Palais de Rais, Modern Art, Cervantes and Sacre Coeur

Ummm, last week was a rollercoaster of emotions. Of course, much sadness over the bombings. But I'm amazed at how strong the Algerians are. They lived through much worse in the 90s and while very disappointed, they resiliently continue on with life.

After that, I got out to see more of Algiers. I walked by the downtown university campus and saw the students having a big protest/strike against Tuesday’s bombings and for improved conditions and services at the university. I started off at the Museum of Modern Art which is oddly enough in a Franco-Moorish style building that was perhaps a shopping center in the past. The exterior architecture doesn’t, in my opinion, reflect a modernity, but the large windows and wide open interior of this centrally located museum, make up for that.

There are 4 floors, but only the basement and mezzanine are open currently, showcasing some interesting modern art. I enjoyed my visit, and as often is the case, the modern art and a chance encounter with the artist on site left me with more questions. It's great that such a place exists and is free and open to the public.

With an umbrella that is slowly falling apart, I continued marching through the rain westward to the Palais de Rais, Bastion 23. The Palais de Rais is a restored and preserved ensemble of Turkish-style palaces that is open to the public as a museum. The exterior is plain and massive concrete, but the interior has decorative charm with tiles, ornate ceilings, arched patios and some showcase Arabic calligraphy. After admiring the architecture, I went to the extreme wall that faces the sea. There are gaps for a couple of cannons that once policed the sea. I saw the clouds and a whole semicircular rainbow. It seemed to go from the airport of Algiers on the right all the way to an unknown destination in the west...perhaps acrosss the Mediterranean to Spain, I fantasized...la Barca? :)

In the afternoon, I met up with my friend Nabil and we went to a pretty cool café in the Casbah where musicians used to play.

On Thursday, I went by the Fac. Centrale to visit colleagues and discuss upcoming schedules etc. Everybody seemed to be allright, wheich is good news. After that, I headed towards Belcourt for Mhadjeb, an oily crepe with spicy tomato sauce inside. Asking along the way, I finally found Cervantes’ cave - yes the author of Don Quixote. El Manco, Miguel de Cervantes, was held captive here in Algiers by pirates for 5 years. He escaped 4 times, but was caught each time until his family finally paid the ransom to the pirates. It's a cave and there's a monument, but nobody there really. A local guy helped orient me. He says neighborhood fellows get together and play dominos there. As I peered at the cave and wondered about Cervantes torments there, I heard the sound of a deafening roar of soccer fans off in the nearby stadium. Sheep had invaded the streets too...preparations for the big religious feast where they will be sacrificed for Eid-al Adha.

After that, I went home and took it easy.

On Friday, I went to mass at Sacre Coeur, but strangely enough, I was late and disturbed the mass due to some misinformation from a random man that was standing at the door. He told me to wait and wait, though, my brochure had said mass began at 9am. I had arrived at 8:55am and this man told me to wait. I didn’t see anybody else. An old lady came and she walked by, but the man told me to still wait. Finally at about 9:30, he told me the old lady had gone in and that I should ring the doorbell. A nun came and said I could not enter because the prayer had started already and then an angry priest came and stated the same and slammed the door on me. The door was locked due to increased security concerns, I understand. I wouldn’t have interrupted, but it was that random man that said go ahead and ring the doorbell. I felt bad, and I stuck around to explain my error. The priest was upset at me initially, but after we discussed why the confusion and interruption happened, he was more welcoming and let me enter to pray and see the interior. It’s a big church and the modern geometric style is reminiscent of la Basilica de Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe in Mexico City. There were only 3 there, the priest and 2 nuns. One of those nuns was British, Janet. She has lived here for 30 years and runs a small community library. She invited me to tea at her place and we talked about Algeria and how to get some more English books here for the public. There’s an organization that donates lots of books, “Books for Africa”. I’m going to investigate it.

Well, tomorrow is Eid al-Adha. Last year for the holidays, I went to Mukalla and the Wadi Hadramawt in Yemen. This year, I’m going deep into the Algerian Sahara…not sure where yet, but it promises to be exciting.

I am OKAY

2 bombs went off this morning.

I AM OKAY.

I was doing work on my computer at home. Santa Maria, madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte...

Dec. 11….2007…a day I wont ever forget…

This morning in my apartment, I heard 2 explosions. My first thought was bomb attack. Algiers has been the site of intermittent explosions throughout the past years. I went out to my balcony and looked, but saw no smoke or nothing. I didn’t hear sirens or screams or anything, so I assumed that it was probably the demolition of some old building or something.

Then I started to receive SMS text messages from the embassy. The first was cryptic enough…”Please stay at bouzareah university away from the windows”. I couldn’t call/text back because I had used up all of my prepaid credit the night before talking to my sister Patty. 15 minutes later, another SMS from the embassy arrived, “Please send an sms to say you’re well.”

I got dressed to head out and buy a card at the place where I bought my mobile phone. The guys there are about my age and they are friendly and nice to me. The other day while I was walking in Bab El Oued, they happened to be driving around and saw me and picked me up to head back to my neighborhood.

I walked in and they immediately made jokes about Al-Qaeda and terrorism. I guess when you live in a place where this kind of stuff happens now and then, you need a sense of humor to get over it. They said that a bomb went off in Bouzareah and Ben Aknoun…they had heard that from Radio Trattoir (Radio Sidewalk aka work on the street). There was considerably less traffic on the streets and virtually no mobile phone reception.

I bought a 200 DZD credit card that had a picture of the famous Roman ruins in Timgad near Batna. The network was saturated and I couldn’t respond to the embassy messages. Then, I went to a pizzeria I like. On the way there, a new SMS came..this time from my friend Karima in Oran. This one hit me hard…it said “Hi Miguel, 2 bombs exploded in Algiers. One in a student bus. Are you ok?” I felt extreme sadness at hearing that. I thought of the smiles and faces of my Bouzareah students. I hope none are affected. I also take that school bus when I go to Bouzareah. That could have been me in there.

At the pizzeria, I chatted with the owner in Spanish. He used to work with latinos in Amsterdam. The people I saw there and on the streets had a look of disappointment..dejection. The pizzeria TV that was normally on, was off…I think he just didn’t want to let the day’s tragedies overtake his pizzeria territory. But the tragic news remained on the mouth of all who came there.

A young girl stood at the corner pondering/waiting to get her order in and from behind he covered her eyes playfully. Gotta keep a light heart and playful attitude to get through the day.

I headed back home and stopped again at the mobile phone dealership. The guys there were still making jokes and laughed about students’ body parts being all over the place. Or some students arriving to school now without an arm or leg. I didn’t like it, but I think they needed to make laughter to stomach the sadness. Suddenly, it began to hail?!?

I went home and headed to my neighbor’s place. She was shaken and reiterated her stance on this terrible state of affairs here. It’s happening on “11’s” There was a bomb on April 11 and now Dec. 11. and don’t forget 9/11. I also heard some bad news from her…a colleague of hers has a sister that works at the UN in Algiers. The UN was one of the targets and unfortunately she was among those injured/wounded. I actually just met her a few weeks ago. Sadness.

The TV is reporting now 60 dead. I saw images on Television Algeria and it was heartbreaking. I felt my heart sink deeply when one of the orange school buses that thousands of students and myself ride regularly to go to the university appeared on the screen totally obliterated. I’m speechless with sadness over this horror. I think of the students, (and regular everyday citizens) that ride the “course” as it’s called. How it’s crowded, packed and at times uncomfortable. How everyone laughs at the mad rush and goes headlong into it. Or how students strike up conversations with each other and meet up with old friends. I’ve enjoyed riding it, though at first it took some getting used to. Now, I may not be able to continue riding it.

I’m home now and more hail came, but the sun is now out and there is less traffic noise and pollution today…but less life and more sadness than yesterday. I’m going to wash clothes and study Arabic.

ORAN-gelica

The first time I heard of Oran...was in a techno remix song by the now defunct French group, Les Negresses Vertes.

I had no idea what Oran was then, but since coming to Algeria I heard good things about it, so I went there this weekend. I left early Wednesday on the 7:45am train. 5 hours later it pulled into Oran and I went straight to the Institute de Langues Etrangeres where my fellow English Language Fellow, Martha Schouten had an English Club Meeting going on. I arrived to a warm welcome from some enthusiastic English learners that Martha has been working with over the course of last year and this year.

After that, I explored the town some and as the sun went down I accidentally went into no man's land, the Casbah of Oran...I was escorted out of there by the police and they said that it is quite dangerous at night and that a foreigner like myself should not be around there. So I explored the area around the major downtown hotels. I found Oran to be fairly easy to manage for getting around and what not.

The next day I began heading towards the great mountain that overlooks Oran, Djebel Murdjadjo. It is quite majestic with the Spanish-built Fort of Santa Cruz and the nearby church of Santa Cruz near the summit. I asked a local man which way to go and after briefly explaining the directions, he invited me home for some coffee. It felt like Mauritania or Senegal all of a sudden. Invitations home like this were quite common over there.

Amar was a real nice man, he put on the Koran on CD and then some rap music and showed me pictures of him at the beach with his wife and their 8 kids. After finishing up the pain au chocolat and coffee, I thanked him and said goodbye. At a nearby square I found some “clandestine” taxis, or “clando” as they are called. One agreed to take me to the Santa Cruz Shrine for 200 Dinars.

The drive was nice, but the road was closed- at least according to him. I still got some nice pictures off. Before 10am, I headed to Place de Victoire, where I was to meet Martha. On the way, I took pics in the market, which I rather liked. Martha, showed off her cool retro place with high ceilings and pretty tilework. Then, we caught up talking about our program and upcoming activities.

She invited me along to visit the ACCESS students and her Thursday English club. Last year I worked with ACCESS students so it was nice to meet and chat with those that are participating here in Algeria. Her English club, is inspiring. These students meet at a place called Lebanon Café and speak in English.

On Friday, I met up with Karima, a local Algerian that I just met online days before going to Oran. She sent me an email via Couchsurfing.com, which I must recommend for those of you interested in meeting worldly traveler types. Anyways, she gave a brief but interesting tour and took me up the mountain that the clando taximan had refused to go up. The views of the city and surrounding area from up there were breathtaking. The Spanish Fort is closed due to an ongoing renovation, but the church area is open to visits.

After that we drove along the coast, which is absolutely wonderful with cliffs and an occasional fort jutting out to sea. Soon, we arrived at her hometown, Ain el-Turck. This small coastal town is the home of the Oran Nightlife and Rai music, was more or less born here. Maybe, I’ll get to see some of that next time. It’s really laid back though.

Karima took me to her home, where her brother had a big pan of paella waiting. Paella, the famous Spanish dish, is a popular meal in Oran as well. This is because, the Spanish were there for a long time and because much of the population were part of the Muslims and Jews that were expelled from Spain during the Reconquista of Isabella la Catolica. Karima means "generous" in Arabic, and Karima truly lived up to her name by offering to spend her one day off showing me around and treating me to a home-cooked meal at her family's home. This does not happen often, but in Oran it happened with Amar and with Karima, and I treasure those hospitable moments. So for those of you that are looking for such unique connections, either being a host or guest wherever you are, try out couchsurfing.com and see what it's all about.

Oran has many interesting sights to see, like the Mosque de Pasha, the St. Louis Church which was a synagogue. There is also a huge mosque in the city that was once a synagogue. The main Place du Premier Novembre has that regal French style reflected in the gardens, the monuments, the lion statues guarding the Town Hall and the magnificent Theatre.

I'll post pics later. :)

A week of diverse surprises..

I signed up for Arabic classes at Glycines, Centre des Recherches Diocesaine….and there I met for the first time an Algerian Christian. Daniel is Kabylie and Christian and works there, and I think he also said he is a member of an order of priests. Fascinating and truly unexpected this was.

For the remainder of this month I signed up for a Classical Arabic course. This beginner course actually began in October, but I just jumped in. On my best day I would rate myself at lower intermediate in Arabic, but more often I perform at a high beginner level. For this course which is going over letters still, I am at a higher level, but I don’t really have any other options when it comes to a classroom setting such as this. I signed up to refresh my reading skills- I’m kind of lazy when it comes to pronouncing all of the “harikat” or short vowels and grammatical things like taa marbutas, fathatains etc. Much of the class, unfortunately, is conducted/explained in French. I guess it’s good for me to review my French, but I’d rather everything be stated in Arabic honestly. Well, I’ll take what I can get and anyways, it’s kind of nice to socialize with fellow students. I was a little tired of the one-on-one lessons.

Later on last week, I had the chance to speak at the University with an Algerian teacher. Friendly and willing to share her frank viewpoint with me, I found some of her comments very interesting. I mentioned that I was surprised to meet an Algerian Christian and she said that there are actually a lot, especially in the Kabylie region. She happens to be Kabylie and Muslim. She explained that ½ of her family is Christian and the other ½ Muslim. The one thing that is common and agreed upon by all of the family, she pointed out was the exclusive use of the Berber language at home and family get-togethers.

She added that some Algerian Christians hide their faith, because of potential political and discriminatory fears. This hidden population was very unexpected, and it blows my mind. Shocked and surprised, but also intrigued and fascinated by another strand of diversity in Algeria.

Speaking of diversity, the few foreign students I have come from some interesting places. I have an Iranian woman, several Turks (guys), and a brand new Russian guy. All of these particular foreigners do not speak Arabic or French. They are learning English, so it’s a unique challenge they face. I also have an Egyptian who already knows French and English rather well, so she is not in the same boat as them. The other interesting thing about her, is she is an Evangelical Christian. Now, what are the chances of meeting and Evangelica Egyptian . I would have predicted Coptic before that. This Evangelical Christian attends an Evangelical Church and said that quite a few that participate are Kabylie Algerians. Anyways, I welcome the diversity they all represent which no doubt enhances our sociocultural panorama at Bouzareah.

Another place I enjoy the diversity is when I get to attend church services here. There are several options run be the Diocese of Algiers and one mass occasionally has a Congolese choir that sounds wonderful. Those that attend are from all over, for example Lebanese, French, etc. There are also several orders of nuns and priests here. Some from the order of Mother Theresa and others that wear special garb particular to their group. Then there are other religious laypeople, like my Lebanese Arabic teacher that dress in everyday wear. The services I've attended have been conducted in French, but I hear there is an Arabic one done once a month. I'm looking forward to attending that sometime and practicing al-arabiyya fil kanisa. (kanisa=church)

Thanksgiving in Oued M'zab

To see my photo album of Oued M'zab CLICK HERE.

After my last class on Tuesday, I went home and rewarded myself by cooking up some lamb chops and enjoying them with some Coteaux de Tlemcen. I jammed out on the guitar and then when the water finally came on, I washed a bunch of clothes, took a bath and then the idea occurred to me…HIT THE ROAD!

Hitting the road last year in Yemen always reinvigorated my spirit and so that was just what the doctor ordered…I leafed through the guidebook and decided on Ghardaia.

The journey is the destination…

Left Algiers, felt my soul needed something different…so after glancing at the guidebook, I picked one of the highlights which seemed doable…the M’zab Valley.

I went to the gare routiere, bus station, Wednesday am and got a 1-way ticket to Ghardaia leaving at 11am. The Mzab Valley consists of a oued or valley in the Sahara Desert with several small Mozabite towns. The Mozabites are Ibadis- a unique sect of Islam that follows its own traditions.

To get there I went along the first leg of the Trans-Saharan highway and took in the fascinating metamorphosis of geographical landscapes that one sees along the way.

From Algiers, the road ascends into pine covered mountains, with majestic vistas that bear resemblance to what one might find in Austria, Switzerland, Colorado, etc. Just past Blida and into Charea, the road meanders over bridges and through tunnels following a path that parallels and criss-crosses train tracks.

This continues for some time up to and just after Medea. There, the mountains give way to rolling hills interspersed with meticulously cultivated vineyards and fruit orchards.

I remember dozing a while and then waking up to an abrupt change in ecosystem…not quite flatter than a pancake but approaching that topographical description. There was still some brush which later gave way to dry land. This is the green fence or barrier that is maintained to fight l’ensablement…or desertification from progressing much farther north. These tree groves are quite impressive, in that they seem to have been cared for some time and can be quite big. They really do stand out against the greater landscape of dry barren land.

Much of the Sahara, contrary to the romantic windswept sand dune clichés one sees in movies, is actually rock believe it or not. I lived in a rocky part of it in Atar, Mauritania when serving in the Peace Corps. I tried taking pictures, but my window had some scratchings and stains that made it blurry…as if my contact lenses were scratched. The bus itself was rather comfortable and a real deal at 640 Algerian Dinars = $10 USD for this 8 hour trip.

We stopped at different points along the way to exchange riders…and paused to eat a couple of times. After the ½ way mark the TV went on and they showed a bunch of Algerian TV comedy shows and then those wacky trick hidden camera clips. You know the ones where they play jokes on people i.e. a man walking on the street pretends to sneeze on pedestrians in front of him while an assistant sprays water on the back of their neck and then the sneezer tries to wipe it clean. Lol

Btw, no restrooms on board.

Once, I got to Ghardaia, I checked into my hotel, grabbed some rotisserie chicken and then checked my email to find out, that it was Thanksgiving Eve and I'd forgotten or mistakenly thought that next week was the holiday. Oh well, another Thanksgiving in the Sahara!

The next day I got up super early, beating the sunrise to snap photos from Malika, the town with superb views of the Oued M'zab and Ghardaia. Before entering the city, I met a teenage Mozabite boy who was more than delighted to practice his English and to show me his hometown. SidiAissa, took me throught the old part of the city and then showed me the highlight of the town, the tomb of a holy man which is his namesake. We took pics there and then he had to go off to school. I remained there waiting for the dramatic sunrise.

After that, I went on to the oldest of the Mozabite towns in the Oued, El Atteuf. There, I needed to hire a guide at 200 Dinars ($3.25) and he showed and explained to me much of the Mozabite traditions and architecture. They are very adamant about tourist respecting their culture, so no photos are allowed of the local people. Also, in the old parts of the cities, no smoking is allowed whatsoever. Of course, one must be properly attired, that is legs and arms should be covered, etc.

The towns were built in a certain way with ramparts and towers to protect against attack. It's amazing, how these people fled from the north to avoid the rule of other muslims that did not adhere to their beliefs. One of their major convictions is that the caliph or leader of the Islamic faith, need not be a blood descendant of the Prophet Mohammed, but rather a strong leader capable of doing so. For this, there was tension and conflict in the past with other powers that came and ruled in Algeria. And therefore, as a result, the Mozabites came to this difficult land, and by ingenuity and hard work, built the cities and palmeries that exist up until today. Impressive and ancient, they have garnered the classification of UNESCO World Heritage Site.



My guide also showed me the unique Mosque Sidi Ibrahim, which was the inspiration for Le Corbusier's Eglise de Ronchamp. It's a simple white mosque that has no straight edges and does have a similar raw white beauty that one sees in Corbusier's famous church.

Speaking of the church, I also visited some of the Church's representatives who are famous for their work in the Sahara, Les Peres Blancs. Peres Blancs, or White Fathers, have been doing good work in the Sahara for years, and I was interested in visiting them to hear about their mission in of all places Oued M'zab, this enclave of Ibadi Islam. While working in Mauritania, I got to know some priests and nuns that worked on social and health programs in that Islamic country, so I wanted to see what these White Fathers were up to here.

They have two libraries. One is a general library and the 2nd is one devoted to the Sahara. They also offer language classes in French and German. I met Kryztof a Polish White Father who is teaching German there. I also met a White Sister from the Congo, Anastazie. I did not know there were White Sisters, but they are there too to do work with the women. This is important, since men and women's domains are largely segregated by Mozabite custom and faith. They were very nice and introduced me to some of the young students there that are learning English.

For my Thanksgiving Dinner, I had a nice hunk of roasted lamb. The next day I headed back to Algiers at 6am. :)

Le Weekend a Alger...

(I added some pics to my Djazair: Miscellaneous album, so click here...)

I have been getting around and becoming more familiar…maybe too familiar with the city…lol. I am starting to run into friends/students/workmates here and there. But I am really enjoying Algiers.

I did a lot this Wednesday…I went to a presentation on attending college in the US at the Bouzareah campus. I encouraged the Algerian students to apply by mentioning the example of Nuha, my former Yemeni student, who is now attending a SUNY (State University of New York) school in Cobleskill with the help of a scholarship.

In the pm I headed to the Hamma, or National Library, to visit the new friends at the American Corner, Radia, Karima and Souad. I went and had coffee with Radia and Souad and showed them the Sombrilla Magazine of UTSA. They were delighted to practice their English and hear about university life in the US.

On Thursday, I went back through Belcourt past the Hamma to check out the Musee des Beaux Arts and found a great collection of art…much of it French, and some very interesting modern Algerian works. There are impressionist paintings, for example, Monet, Pisarro, Renoir, Degas, etc. and a couple of wings housing the work of Orientalists like Delacroix. The Orientalist work is a fascinating romantic vision of the area.

The outstanding collection of paintings are well complemented by sculptures, several done by Rodin. The building itself dates from the 1930s and has several stages/terraces that face directly on to a main promenade of the Jardin d’Essai. At one time, to enter the Musee des Beaux-Arts, one walked through that grand walkway up to the monumental edifice.

The terraces have several bronze sculptures and provide a nice place to have a cup of java and take in the wonderful vistas of Algiers. I thoroughly enjoyed the visit. Although, one cannot take pictures inside, there are several reasonably priced books and postcards available inside.

After my visit, I walked into a shishkabob restaurant and had some mini-skewers of merguez, kidney, and meat. It was delicious and I must say the traditional bread that accompanied it was excellent. Pas mal, hein? (Not bad, eh?)

On Friday, I headed out into the city, looking for more good foo and found Matam Samarkand and had some kofte (meat balls) with garbanzo beans, sauce and white lubia (beans). Mmmmmmm.

After that, I wandered about taking pictures and talking to whoever while the faithful worshipped at the mosque. After prayer, I hung out at Port Said watching guys in a cafe play dominoes and Tarot. Later, I stumbled upon the National Theatre and found out there would later be a traditional dance ballet..so I waited around for that. In general, it was refreshing to see modern dance melanged with some traditional movements. Near the end, they did a number with rhythmic pounding that was related to the big “mortar and pestle” “pile” that one sees in Africa. It brought back memories of the RIM and of my times with the people there…not only for that kitchen utensil, but also for the rhythms. It moved me to tears I have to say and I couldn’t really pinpoint why.

Is it the work that women do?…the rhythms of them, of Africa, the trance, the catharsis one experiences in pounding out those beats….something..

Blida...in search of classic Algeria

To see my Blida photo album, click here.

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?