategies to avoid being targeted for submission by world superpowers (more or less playing the oil stakes off each other), and the eventuality of forming an OPEC for natural gas. The other thing he said was that his generation was different than the ones before in that the ones before had always ended up compromising with the outside world, then a generation later the outside world broke their end of the deal. He said that the problems were to be resolved here and now. Even if it meant a bunch of unrest and violence now, at least if wouldn't be passed down to the next generation.
The cabbie arrived and took me away, and it was immediately nice to get out of the city. The countryside reminded me of what I've seen in Central America in terms of foliage and china in terms of development. Lots of concrete shells of buildings in various stages of construction and disrepair. The cabbie and I chatted in French and sometimes Arabic (I didn’t get those parts…), and he referred to me constantly as "Monsieur Jacob". I was amused. There were a lot of police roadblocks, so I asked about obligatory military service (yes, two years) and civilian gun ownership (no). We got to Tipasa and he thought he'd guide me around and take me back. He kept telling me I wasn't in security there, but after a point, I am nowhere. Also, what's going to happen? Also, what's he going to do about it? I paid him and went on my way.
The ruins at Tipasa were as magical as advertised. There were extensive and pretty untouched, especially by the authorities. That is to say that, within reason, I had the run of the place. The first thing I did was curl into a corner of the amphitheater and read Camus's essay 'Noces à Tipasa". It was a good combination, even though he was describing the place in the springtime. It certainly hasn't changed in the 70 years since writing. The second reading, enhanced by the place or otherwise, was inspired. I walked down to the water and touched it. The Mediterranean still tastes terrible (that is, more so than your average salt water). I ended up striking up a conversation with a security guard who showed me the mosaics in the graveyard and a stele with a Camus quote on it (which I promptly found in my copy of Noces). He said if I came back tomorrow he'd have me for dinner at his house. I said I wouldn't be around, but it was a nice offer. It's funny, he was one of those people who was really nice to me, but I'm not so sure he was a good person. Like if I were someone else he might not have been nice to me (he was a Berber and had lots of subtle jabs at the Arabs). One thing I got out of my conversation with him was that when working in Libya, he had been paid in US dollars, which is bizarre, since I'm pretty sure the US and Libya don't have economic relations. He even showed me his pay stub, so I know he wasn't making things up. His friend came over and offered us drinks from a bottle of water. I drank some before realizing it wasn't fresh, just a bottle filled with tap water. Oh well.
I was looking at rugs in a shop, and upon deciding to buy one, realized I didn’t have the cash. I thought, no problem, I'll just exchange some quick. The store owner sent me with a kid to the bank, where we were sent to another bank, where we were sent to another bank, and eventually gave up. It was an interesting walk because the kid, Mohamed, was 21 too. His French was marginally worse than mine, and he said that he didn't get a consistent education since he grew up in the 90s (see 1992 military coup). It's funny how he's lived the same time period as I have in a completely different way. Since I didn’t have the money on me, the storeowner sent me off with the rug, saying Mohamed would come into town to collect payment tomorrow. I was surprised that he'd trust a stranger like that and/or go to the effort of sending someone into a city 80km away to sell a rug. Either way, I'm good for it.
The bus ride cost precisely 6% the price of the taxi ride. It was also exciting since it was packed with people going about their daily business. At one point a group of kids came on and packed into my row. They were practicing their French and English, and one of them kept saying, "Have you ever been to copa cabana beach?" It was ridiculous rush hour traffic coming back. For a while, we were stuck behind a pampers truck. Also, just for the record, gas here is around 20DA per liter, which comes out to around $1.20 a gallon. I guess it pays to be an oil producing country.
When I got back I hit up an internet café, then the restaurant L'arc en ciel before crashing back at the hotel. I've made it to 820 already, I'll try to go for 10 before sleeping, see if I wake up early then. Tomorrow is changing money and paying Mohamed, then potentially the beach at Bouisseville or a deep exploration of the casbah. One of these days I'll be heading out to Oran. I'm kinda looking forward to spending more time out of Algiers, but we'll see what can be done.
Note! I think most of my photographs that are worth having will have been taken illegally, cause apparently it's illegal to take pictures of government property. So the pictures out of my window of the port, anything in Tipasa, &c. It's a funny way to make photography interesting, having to be sneaky about it all the time. I don't think it's ruined too many of my shots, though I've wished to be invisible more than once to take pictures of people in action and such.
I got directions to the bus station from my friend the German/English speaking receptionist, and ended up at the local terminal, which was pretty much useless. For the experience, I took the bus back to the hotel. With traffic, it took about as long as walking. I was walking back to the hotel for new instructions when I ran into Saïd, who greeted me with a "Hey, my friend!" I was surprised, so I responded in French. He responded, "Ah, vous parlez français!" and was subsequently more talkative. He said he'd get a deal on a taxi ride to Tipasa for me and we sat down and talked world politics. An interesting business, I can't recount the conversation blow for blow, but I thought it was interesting that he gave credit to the Americans for apologizing for their foreign policy faux pas where the French just tried to let things slide (en indochine, par exemple). He talked about the new Algerian strategies to avoid being targeted for submission by world superpowers (more or less playing the oil stakes off each other), and the eventuality of forming an OPEC for natural gas. The other thing he said was that his generation was different than the ones before in that the ones before had always ended up compromising with the outside world, then a generation later the outside world broke their end of the deal. He said that the problems were to be resolved here and now. Even if it meant a bunch of unrest and violence now, at least if wouldn't be passed down to the next generation.
The cabbie arrived and took me away, and it was immediately nice to get out of the city. The countryside reminded me of what I've seen in Central America in terms of foliage and china in terms of development. Lots of concrete shells of buildings in various stages of construction and disrepair. The cabbie and I chatted in French and sometimes Arabic (I didn’t get those parts…), and he referred to me constantly as "Monsieur Jacob". I was amused. There were a lot of police roadblocks, so I asked about obligatory military service (yes, two years) and civilian gun ownership (no). We got to Tipasa and he thought he'd guide me around and take me back. He kept telling me I wasn't in security there, but after a point, I am nowhere. Also, what's going to happen? Also, what's he going to do about it? I paid him and went on my way.
The ruins at Tipasa were as magical as advertised. There were extensive and pretty untouched, especially by the authorities. That is to say that, within reason, I had the run of the place. The first thing I did was curl into a corner of the amphitheater and read Camus's essay 'Noces à Tipasa". It was a good combination, even though he was describing the place in the springtime. It certainly hasn't changed in the 70 years since writing. The second reading, enhanced by the place or otherwise, was inspired. I walked down to the water and touched it. The Mediterranean still tastes terrible (that is, more so than your average salt water). I ended up striking up a conversation with a security guard who showed me the mosaics in the graveyard and a stele with a Camus quote on it (which I promptly found in my copy of Noces). He said if I came back tomorrow he'd have me for dinner at his house. I said I wouldn't be around, but it was a nice offer. It's funny, he was one of those people who was really nice to me, but I'm not so sure he was a good person. Like if I were someone else he might not have been nice to me (he was a Berber and had lots of subtle jabs at the Arabs). One thing I got out of my conversation with him was that when working in Libya, he had been paid in US dollars, which is bizarre, since I'm pretty sure the US and Libya don't have economic relations. He even showed me his pay stub, so I know he wasn't making things up. His friend came over and offered us drinks from a bottle of water. I drank some before realizing it wasn't fresh, just a bottle filled with tap water. Oh well.
I was looking at rugs in a shop, and upon deciding to buy one, realized I didn’t have the cash. I thought, no problem, I'll just exchange some quick. The store owner sent me with a kid to the bank, where we were sent to another bank, where we were sent to another bank, and eventually gave up. It was an interesting walk because the kid, Mohamed, was 21 too. His French was marginally worse than mine, and he said that he didn't get a consistent education since he grew up in the 90s (see 1992 military coup). It's funny how he's lived the same time period as I have in a completely different way. Since I didn’t have the money on me, the storeowner sent me off with the rug, saying Mohamed would come into town to collect payment tomorrow. I was surprised that he'd trust a stranger like that and/or go to the effort of sending someone into a city 80km away to sell a rug. Either way, I'm good for it.
The bus ride cost precisely 6% the price of the taxi ride. It was also exciting since it was packed with people going about their daily business. At one point a group of kids came on and packed into my row. They were practicing their French and English, and one of them kept saying, "Have you ever been to copa cabana beach?" It was ridiculous rush hour traffic coming back. For a while, we were stuck behind a pampers truck. Also, just for the record, gas here is around 20DA per liter, which comes out to around $1.20 a gallon. I guess it pays to be an oil producing country.
When I got back I hit up an internet café, then the restaurant L'arc en ciel before crashing back at the hotel. I've made it to 820 already, I'll try to go for 10 before sleeping, see if I wake up early then. Tomorrow is changing money and paying Mohamed, then potentially the beach at Bouisseville or a deep exploration of the casbah. One of these days I'll be heading out to Oran. I'm kinda looking forward to spending more time out of Algiers, but we'll see what can be done.
Note! I think most of my photographs that are worth having will have been taken illegally, cause apparently it's illegal to take pictures of government property. So the pictures out of my window of the port, anything in Tipasa, &c. It's a funny way to make photography interesting, having to be sneaky about it all the time. I don't think it's ruined too many of my shots, though I've wished to be invisible more than once to take pictures of people in action and such.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Sat Jan 5
So tomorrow (today) hasn't exactly been miserable, but it's getting around 3pm and I'm pretty tired. Though when I think that this is about when I left the hotel yesterday I'm not doing so bad.
The first time I was englished the morning was by a man in the breakfast room. I was sitting at the next table eating my bread and hot chocolate and he was finalizing plans for a business meeting the next day (on a side note, any time Algerians are making any kind of arrangement it sounds like a cross between each party scolding the other like a child and a regular old heated argument). When I got up, he stopped me and spoke to me in relatively clear if accented English. His name was Saïd from Barcelona. He told me he had just been visiting a good friend of his in Indianapolis. He said I was the first American he'd met in Algeria and said if I needed anything to ask his friend the waiter. In retrospect I could have explored the interaction a little more, but I was tired.
The second time I was englished this morning was by the guy at the front desk, but he was just stabbing in the dark. At first he tried German, and when I responded in French that I had no idea what he was saying he tried English.
I took a fairly long walk out to the martyr's monument this morning, highlighted by taking the long way, some choice graffiti spotting and seeing a couple uniformed cops checking out the watches being hawked by a streetside bootleg vendor. When I got to the bottom of the hill with the monument on top of it, I saw a broken down skytram and a steep sidewalkless set of hairpin curves up the mountain. I was just thinking how disappointing it was that the tram was out of service when I saw that there were people on it waiting to go up. Despite little to no maintenance on the building, missing windows and no sign on the entrance, the tram was running. I payed my passage of 15DA and rode up without incident. I took some pictures of the monument, but people with machine guns told me I couldn’t climb up on it. There was a museum in the base, which I checked out. It was more a museum of the French colonization that of the martyrs in particular. There were documents about the planned French invasion, maps of the colony and pictures and descriptions of the various resistants and resistances up to independence in 1962. There were lots of weapons on display, ranging from sabers and muskets to automatic pistols and bazookas. At one point there was a line of pictures showing victims of napalm, piles of bones exhumed from mass graves after independence, and French soldiers ushering Algerians into concentration camps. Classy move france. Ten years after world war two and taking a page from the nazi playbook. Below the main museum level there was a circular black marble arcade surrounding a memorial rock of some sort. No one else was there when I was, so it was extremely quiet.
When I got back outside, two motorists were arguing over a fender bender. The police arrived and everyone started talking animatedly. For the sake of cultural records, I slyly took some pictures, but one of the policemen saw me and told me not to. I got the feeling the only word he knew in French was 'interdit'.
There was a shopping center nearby where I picked up some postcards, a 7-up and a pizza. I was suspicious as soon as the woman at the restaurant offered me ketchup and mayonnaise to go with my pizza, but it ended up being decent, if different from what I'm used to. I took the lot into some woods nearby where I was surprised to see young Algerian couples all over each other behind each tree. So much for Islamic conservatism, I though, watching a woman in full headscarf making out with a bearded man down the path from my lunch spot. It's not quite like the parks in France, but closer to it than stateside for sure.
I rode the derelict tram back down the mountain and walked back towards my hotel, making a stop at an internet café along the way. The only reason the stop was notable is that it was a higher degree of difficulty that the typical internet café visit, since it was a French keyboard with a good number of the letters rubbed off and a broken space bar. Comme on dit, je me suis débrouillé. A year in france was good for something, eh?
On the word sketchy: I haven't used the adjective overmuch in this document, but it comes up all the time in my head when I'm walking around. Algeria strikes me as overwhelmingly sketchy. I think the impression comes from the fact that I'm almost always in a crowd, and there are almost always groups of people (read: men) loitering in doorways, corners and alleys. As such, I could describe almost anything here as sketchy. I won't, though.
On ambient music: The first song I heard upon arrival in the airport was 'hey there delilah' by the Plain White T's. Yesterday in the hotel elevator, 'independent woman' by Destiny's Child was playing. At the pizza place today up by the martyr's monument I heard what I'd describe as Arabic oldies. Like a middle eastern Sinatra.
A general observation: Trying to crunch Algiers down to a compact description is tough, but at different points it reminds me of France (without the French) and China. There's a Frenchness in the way people operate, from driving to buying baguettes and camembert. The café culture is a far cry from the one in Paris, but the flavor is there and it's weird to see in the absence of anything else overtly French except the language. The China is in the pace and the developingness of things. Maybe if I'd been to more developing countries I'd be more inclined to chalk it up there. There's a sense of fast, cheap and out of control to things, which is distinctly unfrench. It's a vaguely joyful willingness to ignore the litter and concentrate on the future of the country. Of course in the meantime there's still the litter all over the place, but all in all it's not a terrible attitude.
A little in the same vein, the sidewalks are paved here like in China. That is to say, with slippery patterned flagstones. Unlike in China, though, there is no row of bricks with raised bumps so blind people can find their way. On the other hand, I did pass the deaf/mute association of Algiers on the way home today.
There's no obvious key to the dress code here. I see men wearing anything from jeans and hoodies to business suits to traditional robes and sandals; and as wide a variety of facial hair and clean shaven-ness as anywhere. For women, full covering seems less prevalent with younger generations, but at no point have I sensed tension between more and less conservative dressers. I've seen women walking and talking together, one with no head covering and the other with only her eyes exposed.
Small victories: I made it to 420 without falling asleep. I'm going to go out and see if I can get some shots of the crowd, look for a bag of milk and some dinner food, maybe something for lunch tomorrow too if I'll be on the bus/in tipasa.
The first time I was englished the morning was by a man in the breakfast room. I was sitting at the next table eating my bread and hot chocolate and he was finalizing plans for a business meeting the next day (on a side note, any time Algerians are making any kind of arrangement it sounds like a cross between each party scolding the other like a child and a regular old heated argument). When I got up, he stopped me and spoke to me in relatively clear if accented English. His name was Saïd from Barcelona. He told me he had just been visiting a good friend of his in Indianapolis. He said I was the first American he'd met in Algeria and said if I needed anything to ask his friend the waiter. In retrospect I could have explored the interaction a little more, but I was tired.
The second time I was englished this morning was by the guy at the front desk, but he was just stabbing in the dark. At first he tried German, and when I responded in French that I had no idea what he was saying he tried English.
I took a fairly long walk out to the martyr's monument this morning, highlighted by taking the long way, some choice graffiti spotting and seeing a couple uniformed cops checking out the watches being hawked by a streetside bootleg vendor. When I got to the bottom of the hill with the monument on top of it, I saw a broken down skytram and a steep sidewalkless set of hairpin curves up the mountain. I was just thinking how disappointing it was that the tram was out of service when I saw that there were people on it waiting to go up. Despite little to no maintenance on the building, missing windows and no sign on the entrance, the tram was running. I payed my passage of 15DA and rode up without incident. I took some pictures of the monument, but people with machine guns told me I couldn’t climb up on it. There was a museum in the base, which I checked out. It was more a museum of the French colonization that of the martyrs in particular. There were documents about the planned French invasion, maps of the colony and pictures and descriptions of the various resistants and resistances up to independence in 1962. There were lots of weapons on display, ranging from sabers and muskets to automatic pistols and bazookas. At one point there was a line of pictures showing victims of napalm, piles of bones exhumed from mass graves after independence, and French soldiers ushering Algerians into concentration camps. Classy move france. Ten years after world war two and taking a page from the nazi playbook. Below the main museum level there was a circular black marble arcade surrounding a memorial rock of some sort. No one else was there when I was, so it was extremely quiet.
When I got back outside, two motorists were arguing over a fender bender. The police arrived and everyone started talking animatedly. For the sake of cultural records, I slyly took some pictures, but one of the policemen saw me and told me not to. I got the feeling the only word he knew in French was 'interdit'.
There was a shopping center nearby where I picked up some postcards, a 7-up and a pizza. I was suspicious as soon as the woman at the restaurant offered me ketchup and mayonnaise to go with my pizza, but it ended up being decent, if different from what I'm used to. I took the lot into some woods nearby where I was surprised to see young Algerian couples all over each other behind each tree. So much for Islamic conservatism, I though, watching a woman in full headscarf making out with a bearded man down the path from my lunch spot. It's not quite like the parks in France, but closer to it than stateside for sure.
I rode the derelict tram back down the mountain and walked back towards my hotel, making a stop at an internet café along the way. The only reason the stop was notable is that it was a higher degree of difficulty that the typical internet café visit, since it was a French keyboard with a good number of the letters rubbed off and a broken space bar. Comme on dit, je me suis débrouillé. A year in france was good for something, eh?
On the word sketchy: I haven't used the adjective overmuch in this document, but it comes up all the time in my head when I'm walking around. Algeria strikes me as overwhelmingly sketchy. I think the impression comes from the fact that I'm almost always in a crowd, and there are almost always groups of people (read: men) loitering in doorways, corners and alleys. As such, I could describe almost anything here as sketchy. I won't, though.
On ambient music: The first song I heard upon arrival in the airport was 'hey there delilah' by the Plain White T's. Yesterday in the hotel elevator, 'independent woman' by Destiny's Child was playing. At the pizza place today up by the martyr's monument I heard what I'd describe as Arabic oldies. Like a middle eastern Sinatra.
A general observation: Trying to crunch Algiers down to a compact description is tough, but at different points it reminds me of France (without the French) and China. There's a Frenchness in the way people operate, from driving to buying baguettes and camembert. The café culture is a far cry from the one in Paris, but the flavor is there and it's weird to see in the absence of anything else overtly French except the language. The China is in the pace and the developingness of things. Maybe if I'd been to more developing countries I'd be more inclined to chalk it up there. There's a sense of fast, cheap and out of control to things, which is distinctly unfrench. It's a vaguely joyful willingness to ignore the litter and concentrate on the future of the country. Of course in the meantime there's still the litter all over the place, but all in all it's not a terrible attitude.
A little in the same vein, the sidewalks are paved here like in China. That is to say, with slippery patterned flagstones. Unlike in China, though, there is no row of bricks with raised bumps so blind people can find their way. On the other hand, I did pass the deaf/mute association of Algiers on the way home today.
There's no obvious key to the dress code here. I see men wearing anything from jeans and hoodies to business suits to traditional robes and sandals; and as wide a variety of facial hair and clean shaven-ness as anywhere. For women, full covering seems less prevalent with younger generations, but at no point have I sensed tension between more and less conservative dressers. I've seen women walking and talking together, one with no head covering and the other with only her eyes exposed.
Small victories: I made it to 420 without falling asleep. I'm going to go out and see if I can get some shots of the crowd, look for a bag of milk and some dinner food, maybe something for lunch tomorrow too if I'll be on the bus/in tipasa.
Friday, January 4, 2008
Fri Jan 4
so, my sleep schedule is as messed up as it's probably ever been. After my travel day and installation here, I was predictably tired. I was satisfied to fall asleep around 10. When I woke up, I was still tired, but there was light at the window, so I figured it was morning. I checked my computer clock; it was 3. I ate another yogurt and watched some of death/rebirth on my computer. I felt a weird mix of hot and cold, so I ate some ibuprofen and tried to go back to sleep. It took me some time, I guess until about 530. The next time I woke up, housekeeping was poking her head into the room. When she left, I looked at the clock. It was two. So, five hours of sleep, then awake for three, then eight more asleep. I wonder when I'll be tired next?
On the bright side, I feel much better. My virus/antibiotic reaction rash has almost entirely gone away. I suppose now I'll shower, clean up my room, and do a little city orientation, by which I mean wandering in the direction of the casbah. But what to wear? I guess I'll step onto my balcony to check the weather.
On my walk today I played a game of 'what are those men with automatic weapons guarding?' there was the obligatory police presence in front of obvious government buildings, but also a surprising number of different uniforms in front of other buildings. I identified one building with poured concrete sentry towers to be the center for nuclear research. Another, a long building green building with white trim and a second floor cloister, was guarded by green uniformed guards with high white leather spats. The best guarded compound appeared to be nothing more than middle to high rent apartments (laundry hanging from the balconies and all), but the gate was flanked by rifle-toting sentries, there were several guard towers, and the whole place was ringed with barbed wire. I'm always confused as to whether I'm supposed to feel safer or not when I'm within range of guns like that.
My walk wasn't exactly what I had planned, but still a great success. I ended up going up the stairs by my hotel and then I continued to climb as far as I could. I was trying to get a good view of the sea, or at least check out the top of the city. When I got to the top (or at least as far as I was going to go), I saw a sign for the place des martyrs, which, at the bottom of the casbah, is generally where I had intended to go in the first place. On the way down, I was greatly excited to see an alimentation selling milk by the bag. I made provisional plans to buy and drink some. Walking down another curving street, I passed a couple of police roadblocks, where drivers were asked to slow down (before being summarily waved on). They're supposed to make things difficult for terrorists, but I think it's mostly just a show of police presence.
Down in the lower casbah, there was a hilarious variety of stores, by which I mean people standing next to goods for sale in piles on the sidewalk, selling everything from soap and light bulbs to bootleg pumas and individual cigarettes. I'm planning to come back one day and check out the wares.
For dinner (my only meal today, for that matter), I bought a fried egg and French fry sandwich. I also picked up a baguette for 10DA (¢15). It's a testament to my fatigue last night that it didn't occur to me until now that my wheel of camembert is imbued with hilarity. It's St. Augustin brand, made in Annaba, where St. Augustine lived. On the front of the box is a picture of the saint himself, piously cutting into a wheel of cheese.
Plans for tomorrow include checking out the martyrs monument, making plans for other travel opportunities (tipasa, bouisseville, oran, inland?), bags of milk and otherwise not sleeping in until mid afternoon. I have breakfast included in the room charge, and I intend to take advantage of it!
Ag! It happened again. Despite my best efforts, once again I've woken up at 230. I fell asleep around 1130 and somewhere in there had a dream set in Sandusky about the 'wild turkey killer', a serial killer who only drank wild turkey and cut the pockets out of all his pants (apparently this makes him more sinister). I asked someone in the dream how anyone knew all this if the killer hadn't been caught. Also how we knew it wasn't a woman. Anyways, I guess I'll stay awake for a little while then try to sleep some more. I'm still planning on getting up at eight. I guess the bright side of a potentially miserable tomorrow is a normal schedule the rest of the time.
On the bright side, I feel much better. My virus/antibiotic reaction rash has almost entirely gone away. I suppose now I'll shower, clean up my room, and do a little city orientation, by which I mean wandering in the direction of the casbah. But what to wear? I guess I'll step onto my balcony to check the weather.
On my walk today I played a game of 'what are those men with automatic weapons guarding?' there was the obligatory police presence in front of obvious government buildings, but also a surprising number of different uniforms in front of other buildings. I identified one building with poured concrete sentry towers to be the center for nuclear research. Another, a long building green building with white trim and a second floor cloister, was guarded by green uniformed guards with high white leather spats. The best guarded compound appeared to be nothing more than middle to high rent apartments (laundry hanging from the balconies and all), but the gate was flanked by rifle-toting sentries, there were several guard towers, and the whole place was ringed with barbed wire. I'm always confused as to whether I'm supposed to feel safer or not when I'm within range of guns like that.
My walk wasn't exactly what I had planned, but still a great success. I ended up going up the stairs by my hotel and then I continued to climb as far as I could. I was trying to get a good view of the sea, or at least check out the top of the city. When I got to the top (or at least as far as I was going to go), I saw a sign for the place des martyrs, which, at the bottom of the casbah, is generally where I had intended to go in the first place. On the way down, I was greatly excited to see an alimentation selling milk by the bag. I made provisional plans to buy and drink some. Walking down another curving street, I passed a couple of police roadblocks, where drivers were asked to slow down (before being summarily waved on). They're supposed to make things difficult for terrorists, but I think it's mostly just a show of police presence.
Down in the lower casbah, there was a hilarious variety of stores, by which I mean people standing next to goods for sale in piles on the sidewalk, selling everything from soap and light bulbs to bootleg pumas and individual cigarettes. I'm planning to come back one day and check out the wares.
For dinner (my only meal today, for that matter), I bought a fried egg and French fry sandwich. I also picked up a baguette for 10DA (¢15). It's a testament to my fatigue last night that it didn't occur to me until now that my wheel of camembert is imbued with hilarity. It's St. Augustin brand, made in Annaba, where St. Augustine lived. On the front of the box is a picture of the saint himself, piously cutting into a wheel of cheese.
Plans for tomorrow include checking out the martyrs monument, making plans for other travel opportunities (tipasa, bouisseville, oran, inland?), bags of milk and otherwise not sleeping in until mid afternoon. I have breakfast included in the room charge, and I intend to take advantage of it!
Ag! It happened again. Despite my best efforts, once again I've woken up at 230. I fell asleep around 1130 and somewhere in there had a dream set in Sandusky about the 'wild turkey killer', a serial killer who only drank wild turkey and cut the pockets out of all his pants (apparently this makes him more sinister). I asked someone in the dream how anyone knew all this if the killer hadn't been caught. Also how we knew it wasn't a woman. Anyways, I guess I'll stay awake for a little while then try to sleep some more. I'm still planning on getting up at eight. I guess the bright side of a potentially miserable tomorrow is a normal schedule the rest of the time.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Thurs Jan 3
There is no Gideon bible in the bedside drawer at the hotel Albert 1er in Algiers.
There is, in my room, a kick ass balcony overlooking a main square of Algiers and the Mediterranean beyond. I'm in a medium to high rent room, which is to say around 70 dollars a night. I asked for the simplest one they have, and they said all the smaller rooms were booked up. I straight up don't believe them, but i'm not complaining either. This is a pretty sweet room at a pretty sweet price. The balcony itself it the crowning moment of the room. It occupies a turret-like section (lonely planet's adjective was 'wedding cake') of the corner of the hotel, behind what used to be a fireplace and is now drawers. There are two entrances to the balcony, on either side of the turret, and the view looks out over 270 degrees of central square, harbor, city streets and the Mediterranean. It's dark and cloudy now, but I'm already excited for the view when it’s not.
Gagner un peu d'argent peut etre, mais pas me faire mal. Leur marché depend de tourists comme moi. Le mélange de verite et mensonges me deboussole, et sa voix est séduisante, surtout sous les lumieres de soude de la nuit Algerois.
I ask the receptionist at the hotel what price I should have paid for a taxi and he quotes me 800 dinar, where I had just paid 1000. It's the difference of three dollars, which I would have tipped a legit cabbie anyways, but good to know.
It's raining steadily when I walk out into the streets of Algiers for the first time. I'm in search of bottles of water and other sundry items. The rain feels good, especially after 25 hours of travel, especially in the relative warmth of the Mediterranean air. I avoid eye contact with various characters hanging out in doorways and find my alimentation. I pick up some yogurt, a wheel of camembert, a bar of soap and some water. On the way back a pastry shop catches my eye and I pick up a quiche there. When I get back to my room I put on pajama pants, eat my quiche and a cup of yogurt (and by now, my throat doesn’t feel so bad either), and even without bread, I dig into the camembert a little. I might try and call home in a little bit, otherwise all I've got to do is sleep.
Here's in case you were wondering: the plugs here are the same as in france.
There is, in my room, a kick ass balcony overlooking a main square of Algiers and the Mediterranean beyond. I'm in a medium to high rent room, which is to say around 70 dollars a night. I asked for the simplest one they have, and they said all the smaller rooms were booked up. I straight up don't believe them, but i'm not complaining either. This is a pretty sweet room at a pretty sweet price. The balcony itself it the crowning moment of the room. It occupies a turret-like section (lonely planet's adjective was 'wedding cake') of the corner of the hotel, behind what used to be a fireplace and is now drawers. There are two entrances to the balcony, on either side of the turret, and the view looks out over 270 degrees of central square, harbor, city streets and the Mediterranean. It's dark and cloudy now, but I'm already excited for the view when it’s not.
Gagner un peu d'argent peut etre, mais pas me faire mal. Leur marché depend de tourists comme moi. Le mélange de verite et mensonges me deboussole, et sa voix est séduisante, surtout sous les lumieres de soude de la nuit Algerois.
I ask the receptionist at the hotel what price I should have paid for a taxi and he quotes me 800 dinar, where I had just paid 1000. It's the difference of three dollars, which I would have tipped a legit cabbie anyways, but good to know.
It's raining steadily when I walk out into the streets of Algiers for the first time. I'm in search of bottles of water and other sundry items. The rain feels good, especially after 25 hours of travel, especially in the relative warmth of the Mediterranean air. I avoid eye contact with various characters hanging out in doorways and find my alimentation. I pick up some yogurt, a wheel of camembert, a bar of soap and some water. On the way back a pastry shop catches my eye and I pick up a quiche there. When I get back to my room I put on pajama pants, eat my quiche and a cup of yogurt (and by now, my throat doesn’t feel so bad either), and even without bread, I dig into the camembert a little. I might try and call home in a little bit, otherwise all I've got to do is sleep.
Here's in case you were wondering: the plugs here are the same as in france.
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