Sunday, 2 April 2017
Once upon a time
Once upon a time, a women went to stay in a faraway place called "The Wisterias." She had a lovely time. When she left and returned home, she quickly discovered that she lost her heart. Her veins and arteries were at their wit's ends, having lost their purpose in life. She wrote to the house-mistress explaining her situation. Oh, could they see if they could find it? The house-mistress considered the situation. Plainly, it was challenge. Even if they were to find it, it would be quite a situation to find suitable packaging, let alone mail it through the postal system. She discussed it with the director and they considered it gravely. He agreed with her in that ideally, the guest should come back to collect her heart. There were insufficient resources for this search-and-rescue activity, as it had not been budgeted for in the year's annual budget. However, he decided that this was an important situation, and called on everyone in the house to keep an eye out for a heart. Where could it be? Was it by the birds-of-paradise, or weeping by the crown-of-Jesus in the garden? Was it in the cheek of everyone's smile? Was it, perhaps having been reduced to crumbs, under a bread-crumber on the dining room table? Finally, it was found by one of the workers in the chapel. He was working on one of the coloured windows. In the morning light, he saw a heart wedged in the crack of one of the original windows. He carefully worked the glass, and set the heart free. And it flew off and lived happily ever after. The End.
Thursday, 30 March 2017
Life after Algiers
Now in London, in a very nice room that I can barely move around in, though I've left my heart in Algiers. We had a minor earthquake last night. I'd like to think that we all shuddered at the thought of me leaving.
It was a very lovely morning of taking last minute photographs and saying good bye to everyone. Père G escorted me down to the taxi. That he was the the last person I saw was extra special.
I flipped through the British Airways glossy mag, and came upon a feature article on famous Brits. Like the writer of Casino Royale, who developed great PR for the UK as well as the character of James Bond.
Père G is like James Bond's twin, or Bond in an afterlife. Both snappily dressed celibates. Rather than running after a villian for the purposes of slaughter, G is conversely all about bringing people together - he knows so many people, and this liaison-ing function is his and the Centre's raison d'être. Rather than a cool 'look' and few words, G can be quite gestural and intense with liveliness - he has been leading a theatre class for students during the past few weeks of school holidays. Rather than know about firearms and other items by Q, G wanders around singing in the corridors, gloriously rocks out on the piano on Sunday evenings, and celebrates Mass on Tuesdays.
I chat on the plane with R, who has been working in south Algeria on a 3-week on and 3-week off routine for a year, and now extended for another year. He fixed things up at the Il Amenas site after the damage, and they've kept him on since. Yes, this is the oil field site where terrorists assassinated a number of foreign workers a few years ago. His co-worker on the plane was employed at the time, but happened to be in th UK then. Over the course of the 2.5 h flight, I witnessed R down 2 gin and tonics, and I suspect another 2 more at the back. It seems that yes, the desert can be quite dry.
It was a very lovely morning of taking last minute photographs and saying good bye to everyone. Père G escorted me down to the taxi. That he was the the last person I saw was extra special.
I flipped through the British Airways glossy mag, and came upon a feature article on famous Brits. Like the writer of Casino Royale, who developed great PR for the UK as well as the character of James Bond.
Père G is like James Bond's twin, or Bond in an afterlife. Both snappily dressed celibates. Rather than running after a villian for the purposes of slaughter, G is conversely all about bringing people together - he knows so many people, and this liaison-ing function is his and the Centre's raison d'être. Rather than a cool 'look' and few words, G can be quite gestural and intense with liveliness - he has been leading a theatre class for students during the past few weeks of school holidays. Rather than know about firearms and other items by Q, G wanders around singing in the corridors, gloriously rocks out on the piano on Sunday evenings, and celebrates Mass on Tuesdays.
I chat on the plane with R, who has been working in south Algeria on a 3-week on and 3-week off routine for a year, and now extended for another year. He fixed things up at the Il Amenas site after the damage, and they've kept him on since. Yes, this is the oil field site where terrorists assassinated a number of foreign workers a few years ago. His co-worker on the plane was employed at the time, but happened to be in th UK then. Over the course of the 2.5 h flight, I witnessed R down 2 gin and tonics, and I suspect another 2 more at the back. It seems that yes, the desert can be quite dry.
Wednesday, 29 March 2017
Le dernier soir
Last evening here, and it has been a jam-packed week. Wonderful day today taking photographs of this lovely home away from home, and taking my last lunch at my favourite place. For dinner Père G has his ascot which symbolized "event." And his bright red (cardinal?) sweater. I brought out my 2 bottles of wine, St Augustin and Koutoubia, and for dessert we were gâtés - aside from chocolate pudding, the cooks made a beautiful chantilly and chocolate cake, with the last lemons of the garden, and decorated it ornately in patterns reminiscent of henné. My friend C came (former resident who recently moved to an apartment), as well as S who is a resident but usually does not dine. So it was a closure with much warmth, very special and touching.
Off to London in the morning. Sigh!
Off to London in the morning. Sigh!
Tuesday, 28 March 2017
March 27, 1996
I went down to the cathedrale this morning. I thought that it was because I wanted to take some photographs, of what is one of the most amazing cathedrales I have seen. I stayed for Mass at 8:30. And at some point Père Julian mentioned that it was the anniversary of the abduction of the monks at Tibhirine.
Thursday, 23 March 2017
Egalité, fraternité, liberté
Just in case it has not been entirely clear, Algeria is not for the faint of heart.
At some point, all the little things will make someone, perhaps a woman, crumble in despair. She could be aghast at the lack of bus route maps. The complete opacity of information at the train station. The lack of implementing seat assignments, either on planes or trains. The official re-naming of streets on maps, while on the streets themselves the old names are still in the plaques. The idea that Oran is a fun, vibrant, partying city ... because it is only really fun and vibrant for guys.
Like "Egalité, fraternité, liberté", it was complained during the Algerian War that universal principles applied exclusively to the French. I'm finding this applies only to men here.
My Kabyl mother had really wanted me to stay at the Maison Diocésaine here. Wherever it was. She said that any taxi driver would know. Rather than have a complicated interaction with a taxi driver, armed with neither address or phone number, I decided to head for a hotel of good online repute, and well enough snagged a nice room. One cannot choose mothers, so I am grateful for her concern.
By Canadian customs, a woma, esp. an Asian-looking woman, having a dinner and a glass of wine on her own is considered atypical. Here in Oran it is well off the navigated charts. But it can be accomplished if one envisions the possible. First I do a tripadvisor check (having left all tourist material in Algiers) for a really good restaurant. I head for dinner there tonight at 7:30, which is the equivalent of 'crack of dawn' - rather early. Any combination of 'Chinese', 'woman', 'restaurant/non-home dinner' and 'pre-8:30' would raise eyebrows. I'm not sure that women eat out for dinner - there was a party of 16 beside me - all men. And the rest were men that trickled in too. Add non-smoking, which is fine - they moved an entire table for me. Then the request, "Can I have just a glass of wine?" Unfortunately, all wine is sold by bottles - was the response. Thankfully, mid-way through my meal, the proprietor poured a very smooth Algerian Cabernet Sauvignon.
Somehow, I was imagining that there would be women on the streets here in Oran after dark. The city is quite a bit more lively than Algiers during the daytime. but it seems for both that there is still a kind of psychological couvre-feu that dates back to the troubles in the 90s (twenty years ago now!). The idea that women on the streets are loose, all foreign women are loose, and that the streets are not safe is still prevalent. Though do the most basic research on the state of the woman here, and one finds very quickly that it is within their home that women are most vulnerable to violence.
This results in truly no-fun cities that cannot develop and grow. Evenings cannot be used for public gatherings, limiting cultural gatherings of any sort. There are hundreds of cinemas, but neither audience nor films. Even in Damascus when I was there, there was a bit more of evening culture. Certainly there were women in restaurants for dinner, and women walking at night. Last weekend in Algiers, there was a concert at 4pm, with an ambience of midnight. Until Algerians sort this out, as this seems to be a collective thing, I'm not sure that there will be too many tourists staying the night (once they find a decent hotel room).
As for me, I just have to solve the riddle: how to have a good dinner, when it is at dusk that restaurants open and when women on the streets are scarce?
At some point, all the little things will make someone, perhaps a woman, crumble in despair. She could be aghast at the lack of bus route maps. The complete opacity of information at the train station. The lack of implementing seat assignments, either on planes or trains. The official re-naming of streets on maps, while on the streets themselves the old names are still in the plaques. The idea that Oran is a fun, vibrant, partying city ... because it is only really fun and vibrant for guys.
Like "Egalité, fraternité, liberté", it was complained during the Algerian War that universal principles applied exclusively to the French. I'm finding this applies only to men here.
My Kabyl mother had really wanted me to stay at the Maison Diocésaine here. Wherever it was. She said that any taxi driver would know. Rather than have a complicated interaction with a taxi driver, armed with neither address or phone number, I decided to head for a hotel of good online repute, and well enough snagged a nice room. One cannot choose mothers, so I am grateful for her concern.
By Canadian customs, a woma, esp. an Asian-looking woman, having a dinner and a glass of wine on her own is considered atypical. Here in Oran it is well off the navigated charts. But it can be accomplished if one envisions the possible. First I do a tripadvisor check (having left all tourist material in Algiers) for a really good restaurant. I head for dinner there tonight at 7:30, which is the equivalent of 'crack of dawn' - rather early. Any combination of 'Chinese', 'woman', 'restaurant/non-home dinner' and 'pre-8:30' would raise eyebrows. I'm not sure that women eat out for dinner - there was a party of 16 beside me - all men. And the rest were men that trickled in too. Add non-smoking, which is fine - they moved an entire table for me. Then the request, "Can I have just a glass of wine?" Unfortunately, all wine is sold by bottles - was the response. Thankfully, mid-way through my meal, the proprietor poured a very smooth Algerian Cabernet Sauvignon.
Somehow, I was imagining that there would be women on the streets here in Oran after dark. The city is quite a bit more lively than Algiers during the daytime. but it seems for both that there is still a kind of psychological couvre-feu that dates back to the troubles in the 90s (twenty years ago now!). The idea that women on the streets are loose, all foreign women are loose, and that the streets are not safe is still prevalent. Though do the most basic research on the state of the woman here, and one finds very quickly that it is within their home that women are most vulnerable to violence.
This results in truly no-fun cities that cannot develop and grow. Evenings cannot be used for public gatherings, limiting cultural gatherings of any sort. There are hundreds of cinemas, but neither audience nor films. Even in Damascus when I was there, there was a bit more of evening culture. Certainly there were women in restaurants for dinner, and women walking at night. Last weekend in Algiers, there was a concert at 4pm, with an ambience of midnight. Until Algerians sort this out, as this seems to be a collective thing, I'm not sure that there will be too many tourists staying the night (once they find a decent hotel room).
As for me, I just have to solve the riddle: how to have a good dinner, when it is at dusk that restaurants open and when women on the streets are scarce?
Tuesday, 21 March 2017
Fishing in the Sahara
Making good with my research here. I have turned a corner in it and it is very exciting. I should be able to share in some form at some point.
Reading a book on the doings and sayings of the Mzabites. That sand is used for cleaning, like water. Quite literally "dry cleaning."
"Sur cette aire de prière on étend une toile de sac propre sur laquelle on pose un petit plateau avec du sable pur pour les ablutions sèches, on y pose les mains (à plat), on fait une invocation, on lève les mains pour se frotter le visage, on place les doigts aux oreilles en disant "Venez, ô anges de Dieu! Partez, ô démons!"
"On this prayer area is spread a clean sackcloth on which is placed a small tray with pure sand for dry ablutions, putting hands (flat), invoking, raising hands to Rub the face, we put the fingers to the ears saying "Come, oh angels of God! Go, O demons! "
I'm not sure how bishops are made, but I wish I could attend the bishop'ing of Fr. John MacWilliam when he becomes the new Bishop of the Sahara. It will likely happen in the UK somewhere. To think that I had lunch with Bishop Claude just the day before he received the message from the Holy See. And it has taken a long time for the message to come. I read in a newsletter dated last year (Pax something...) that he though his request for a successor had fallen to the bottom of the pile at the Vatican. I'm neither a Christian or a Catholic. While I know that only baptized Catholics are to partake in Communion, I do here, and nowhere else. Oops. I cannot overemphasize that the Christian community here is truly, truly amazing. With such a small flock, and such intensely shared passion, there is a lot of love. They could have left like everyone else. But they did not, do not, and will not leave their friends in times of danger and need.
Last lunch with Z and her friend F, and quel bel surprise, Father Guillaume came too. We went to what is now my favourite little restaurant in Algiers, quite close to where I live, and the Museum Bardo, Museum of Antiquities. I've passed by it lots of times, but never went in. On the outside it looks like a fast food pizza joint. But the thing is, usually the ground floor / rez de chaussee is just that, but on another floor, it is more of a dining place. A comfortable, unpretentious place with lovely decor - Z said that this is where she can just be herself - with very good dishes, particularly the sardines and merlan. The owner said that quite recently the Belgian foreign minister came for lunch. Things are never quite what they seem here, or really anywhere. Hiding behind a pizza joint could be a petit palais...
Reading a book on the doings and sayings of the Mzabites. That sand is used for cleaning, like water. Quite literally "dry cleaning."
"Sur cette aire de prière on étend une toile de sac propre sur laquelle on pose un petit plateau avec du sable pur pour les ablutions sèches, on y pose les mains (à plat), on fait une invocation, on lève les mains pour se frotter le visage, on place les doigts aux oreilles en disant "Venez, ô anges de Dieu! Partez, ô démons!"
"On this prayer area is spread a clean sackcloth on which is placed a small tray with pure sand for dry ablutions, putting hands (flat), invoking, raising hands to Rub the face, we put the fingers to the ears saying "Come, oh angels of God! Go, O demons! "
I'm not sure how bishops are made, but I wish I could attend the bishop'ing of Fr. John MacWilliam when he becomes the new Bishop of the Sahara. It will likely happen in the UK somewhere. To think that I had lunch with Bishop Claude just the day before he received the message from the Holy See. And it has taken a long time for the message to come. I read in a newsletter dated last year (Pax something...) that he though his request for a successor had fallen to the bottom of the pile at the Vatican. I'm neither a Christian or a Catholic. While I know that only baptized Catholics are to partake in Communion, I do here, and nowhere else. Oops. I cannot overemphasize that the Christian community here is truly, truly amazing. With such a small flock, and such intensely shared passion, there is a lot of love. They could have left like everyone else. But they did not, do not, and will not leave their friends in times of danger and need.
Last lunch with Z and her friend F, and quel bel surprise, Father Guillaume came too. We went to what is now my favourite little restaurant in Algiers, quite close to where I live, and the Museum Bardo, Museum of Antiquities. I've passed by it lots of times, but never went in. On the outside it looks like a fast food pizza joint. But the thing is, usually the ground floor / rez de chaussee is just that, but on another floor, it is more of a dining place. A comfortable, unpretentious place with lovely decor - Z said that this is where she can just be herself - with very good dishes, particularly the sardines and merlan. The owner said that quite recently the Belgian foreign minister came for lunch. Things are never quite what they seem here, or really anywhere. Hiding behind a pizza joint could be a petit palais...
Monday, 20 March 2017
Meli Melo
People flitting in and out of the Centre - tonight a doctoral student from Columbia U, studying Algerian cinema. Apparently there are some real gems of films to be seen, most are online. Another from Nice who is doing a documentary on Catholic churches here. His camaraman is still visa-less though in Bordeaux. In the morning, a biologist left - she came for a few days for a conference, despite it having been cancelled. Cancelled conferences left right and centre here - made the mews today.
I tell people I am from Canada, which generally consists of Montreal in most people's minds here. Algeria has a legislative representative for Algerians in Montreal, and as elections are coming up (for what they are worth), the representative was there fairly recently. In the recent bombing of the mosque, two were from Algeria. The daily news has a blog specifically for Montreal - you would think it was part of this country.
The Fetes du Tapis in Ghardaïa was much fun. It was kind of a 3 hour fashion show for carpets along the main drag. Photos permitted, by everyone of everyone - that was by far the most amazing thing. It almost felt normal. Well, apart from all the police on the ground and snipers on the roofs. Loaded guns that were shot in celebration. I'll not firget the shockwaves, the intense mini-seismic events. Lots of smoke, ventolin in hand. Z said that it reminded her of the terrorism times in the 90s.
Returned on Saturday on Tassili Airlines. Owned entirely by Sonotrach, the government-owned oil company, and mainly used to get people to the oil fields. I enjoy North African flights, the few that I've been on. You can bring water in you carry-on luggage, they're not fussy at all with how much carry-on you bring and there's lots of room up there, and for a 1.5 h flight, you get 3 non-sweet patisseries and a drink. Like the good ol' days. Though we had a 2 h delay before flight, a 30 minute delay once landed, and a 30 minute delay trying to get out of the parking lot. Unemployment is high, but they don't seem to fight it with employment.
Possibly Oran on Wednesday for a couple of days, perhaps will see where Camus and YSL lived. Finally a tour of the Casbah on Saturday. Read a bit today on the journalist Hollingworth, and her coverage of the Algerian Independence in 1962. How she delved into the Casbah to get her FLN sources. A bit also on the wars before. There is a street variously named Fraklin Roosevelt or Franklin Roosvelt that I walk down fairly often.
I tell people I am from Canada, which generally consists of Montreal in most people's minds here. Algeria has a legislative representative for Algerians in Montreal, and as elections are coming up (for what they are worth), the representative was there fairly recently. In the recent bombing of the mosque, two were from Algeria. The daily news has a blog specifically for Montreal - you would think it was part of this country.
The Fetes du Tapis in Ghardaïa was much fun. It was kind of a 3 hour fashion show for carpets along the main drag. Photos permitted, by everyone of everyone - that was by far the most amazing thing. It almost felt normal. Well, apart from all the police on the ground and snipers on the roofs. Loaded guns that were shot in celebration. I'll not firget the shockwaves, the intense mini-seismic events. Lots of smoke, ventolin in hand. Z said that it reminded her of the terrorism times in the 90s.
Returned on Saturday on Tassili Airlines. Owned entirely by Sonotrach, the government-owned oil company, and mainly used to get people to the oil fields. I enjoy North African flights, the few that I've been on. You can bring water in you carry-on luggage, they're not fussy at all with how much carry-on you bring and there's lots of room up there, and for a 1.5 h flight, you get 3 non-sweet patisseries and a drink. Like the good ol' days. Though we had a 2 h delay before flight, a 30 minute delay once landed, and a 30 minute delay trying to get out of the parking lot. Unemployment is high, but they don't seem to fight it with employment.
Possibly Oran on Wednesday for a couple of days, perhaps will see where Camus and YSL lived. Finally a tour of the Casbah on Saturday. Read a bit today on the journalist Hollingworth, and her coverage of the Algerian Independence in 1962. How she delved into the Casbah to get her FLN sources. A bit also on the wars before. There is a street variously named Fraklin Roosevelt or Franklin Roosvelt that I walk down fairly often.
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