The End?

All of you still harboring that tiny, secret wish that you were experiencing all this with me, consider this: I spent a long, cold night on a concrete slab seriously considering the possibility that my trip was over.

I arrived at the Algerian border in the early afternoon of the 9th from Tozeur: a wonderful 60 km ride above the Chott El Jerid. The birds infesting the trees within the confines of the hotel were exuberant, the wind was calm, the air temperature cool, the sun hot. A climb out of Tozeur led to gentle downward slopes that allowed me use of the little used larger gears.

I hope Polly will allow me this small admission, and I sincerely hope it doesn’t affect our relationship: I am in love with my bicycle. Light, strong, reliable…rarely complains…it does expect me to do all the work, but that just makes it more adorable and in any case, its for my own good…

Nefta at noon

Nefta 11am
Shortly after the oasis of Nefta, the road lost its topcoat and I lost some speed. The traffic was minimal. Except for an occasional stand of palms, there was no vegetation whatsoever. A girl(?) and her son(?) or brother(?) at one point came charging out of nowhere to show me hand-made dolls and necklaces and bracelets, and because I had change I needed to spend before the border and because I needed a good-luck charm to deal with the problems I expected to encounter, I bought a green heart of stone hung by a green string to wear around my neck for the rest of the trip. The price was 2 Dinar, but she gave it to me for what I had, which was just a bit less. Mia: its yours when I return, as an addition to our little collection of hearts.

Fatma Boucaina, her brother? and her crafts

Then the road got considerably worse: gravel with a spray-coat. The Tunisian border control was somewhat annoying but perfunctory. They thought the Algerians might require that I engage a guide, and noted that I had only 6 days left on my Algerian visa, but I said “No problem, I’m just going to find a truck to take me south to Tamanrasset and I’ll be out of Algeria in no time”. Basically, I lied.

The Algerian border post was 4 km down the (very rough) road, and there I was finally stopped cold. Despite what the Algerian embassy had told me repeatedly before the trip, tourists would under no circumstances pass without a guide. I wasn’t sure if this was a shake-down or the facts, so I got the Algerian embassy on the phone and asked them to speak to the head of the border control (who, I might add, was pretty amazed to be put on the phone with Washington, DC). The bottom line was this: the Algerian embassy didn’t have a clue. The law had been on the books for 2 years or 4 years, depending on who I talked to.

I thought: “This is bad.”

I was told to go back to Gafsa, Tunisia and get a visa extension, but I told them it was a three day journey by bicycle and completely out of the question. They told me to call a guide from Tamanrasset, who could come and get me. I told them I had no contacts in Tamanrasset. They said: “Then wait”. Some Italians were expected in the afternoon or possibly in the morning, and perhaps, in-shallah, their guide would take me with them. It seemed…awfully tenuous. On the other hand, I had no choice. So I waited all that afternoon through sunset, chatting occasionally with the border officials, eating some food I had with me, until it got pitch dark, and I found a slab to sleep on. I did not sleep.

Algerian border post at Hazoua

Nefta, Tunisia