In Algiers

I've made it to Algiers through Oran. Quite a change to Air Algérie. The planes are old, not well-cleaned, and have damaged interior parts (hopefully not in the mechanics) and have Turkish as the language on all written information in the plane(maybe this means they are third-hand)in addition to English. Professionalization is at a low and not much precision when it comes to time. The attendants used Algerian and French when they were giving instructions; but when the message "seat belt sign is off" was given, it was only in English, which hardly anyone here speaks. I filled out the entry forms for a couple of Algerians on the plane. Each day in North Africa makes me wonder if I'm giving enough back for all the privileges I've had. Every passenger was supposed to have taken their bag, located next to the plane, and place it him/herself on the baggage cart. Well, no one told me that! A message was announced three times; but sometimes the attendant's French accent isn't that good or she doesn'know how to pronounce my name. So I'm waiting on my luggage, which got left in Oran. While I was waiting for my flight connection to Algiers, which was delayed (the time conception difference), I got to know a friendly and efficient flight agency booker, Fatima, who was anxious to practice her English and did her best to look after me. She bought me a cup of coffee (café au lait) and changed twenty US dollars so I could take a taxi, since all Algerian banks are closed on Saturday-even in the airports. She's going to start work with a branch of Haliburton in Oran (I didn't mention the Cheney connection, since she was so proud of having landed her job as translator with the company) in two weeks. She's 23, studied in Strasbourg, France, has a father who is a lawyer and four sisters and three brothers, is working on a masters in linguistics, and is slated to marry a rich fellow, who lives in Hammamet. She's not crazy about that since she wants to work; and he doesn't favor the idea. She's going to try and persuade him to let her help manage his hotels and bring in some more money. Somehow, I think she will convince him. She definitely took charge of all the booking requests and complaints that came her way as well as keeping up her close and extensive network of airport colleagues, friends, and family. Even when customers came to the window, she treated them as friends and family. I noticed this in Morocco as well. People don't hesitate to ask others for directions and are willing to take time to assist. They always seem to have a bit of humor and to quickly act as if they are warm and fast friends. She is so integrated into and close to her friends and family. She asked about studying in the US, but realized she'd miss this tremendous support system if she did. And think of the support she offered me, while I was waiting for my flight. I got to share her office, an area behind an open window to serve customers entered through locked doors, and meet several of her sisters through pictures on her cell phone and on the internet. I also had my picture taken with her cell phone. Then Fatima's friend, Khadija, took a picture of me and Fatima. And she kept track of information related to the flight delay and when I should check in. My own personal assistant for the better part of a day. I'm back to using the Arabic-adapted keyboard in a cyber café. So I'm thrown into two more languages or so: Algerian colloquial Arabic and French, spoken in a variety of ways by Algerians, and another political approach to the world. I'm staying at the Dar Diaf Hotel, which has its own character. It's probably Algerian petite bourgeoisie. Business men make up most of its clientele-some with their wives. The decor is neo-Arab with tiles and lots of wood carving. Arm chairs and many aluminim-framed chairs surround inlaid tables in the lobby. Yet, it seems to have a more human side than the Sofitel or Hilton, the furnishings of which are basically the same in all large cities. All the major hotels were booked in Algiers on the weekend and probably beyond with people here for a 15-day agricultural fair. I have now picked up my luggage and feel more settled. Algiers is a beautiful port city with traffic congestion. It has a huge Martyrs' Monument, seen from almost anywhere in the city, and streets named after generals as well as Frantz Fanon. A suburb bears the name of Salvador Allende. Although I have seen a wide variety of dress in the city center and fewer jellabahs, there seems to be more conservative dress for women and more head scarves with all the hair covered. One shorter, white face veil is trimmed with ruffles. Men are inclined to have western dress, though not usually the full business suit with jacket. Traditional dress may be more popular in Morocco due to the influence of the monarch-dating from the 17th century.