It rained all night and we struggled with the tent first thing, ending up split between the tent and trying to toast on the fire in the rain.
Drove to Algiers train station where the real fun started. Seemed to take multiple loops through repeated scenery before we finally came to rest.
Pandemonium as everyone needing visas scrambled through their lockers grabbing passports et cetera (another hangover for me of my passport being stolen in London). Kelvin, Ben, Nikki, Vicki and I headed off by taxi to the Mali embassy but were quoted 150 dinar each for a visa (cheap with today's conversions but pricy back then). Coughed and spluttered and tried to reassess. Nikki, Vicki and I headed off for the Niger Embassy (pronounced "Nee jare") for Niger visas while Kelvin tried to work out what and where to do about Mali.
Eventually we found the Niger Embassy, but only after asking several times for directions, only to be told that they couldn't be issued in a day and we would have to pick them up on Saturday. A magnificently handsome black man with tribal scars on both cheeks, who appeared to be just lounging in the embassy, helped us out with excellent English, including that we had to fill in three more forms.
Retreated back to the taxi, but more frustration as we knew we were close to the Mali embassy but didn't know the address. In the end we headed back to the train station only to find the truck gone and no message. Asked a gendarme for the Mali Embassy address and headed off again, covering much the same route we had done one hour earlier. And what a trip that turned out to be: we reached the correct area and spent 75 minutes trying to find the Mali embassy, following numerous opposing directions that sent us back to places we had just been. What started out as amusing, rapidly lost its appeal and we started to think we’d never find the embassy - where we hoped we'd find our truck. Began to think the truck would be gone and the day would end with no visas.
Finally picked up a young Algerian lad who was confident he knew where the Mali Embassy was. Well, we turned right at the florist for the fourth time (saw Madeline’s bakery several times and one stretch of road nearly 8 times travelling in both directions). Still couldn't find it, and everyone groaned, in frustration and hunger. Our Algerian helper accosted another man on the street who turned out to be – wait for it! - from the Mali Embassy, so of course he knew where it was. So, we set off yet again and backtracked again, rolled around the corner and there was our truck! We screamed so loudly in delight that the two police guarding the embassy entrance came out to investigate!
Greeted our trusty leader and fellow travellers, who informed us that we could at least get our Chad visas on the spot, so we didn't need to go hunting for those. Sat on the truck waiting for our Mali visas while we described our escapade - three hours on the road and 112 dinar in taxi fares. Vicki then miraculously led us back to the Niger embassy where we dropped off our passports.
Huge peanut butter rolls in the back of the truck after our long wearying day. Collected the rest of our group in town, where we had a quick look around the metropolis of Algiers. I washed my hair in the hand basin of a pizzeria toilet using the loo-flushing jug.
In addition to today's visa craziness, we also saw confronting scenes: squalor on the hills beside the main road down from Hydra; tall tumbled-down homes and small boxlike houses all slumped together on the hills, with garbage strewn everywhere; people loaded with shopping walking up narrow, muddy tracks towards homes perched above the road. This is supposedly a modern African city but it’s a gigantic smelly seething mess. Can’t wait to leave.
Camped in a force 10 gale on a beach in the local lovers’ lane - dozens of lonely cars fogged with activity in the dark. The wind so strong we struggled to light a fire. Garbage everywhere too: I stepped over a huge but unused sanitary pad as I descended the steps.
Ate on the truck, passing food up and down rather than crawling out under the tarp, the cook tent billowing in the breeze, the truck rocking like the London tube. Played cards on the truck, crowded until much later than usual, the gale putting people off going to bed; Marcus & Myrta had opted to sleep on the floor, so a full house. Finally, I crawled into my sleeping bag. Had to monkey my way out holding the ceiling racks to avoid walking on anyone when I went for my early morning wee.
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