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.