I decided to make a day trip and at first didn’t know where exactly to go. Then I remembered Dr. Amara recommended that I get to know the real Algeria or how did she put it…the Algeria that remains true or closer to what Algiers used to be like. She recommended two places that are close, easy to get to and perfect for transporting one to the Algeria of nostalgiac longings: Chrea & Blida. I opted for Blida without any preconceived notions. Dr. Amara is a senior staff member at Bouzareah and from what I can tell, she has a well developed sense of taste for most matters.
I had no problem catching a bus for 50 dinars (=80 cents), to Blida. The sun was out and the skies were clear so I was excited to snap some photos. The bus window was scratched, faded and fixed, so I would have to wait until getting off to really put the Canon SD850 to work.
Along the way, I saw orange orchards, other fruit trees (I think they were Chinese plums- at least they looked like nyanches) and well several nurseries. . Like on my Tipaza trip, I saw a group of gear heads getting ready to do some Tour de France training. The landscape is very green, fertile, and alive with all sorts of vegetation like pine trees, and eucalyptus trees for example, sprinkled throughout the hills that would indeed make for a pleasant bicycling workout.
Once in Blida, the gare routiere/shared taxi garage made me smile. For some reason, I expected a small town, but Blida, is in fact a decent sized city and the garage has enough hubbub to entertain one for hours. This is true also because there is a big market next to it. I went through the market and well it was enjoyable navigating in what seemed like river rapids of humans going to and fro. Occasionally a car drove through and pedestrians had to duck into different stalls. One sees everything…slippers with leopard prints, cauliflowers, traditional male/female robes, Korans, tangerines, potatoes with fresh dirt still on ‘em, crates of grapes, perfumes, leather shoes, carpets, lingerie, table cloths, sheets, sundries, cow heads, tea sets et cetera et cetera.
Souks, bazaars, tianguis…whatever you call them, open air markets where there are no aisle numbers or clean up crews or customer service departments are kind of fun believe it or not.
The circus was in town too. I had a cup of café au lait with pain au chocolat and my homeland came up. Its easier to just say I’m from Mexico, so that’s my standard response and it usually garners enthusiasm, delight, references to the World Cups that were held there, the telenovelas which are so popular here, and Pancho Villa/Zapata etc. They never seem to mention quesadillas de chapulines, but I’m still hopeful for that day. The barista, (I’m using that term which might be in fact copyrighted by that big coffee shop chain), immediately asked if I was part of the circus. Well, I guess I do have a clownish look to me, and admittedly, I think it might be kind of fun to do that for awhile. (Note to self: See the Occupational Outlook Handbook 2007 re: circus professional.)
The Circus Florelicto or Floreligio or Figliomio…is from Italy and it’s touring Algeria, but unfortunately, the first show was scheduled for 3pm and that was a little too late for me. I did manage to get a nice picture of the tent though.
I walked on towards “Centre Ville” & found the city to be kind of laid back compared to hustle-and-bustle Algiers. It has a French colonial feel to it and the mountains on one side give it a nice background. Charea is up there somewhere, so that’s for next week. I stumbled into a labyrinthine neighborhood that was fun to walk around. I then felt the urge to take a bath! My apartment doesn’t always have running water. Usually, from the a.m. to around 6pm, H2O is available. Well, yesterday, I got home after 6pm and didn’t have a chance to shower and then this morning I bolted before really considering how good it would do me. Because this is an issue for many folks, or and also because of the historical use of bathhouses and the influence of Romans, Turks, and Arabs here, one can find hammams and/or douches (showers) pretty easily. So I found a hammam close to a mosque in this ‘old’ medina neighborhood of Blida, but was abruptly yelled at for trying to go in. See, some hammams have certain hours or days for women only and others for men only. I didn’t see a sign, so I proceeded to move the curtain to walk into the reception area, but some men seated along the nearby sidewalk, immediately, said HEY!
No big deal, I understood immediately my faux pas, and apologized profusely and asked them to indicate where I could find one open to men at that hour. So just another 100m on down the street I hit the showers. They gave me all the necessary items: plastic sandals, soap, shampoo and a towel. The hot water felt good and I felt very refreshed once I walked out. It cost 50 dinars. (80-85 cents).
Now that I was feeling all crisp and clean, I snapped some more images and then found a street market area busy with all kinds of traffic. At the very end, I could see some sort of elegant structure that seemed to be at the center of a square. I arrived there to find a very nice white Arab-style gazebo set in a pool. Kids were frolicking about, and around the square were shaded café seating and restaurants. Diagonally off one of the streets, a large mosque dominated and I headed over there to get some pictures.
I thought to myself, my god, how many mosques have I seen and churches for that matter. And now, I am at a loss because I can describe how they look, but I’m not so sharp when it comes to saying who built them, and when and how. Anyways, just deficiencies and gaps in my learning that I’ll have to review and work on. Am I the only one that thinks these things? Is it a bit neurotic or needless to fret over knowing such minutiae?
OK, enough of the introspection.
I found lunch at a restaurant there, not really noteworthy, just steak and potatoes. Satisfying though. After that, I had tea with mint on the square and just relaxed.
The prayer call went out and several men got up to go, but not everybody. I saw some boys playing in the square and some scarved young ladies taking pictures of each other in front of the gazebo. I started thinking about how the kids were all playing and what a good time that is and that Orphee movie quote Cocteau said something about Youth. I cant recall if it was he saw his own Youth dead or something along that line. Whatever it was, it was morbid, sad, surreal and weird.
Anyways, I just thought normal adult thoughts on the innocent days of being a kid. The silly games one plays, the infinite ways kids are easily entertained and easily entertain themselves, esp. w/regard to group dynamics. So while I’m thinking this, I hear a kid making noises like a gorilla or monkey or something. I chuckled to myself, “There’s a kid having some fun.” The noises continued and were getting louder and closer. Then across the plaza on the other side of the elegant and charming gazebo, I saw the kid. Except this was no kid. This was the mejnun.
Mejnun is Arabic for “crazy”, and I recall in Mauritania, how they kind of let the insane or mentally challenged just run loose in towns and everybody just humors them and likes them and treats them nice. They are like everybody’s crazy cousin, literally crazy. So this guy had that air about him…must have been in his late teens or early 20s and I saw 2 small boys following him, chatting with him or taunting him, I’m not really sure. Perhaps they were toying or playing along with him, who knows.
He went on to play like the kids I had seen around there before, climbing on the rails of the gazebo, going back and forth and around w/o a clear plan and invariably spicing his routine up with the occasional monkey sounds again. It was funny to recall the old crazy bald guy who frequented the taxi garage in Atar, Mauritania. Everybody loved him there and sometimes he showed up with parts of chain and cuff hooked to his ankle. They would give him money and food and also let him charge customers as a kind of “chief” or “enforcer”. It was street comedy in its purest form. Of course, when you are in the Sahara and you have to wait for other passengers to show up before the car can go to its destination, it’s a nice entertainment to help you while away the time.
However, at the Blida gazebo square, not many paid attention, other than the two kids. Things turned especially bizarre right after I got up to leave and walk through the square. As I got near the gazebo, I noticed that the Mejnun was now in the water and completely naked. Mind you this is 1pm on Thursday, the weekend. I looked aghast and around to see if anybody did anything. Some did notice, but did nothing. One old man told the kids to get away from the guy. Maybe somebody did say something, because after a couple more minutes, he went up into the gazebo, naked, and found his clothes and started to put them on. Vraiment bizarre. Life is just full of surprises!
I came across a cyber café and stopped to check out my email. That’s when I heard how my Uncle Julio had just passed away. I felt a deep sadness. He was actually my mother's uncle and he was always kind and funny with me and everybody. I will miss him dearly..
I’m sleepy now, hasta manyana.
Good morning! I woke up and saw an amazing dawn light along the horizon and took some photos and maybe I’ll try painting it later.
I got up and started washing my sheets etc. and then made some fresh hot salsa…the tomatoes were going bad so I wanted to use them up. The peppers I used are these long green things…kind of remind me of “Hatch” New Mexico peppers. They are pretty common around here. Made papas con huevos.
I’m going to church today…Madame Afrique. Two reasons…one of course to check it out and another…for mi tio Julio.
So, it was odd to feel remorse, melancholy and then go back on to the streets of a city of strangers. I needed something sweet and found a chocolate bar with hazelnut cream. I lost myself taking more pictures and then caught the bus back to the garage which now was filled with people waiting for buses. Transport, the quintessential dilemma of man. How do we get there? How do we efficiently move people and products. In Algeria, transport is a challenge. Luckily I got a seat on a bus bound for the Tafoura garage in Algiers. The aisle gets taken up by fold out chairs and I got one of these in the row just before the very back. The man on my right started talking on the phone in English…but a different English. Some kind of African English, but I couldn’t place it. It seemed Ghanaian but I wasn’t sure. On my left was an Algerian woman and next to her seated near the window was another black African who must have noticed that my listening to the English phone conversation, because he asked me if I spoke English.
Tee was a refugee from Liberia and he immediately asked for my phone number which I found funny, odd and too personal. In the end, I said, why not? What would Jesus do? Anyways, he was nice, curious, persuasive and persistent about making small talk and becoming instant friends. Very different from the average Algerian I meet in public, so this is why I felt awkward. I’m also not used to speaking English aloud in public. Funny, I’m an English teacher and want to promote its use, but often while abroad I minimize my use of English in public, mainly to avoid what Obi Wan Kenobi called, “imperial entanglements.” That’s euphemism.
The ride home was nice enough, though traffic came to a standstill twice. There was also a near-miss on the highway. The driver abruptly applied the brakes and then swerved to the left, and then several cars just to the right and just in back of us collided. Yikes! The collisions didn’t sound violent enough to kill, but we didn’t slow down or stop to see. Santa Maria Madre de Dios ruega por nosotros. I read recently in the news that according to statistics, while abroad, more Americans get injured/die from auto-related accidents than from any other danger. This is why I generally don’t drive abroad. I’ll leave it to the local experts.
Later that night….pit bulls
I invited los amigos Argelinos to a “Algerian Idol” taping that I had an invite for. Nobody took me up on it, so I guess that was a foreboding sign of things to come. Ahlan wa Chabab was the name of the show to be videotaped live from La Coupole near Bouzareah. After crowded bus rides and repeatedly asking whoever I came across, I found the venue. Along the road and at the door, young boys aged anywhere from 14-25 seemed to be the only ones going. Hmm. Is this my crowd? Lol.
At the door there were a lot more and right as I walked up, I heard vicious dog growls and barks and then saw everybody panic and run towards me. Now, I normally enjoy all the thrills and chills of crowd neuroses and I really did enjoy running with the bulls in Tlacotalpan, Veracruz in 2006, but being the object of a pit bull's frustration is not my cup of tea at all. I had the official invitation, which a colleague at the Fac. Centrale had given to me and showed it to the security guards, but they were too busy yelling at all the youths crowding the gates. At times they went after the youths trying to kick or hit whoever was near them and I was afraid they would hit me, so I ran away. I never made it in, and on several more occasions, the crowd of boys ran a la Pamplona. On one such occasion I slid down a hill and had to break my fall by grabbing a laurel branch. Whew. Enough of that I said.
It took me a good hour to get home and I opted for a pizza and some Algerian vino, Chateau Tellagh Medea (1998), and working on these blog entries. Who comes up with this shtuff?
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