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.
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