Snapshots of Algiers

I'm off to Budapest in the morning. Meanwhile, here are some views of Algiers:


This is the street exiting one of the largest markets in Algiers. Jim and I snaked our way through there on a Thursday afternoon (weekend), looking for navel oranges. We found them in the last stall.







Many of the French colonial buildings downtown narrow, as this one does. One of the hallmarks of the buildings are rich, blue awnings (except here, of course!). Nadir tells me that after the revolution was won (independence from France) there was a proposal to change all of those beautiful blue awnings to green, a.k.a. the Algerian flag. Thank God that didn't happen.















This is the fabulous view from my hotel room. The hotel itself was faded glory. Spectacular tilework and fabulously intricate walls, floors, etc., all of which were in disrepair. I also had to contend with roaches and backed up sewage pipes on my floor and the one above me, until I was finally moved to this room on a higher floor. It was about the size of a matchbox, but no bugs and no sewage problems during my last week.

Journos in Algeria

From left: Ouali, Hocine (Weapon of Mass Consumption), who might be hiding a chicken or pizza in the hand we can't see; Hanafi, Liesse and Said

Theater, Algerian-style

Ouali SMSed me and invited me to see a play in Algiers. I met him at the newspaper, and together we ambled over to the theater, where we met Hocine, a.k.a. the Weapon of Mass Consumption. Hocine had been sick earlier, having eaten a pizza old enough to have a birthday.
But he had recovered and was waiting for us outside the theater. He was anxious to get in and find a seat, but Ouali didn't seem to see the rush.

Ouali never seems to see the rush. He's an ambler. A laconic ambler. What can't be done today can surely be done tomorrow, whether it's putting out a daily newspaper or being on time for the curtain raising.

It was crowded, overcrowded. This night was by invitation only but it was also first come, first seated, and there were more invitees than seats. I was trying not to think of horror stories of packed ferries, packed nightclubs, packed theaters, FIRE!! Breathe, breathe.

We more or less dashed from one floor to the next, continuously crossing paths with a babushka and her daughter. It seemed to me that if a babushka can't find a place to sit down, then I surely couldn't get one. Nevermind. Watching Hocine chase after Ouali, telling him "I told you so!"--and then fake-biting his own hand in frustration-- and then watching Ouali fan him away without the slightest hint of irritation or shame, was becoming the drama I had come to see.

Ouali knows the right people and seconds before the play started, we had box seats. If I looked really hard, I could see the babushka standing in one of the crowded aisles.

I sat next to Ouali and he translated the gist of the play. I thought it would be boring, but it wasn't. I had to pay closer attention because of the language, but I noticed more that way. Took more in.

The play was centered around the terrorism that plagued Algeria in the '80s and '90s, and a case of someone who had been mistaken for dead, but was actually a John Doe amnesia victim in a hospital. Having emerged from his fog, he finds his family, who has already grieved him and moved on.
When the actor playing "John Doe's" son came on stage, the audience erupted in wild cheers and thunderous applause. Clearly this man had many, many adoring fans.

Ouali leaned in to explain: "He's a famous Algerian rapist," he whispered.
He moved back away. Paused.
Then leaned in toward me again: "I mean 'rapper.' He's a famous Algerian rapper."

Tensions Rising in Algiers

I've been back from Algiers for a couple of weeks now. I got an email from an American friend there who said that there were two bombs defused by police about two blocks from where I was working at the Press Center. They were in front of the teaching hospital, so the police cordoned off the area, but pedestrians were still panicked when they heard the explosion. Algerians have been through enough to know to panic when you hear an explosion. Oddly, the only thing I could find about it was what had been reported locally. No AP, no Reuters, no AFP.
Things seem to be escalating again there, although locals appear to think it's nothing to worry about. Hanafi, who often comments on this site, reminded me that the recent bombings (in the last couple of weeks) haven't been in Algiers at all, but several kilometers away. Small comfort, especially seeing how the defused bombs were smack downtown.
After Saddam's hanging, my American friend (I was back in Austria then) said the menace toward him, clearly a Westerner, was palpable. He said some of the reporters at the Arabic newspaper he consults for now no longer talk to him.

Traffic Jam in Hainburg

Look what Sir George and I saw in town today...

Note the dog riding shotgun:

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

Went back to Algeria for three weeks. Let's just say the bossman there is crazy. A living, breathing, blowhard buffoon. He should have been a used car salesman but somehow there was a clerical error and he ended up in my line of work.

In any case, I'm home. Feels great. Have finally come up for air. A few entries to post on Algeria, but first this on Virginia: I wrote a feature on "Being Virginian" to commemorate the 400th anniversary of Jamestown. The editor wanted a personal narrative, including photos. My older brother dug up this photo--taken long before I was born (I'm not THAT old... haha, Stephen!), it shows my brothers sporting Captain John Smith helmets and fake Indian spears. Also, inexplicably, sunglasses with seahorses.