Algeria > Ghardaïa in the Desert

After showering, I notice that I don’t have my jacket in the room. I must have left it in the restaurant last night. It’s convenient that breakfast is served in the same restaurant. When I ask about my striking blue North Face jacket, it appears that it has not been found. People look uncertain. Normally, all lost items are reported to management, they say. The reception is also called, but nothing has been handed in. Nothing is left at the table where we sat yesterday either. I begin to suspect that my jacket is officially lost. The jacket is old and has traveled with me to many destinations around the world. I had intended to buy a new jacket anyway, but I had hoped to use this one next week in the desert, where it can get cold in the evenings and at night. There’s nothing to be done. After breakfast, we are picked up at our cabin. A golf cart takes us back to the reception. Here I try once more to ask about my jacket. The restaurant is called again. The manager of last night’s restaurant comes over to say that nothing resembling a jacket was found during his shift. There’s nothing more to do. By now, the new driver, Mustafa, has arrived. We load our luggage into the new car and head toward the desert town of Ghardaïa. Just outside El Oued, we drive through vast sand plains. The road runs perfectly straight through them.

Algeria - Not much remains of the mosque

After about two hours of driving, we arrive in Touggourt, home to the old mud-built Berber town of Tamacine, founded in the 8th century. Nassar, the local guide, welcomes us and leads us among the ruins and remnants of the old town. We arrive at the mosque. The minaret appears recently restored. The caretaker opens the door for us. A small mud staircase leads to the 22-meter-high top of the minaret. Pigeon droppings cover almost everything, and there are also pigeon eggs on the steps. I step carefully; it does not seem like this staircase is regularly used, let alone by tourists. From the minaret, we have a beautiful view over the old, crumbling town. Roofs have collapsed, and many walls are cracked. Opposite the minaret is a small mosque. I remove my shoes to enter. Nassar guides us past several houses and a second small mosque. The walls are heavily cracked, and I doubt it is safe to stay under the dome. I quickly step outside again. On the other side of Touggourt lies the Tijani Zawiya Mosque, an important religious center of the Tijaniyya brotherhood. The mausoleum within the Tijani Zawiya complex is dedicated to Sidi Ahmad al-Tijani, the founder of the Tijaniyya Sufi order. We visit both the mausoleum and the mosque. After this tour, we say goodbye to Nassar. We still have a long drive ahead. Outside the town, there is only sand on either side of the road. Remarkably, there is still quite a lot of traffic here. We pass many trucks. At a gas station, there is a small restaurant. When we enter, all tables are occupied. A man gestures that we can join him, but there aren’t enough chairs. The owner orders another man to move to a different table with his food so that we can sit.

Algeria - Our lunch in a small roadside restaurant

The owner shouts out the orders, adding to the chaos. A basket of bread is placed on the table, overflowing, and soup is served without asking. We order some chicken skewers, salad, and pasta, and take a soft drink from the fridge. On the wall hangs a picture of a Dutch windmill at the Zaanse Schans. When we photograph it, everyone looks at it in surprise, as if they hadn’t noticed it before. The total cost of the meal is less than a thousand Dinar (five euros). It is still over three hours to Ghardaïa. I am glad I don’t have to drive. Driving along the straight road through the desert makes me sleepy.

Algeria - Along the road signs warn for crossing camels

The sun also sinks lower as the afternoon progresses, often directly in our eyes. Around 5:30 p.m., we enter Ghardaïa, a large desert town. Tomorrow, we will visit the fortified historical towns, of which Ghardaïa is one. The hotel is on a hill at the edge of the city. Its name, Belvédère, says it all. The distance to the city center is too far to walk, so we decide to eat at the hotel. There is no menu; the waiter offers three options for the starter and three for the main course, all in French. Using Google Translate and pictures, we manage to understand the menu. The food is acceptable, but it is remarkable that almost every meal in Algeria is served lukewarm or cold. Even now, the fries are cold, and the chicken schnitzel is lukewarm.