Monday, February 27, 2006

Comparison

They said that we weren't allowed to take public transportation in Algiers because "The taxi drivers might rip us off." It is nice of them to be so concerned with our financial well-being. However considering that we weren't allowed to leave the Hilton:

Cafe au lait and croissant at Hilton: $10
Cafe au lait and croissant at airport: 75 cents

Dinner at Hilton: $35
Dinner at the kebab place down the street: $7

Mint tea at Algiers Hilton: $5
Mint tea at the kebab place down the street: 25 cents

Friday, February 24, 2006

Covert Operations

We snuck out.

---

The first night, it was to a traditional Algerian restaurant. We made reservations and arrived in the rain in our taxi, er, contract vehicle, and the windows were barred and the thick wooden door had a worn knob in the middle. It opened and the old man stood there looking at us, expressionless. "We have a reservation..." His expression didn't change. "We have a reservation for 8 o'clock for four people..." He stepped aside, but not enough to signify a welcome. "Our reservation is under the name..." He stepped aside a little more and we barged in as politely as we could manage--it was cold and drizzly outside. When he saw that we definitely had made up our minds and were not going to leave him alone, he closed the door behind us and went into the kitchen to find the owner. She came out and was all French convivilatiy as she sat us in the dining room--a room of whitewashed woodwork in intricate detail, curlicues and Arabic script around the moldings, red cushions, blue tile floors, candles that burned to the last of the wick. The owner was delighted to bring us whatever we wanted, and what we wanted was "brick," lamb and kefta appetizers, couscous, lamb, chicken, Algerian red wine, and a little Turkish coffee to finish it off.

Poulet avec citron confit-I chose it because I have the recipe in my fantastic Claudia Roden cookbook (which you should go out and buy *right now* if you are at all interested in making Middle Eastern food) and I keep turning to it, eyeing it, wondering about it, and never trying it, usually for lack of citron confit. But here! In its native land, I had to try it. It is exactly how you expect it to taste, all buttery chicken and bitter green olives and tangy lemon sauce.

---

Two nights in a row, we have used our, ahem, "contract vehicles," to visit the Slaughterhouse. There are three restaurants, simply named "Rotisserie," if that even counts as a name, flashing neon and christmas lights in the dark alley. The roads on the way there cross many dark alleys--some have signs, some do not. The signs are Parisian--green with blue rim, "Rue des Martyrs," "Place de la Concorde," "Rue des Anges" with the Arabic equivalent snaking beneath. The glass showcases in front of the Slaughterhouse restaurants are filled with skewered raw meat, les brochettes, and some, sometimes, have mechouie, spits of lamb rotating over a fire, sizzling and spurting. The first night, they were out of le mechouie, to our great disappointment, but the brochettes were delicious, and the mergez sausages. The local soda, Hamoud, and the fluffy bread, the bitter green pepper spread (for which I don't particularly care, but it's good with a dash of harissa) the sugary tea to wash it all down. The second time they had le mechouie--heaps of lamb with french fries soaking in the juice, enough to keep us busy for an hour while Samia told her story of witnessing an honest-to-goodness brawl on her Air Algerie flight from Frankfurt to Algiers.

---

We had an organized tour (i.e., legit) of the Monument des Martyrs, a national museum of Algerian history. The museum - the "National Museum of the Army" - is dedicated most particularly the war for independence, which comprises one-third of the museum's shelf space, although they do give a nod to other eras. Not much more than a nod, though. As far as national museums go, this one is blatantly political, shocking in the graphic descriptions and pictures of Algerian martyrs from the war against France. Our guide was clever and fluent in English, and amiable until he discussed the injustices of the war.

As we left the museum to wander up to the monument itself, the rain started coming down harder--many of us decided that a vew from afar was sufficient, and we explored the little shops under the canopy while waiting for the bus. I bought the last roll of 200 speed film, although the man seemed disgruntled that I didn't want 100 speed, for he had many rolls of 100. Why did I need the last of the 200? I shrugged and gave him my money.

---

Algiers has much potential--two or three languages are mixed together in a charming dialect, the food is superb, the old city is beautiful and Mediterranean, wrought iron gates, white buildings, gardens, promenades. The people are friendly, the history is rich and interesting. It's but 2 hours from Paris. But it's decidedly, deliberately inaccessible to tourists, and the general feeling of disrepair is depressing. If you came here for a vacation-which, given my experience with the embassy, might be impossible-I'm not sure what you would do with yourself. Besides eat lamb and couscous, I mean.

And if you ever do find yourself in Algiers, do not stay in the Hilton.

In response to the comments...

No--no postcards even of the Hilton. There's no gift shop in this Hilton. No toiletries for sale, no books about Algeria, no maps, no film. And thusly, I am stuck in the Hilton with little to occupy my time exept my Naguib Mahfouz book and all the delicious cafes au lait, and my blog...I am surprised, in fact, that I have not blogged more, with all this free time. But I read a lot, and I talk to the waiters and staff and practice my French and my Algerian Arabic, which I don't even understand.

I like the haiku idea.

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Il n'y a pas de...

cartes postales. There are no postcards in Algeria--so if I promised you one, which I probably did, I can offer a rain check and send one from...somewhere else.

Maybe I can do some sleuthing later. Contraband postcards?

Sunday, February 19, 2006

Hotel.

It's raining on the Barbary Coast. I'm on the first floor of the Hilton Alger. The view from our operations center is the blue gray sea and the textured gray cloud cover, looking out over the clay tennis courts and the kidney-shaped swimming pool. Between the courts and the sea is a line of lush but stubby foliage. Flocks of birds swoop in long ribbons over the horizon, over the huge ships that lurk in the fog in the Bay of Algiers.

---

One of our coleagues here, we love him, and he is a wonderful man, and he speaks clearly and strongly, and repeats everything at least twice in different words so as to provide you with the most flawless information; that is, he will say everything again in case you did not quite understand the first time. If you need him to repeat, he will gladly do so, because one should never be without instruction; all employees should, in fact, have instructions for every part of their day, so do not hesitate to ask him, as he will gladly fill your ears with every possible combination of words in answer to your request. He will reword his instructions in order to convey the most sound interpretation of his words. He rose today and addressed the group.

"What I understand, and correct me if I am mistaken, is that we are not allowed to use any form of transportation besides a government of Algeria vehicle, a US Government vehicle, or a Hilton bus, and that all other forms of transportation are prohibited?"
Yes sir, that's right.
"So personal taxis, public busses, local taxis, they are not to be used."
Yes, sir, that's right.
"If you want to leave the area, you must use a government vehicle or a US embassy vehicle; otherwise you may not leave."
...yes, sir. That's right.

At our general, if subdued, outrage that we were not allowed outside the hotel grounds unless in a government vehicle or Hilton bus, a fearless woman asked, "So what you're saying, effectively, is that we aren't going to leave the hotel for a week?"

"Well, no, you may use Algerian government or US embassy vehicles."

"We don't have access to any of those vehicles. So what you're saying is that we aren't going to leave the hotel for a week."

As this realization sank in, the group shifted uneasily. Six straight days in this hotel? He noted the unease.

"I will consult with the US government and the Algerian government to see if there are any solutions that will both keep us securely according to US regulations and allow us to leave the hotel to see some of Algiers. I will arrange this to prevent cabin fever from setting in, because as the transportation situation is now, we will all grow very weary of each other very soon."

We nodded as a group with a general sense of incredulity. 6 days in this hotel, this hotel which doesn't even have a gift shop; from which we can see, but not get to, the beach; this hotel which offers the most expensive buffets of any Hilton, anywhere; which substitutes Fanta for Orangina and thinks you will not notice. 6 days!

---

We might sneak out.

Saturday, February 18, 2006

Upon Arrival in Algiers

1. Business Class from DC to Paris ROCKS.
2. There are no ATMS in Algiers, Algeria and quite possibly in the whole of N. Africa
3. Algiers is actually very pretty and green and hilly if you ignore the 1959 cement-block architecture
4. Breakfast at the Hilton really is twenty dollars.
5. Apparently I speak very good French, "for an American."
6. You know how they always ask if someone gave you stuff to carry on board? Someone totally tried to give me stuff to carry on board! I don't know if he just realized he couldn't check three bags and wanted me to take one for him, or if he really was trying to pass, like, contraband, off on me. I pretended not to speak French and shrugged a lot and then I was all excited to tell the lady when she asked, "Has anyone given you items to carry on board?" but she didn't ask. So I told her anyway.
7. I have a balcony in my hotel room, which is not exactly...um...what I would call 5-star, and the balcony overlooks the parking lot, but whatever.
8. They SAY they don't allow outside food, but they totally did not mention the seventy-nine bags of trail mix I have spilling out of my purse, so they must not care that much.

On Embassies

T minus 8 days

Samia and I visit the Algerian embassy and drop off our passports with visa applications and two photos. The man behind the whitewashed desk sits in a bare room behind a desk of scattered piles of paper, leaning his head on a phone. We show him the pasports and he nods, only giving us enough attention as absolutely necessary before he returns to his phone conversation in muffled Arabic.

"We are leaving next Thursday--will the visas be ready?"
He nods and continues talking on the phone.
One is government, but the other is a tourist passport. I think I have to pay--do I have to pay now?
"No, no, no pay. We will call you if you have to pay."
No, I am pretty sure I have to pay.
"We will call you."
Do you even have our phone number?
"...no, I need your phone number."
When will the visas be ready?
"Call at 3 o clock. Call visa"
At three o clock?
"Call at three, from three to four, the visa man is here."
Ok, I will call then.
Samia looks doubtful. We anticipate many trips to the embassy before Thursday.

T minus 3 days

I call the embassy and give them my name: is my passport ready?
"Your name...Cat-reen?
Yes, Catherine Range.
"Geneva Catreen?
Um, Catherine Geneva Range, yes.
"Catherine is woman name?"
...yes.
"Yes, it is ready!"
What about my colleagues' passports, are they ready?
"..."
I give the names.
"...no, I do not know"
You don't know? Can you check?
"No, I do not know."
Well...we are leaving in three days.
"Call at 2 o clock, visa man."

2:15 PM, Samia calls Visa man, Ali. The man at the front desk picks up.
"Call at three o clock. He does not pick up the phone until three o clock."
But...you told me to call at two.
"He does not pick up the phone until three o'clock. "

3 PM Samia calls again.
Ali--I need my visa.
He tells her that her visa is not there.
But the man at the desk...
"Oh, Rashid? Well, he is Moroccan..."

T minus 2 days

7:30 AM, I call the embassy
Hello, my name is Catherine Range and my passport is ready to be picked up...
"Let me check"
I called yesterday and you said it is ready to be picked up
"Your name?"
Catherine Range
*papers shuffle*
"...yes, it is ready."
Yes, I know, but can I pick it up now? Hella?
"Yes! Anytime! No problem!"
Now? At 8 am?
"No problem!"

8 AM: Arrive at embassy, which is closed, locked, bolted.

9:30 AM, I call the embassy
"Yes, I called at 7:30 and the man said that I could stop by, but when I came at 8, it was closed."
"Really?! Oh, there is always someone here."
Wellll, there wasn't anyone there at 8 AM...
"Our hours are from 9 - 5."
Uh, ok. Can I come now and pick it up?
"Yes, no problem!"
Are my colleagues' passports ready yet?
"I do not know."
They are leaving with me tomorrow, they need their passports.
"I do not know, I am from Morocco."
...

11 AM I pick up passport. Rashid gives me a knowing smile and I suspect he is glad thta I will no longer be calling him inquiring about our visas. He is always on the phone. No sign of Samia's.

11:30 AM I go to the Turkish embassy, through a heavy metal door, a locked gate, a metal detector, and an x-ray machine, down a clean, wood staircase and into the lobby. I walk up to the "Visa" window.
I need a visa for next week...
"Ok, it will be ready by 10 am tomorrow."
...really? 10 AM?
"Yes, see you then."

T minus 1 day

I pick up the passport at the Turkish embassy at 10 sharp.

...

I've arrived in Algiers. I have yet to hear about Samia's passport.

Friday, February 03, 2006

Plug and other things

Bare Minerals. This is the greatest makeup ever. No, seriously. I've been trying to find good makeup for years--it is always the wrong color, too oily, too cakey, too heavy, not heavy enough, too expensive, too smelly...But THIS. This, my friends, is the Cosmetic Holy Grail. This makes your skin look even without looking cakey. This goes on as a powder and looks like *gasp* real skin instead of wax. This, you can use as much or as little as you want. This doesn't clog your pores. This doesn't even have a smell. This is a $25 miracle. (OK, more, if you buy the bare escentuals brushes , which you should do. STILL.) And it really is so pure you can sleep in it.

---

So I got a new office. It's my Own Office right now. It's kind of naked and lonely, but I will Decorate. There are five extra chairs in it and two extra desks--I think maybe if I move the chairs around, throw some papers on there and maybe leave a few dirty coffee cups on the desk, people will assume that someone works there and they won't give it to someone else. Then I wouldn't have to share...

---

We help a Pride and Prejuedice Valentine's Day Tea Party yesterday. It's an idea I lovingly stole from Sara. It turned out very well, and we had snow, too, which made it all cozy and tea-ish. Complete with scones, whipped cream, fruit salad, little popover thingies, cookies, and an assortment of tea AND made all the better by the use of my *shiny new* tea kettle. Mr. Darcy's DVD didn't cooperate, so we had to watch Sense and Sensibility instead, but the Misses Dashwood were charming and everyone loves Mr. Edward Farris, so it was an excellent tea party.

I am in the market for a decent scone recipe, by the way.

Thursday, February 02, 2006

Sri Lanka

Since we had an extra day in Sri Lanka, we decided to go to Kandy. We thought this was an excellent idea.

This turned out to be a leeetle bit more of a hassle than we anticipated. Mostly because prices, they are subject to change at any time. For any reason.

So our car arrived at noon, like it was supposed to. But then it left because it didn't have air conditioning (air conditioning was a high priority on a three hour drive.) Then the second car left because it was broken, needed to be replaced. Finally at 1 we piled into the third car and proceeded to drive around the tiny lake near our hotel while Dan argued with the driver about the price, which was 40% more than he had agreed upon. We returned to the hotel at 1:45, unsatisfied with the monetary arrangement, and arranged yet another car with the hotel travel office. 3 o'clock, he said. Fine, we said. So we walked to the Galle Face Hotel, then back down Galle Road, where we ran into a scuffy looking man who decided that we needed to be accompanied.

On the other side of the lake is the temple I visited last time with my friendly tuktuk driver. We made our way over there via the hotel laundry room, which is not, in fact, a room, but sort of a small field with clothes lines and stone pits for the hot water. I had been eyeing it for a while with an inclination to take some pictures.

We ended up at the temple on the lake, and with 15 minutes left before our car was to arrive, we visited the bigger temple. Last time I was there, it was full of people. This time was quiet, but not because of our "guide," who took every opportunity to point out things that we might have missed: "Buddha!" "Flowers!" "Books!"

We rushed out at 2:55 to grab a tuktuk, when, unsurprisingly, our "guide" put on his Most Pitiful Face and asked for a little something "for the children." We feigned ignorance, and asked the tuktuk driver if we should give him something. He bobbled his head affirmatively and Kirsten coughed up 100 rupees-about 1 dollar. Then as our tuktuk sped around to the Cinnamon Grand Hotel, the driver informed us that the money was not, actually, for the children. "This man, bad!" He said "Drugs!"

We had just unwittingly supported a Sri Lankan's drug habit with our 1 dollar.

The hotel van arrived at 3 and we began the climb out of Colombo up through the green hills to Kandy. When we arrived there, it was drizzly and dark, and the hotel reecommended a "famous restaurant-the most famous!" to us. I suspect it was not in fact the most famous restaurant in Kandy. Is uspect that it is owned by the hotel owner's cousin. But never mind. It was decent food, and we were serenaded by a trio of Sri Lankans singing "It's Now or Never" and "Country Roads" with their Sri Lankan ukeleles.

The next day we headed to the Temple of the Tooth, the Royal Botanical Gardens, and the elephant orphanage. All were wonderful, partly because they are wonderful and partly because they are So Foreign To Me. That's why I took Lots of Pictures. Monkeys! Elephants! Saris! In this case, the pictures are worth a thousand words, so let's skip to the photos. More black and whites to come, but they are yet being developed.

The ride home was uneventful, and we arrived just in time to send Kirsten off to the airport. We hung around and slept, ate, and puttered until our flight left at 3 am.