When I woke up after a night at sea, I was delighted to look out the cabin window and see the white city of Algiers. The majestic capital rises in unexpected layers, from the Mediterranean bay, from the arches of the French colonial port to the Casbah quarter, to the clear blue sky overlooked by the Martyrs’ Monument, representing the country’s struggle for independence. “Never was the town so nobly laid out,” wrote Edith Wharton, who visited by yacht in 1888. In the cabin, my toddler son was still asleep. I looked at it and thought, we did it baby: we got from West Yorkshire to North Africa by rail and sea in 48 hours.
The journey was familiar to British travelers who came here by steamboat in the 19th century, but few foreign tourists come to Algeria these days. Political unrest since the civil war in the 1990s, the administration’s focus on domestic issues and the lack of infrastructure have taken this place completely off the tourism map. That’s why when I was invited as a guest of the British Council Algeria as part of the literary exchange, I took advantage of this chance.
My one-year-old son was too young to be abandoned, so I cheekily asked if he could come too. To my delight, the British Council agreed and my talented friend Karen Hinckley accompanied me to help with childcare while I worked. Since the activities were on the environmental theme, it was appropriate to make the journey without flying. Karen and I come from the Orkney Islands, so we’re not intimidated by long journeys.
Applying for an Algerian visa and booking the ferry was a confusing process and required help from our Algerian contacts, but we were pleased to see that we made it all the way to Marseille in one day. We took five trains, left home at 7am and arrived in Leeds, London and Paris around 8pm with tight changes. The ratio of two adults to one small child on the train was a good ratio. One of us managed to take him for a walk; here he pressed buttons and smiled at strangers, while the rest of us rested.
After a quick 40-minute trip in Paris to change trains, we boarded the spacious double-decker TGV, traveling at more than 150 mph and watching the city’s rooftops turn into vineyards and lavender fields as we headed south.
On the huge Algérie Ferries ship from Marseille, the three of us seemed to be the only non-Algerian or French-Algerian tourists. Everyone else seemed experienced at making the 19-hour journey; Those who could not afford cabins brought air mattresses to beds in the ship’s corridors. A crowd filed into the opulent dining room for a dinner of noodles and creme caramel.
There were moments throughout the week when I felt overheated and overstimulated, afraid I was taking on more than I could handle.
An Algerian man spoke to us in the elevator and seemed surprised or impressed that we were traveling to Algeria despite the “problems”. I wasn’t sure what problems you were talking about. “Good luck!” “There are problems. And that’s good.”
This phrase became my personal mantra for the trip. On the deck at sunset, among the Arab men, amid the smell of diesel and smoke, with no land in sight, I was calm. The boat shook. The place of worship was full.
When we arrived in Algiers we were greeted by Wahiba from the British Council and taken home for a week: the grand Moorish Villa Dar Abdellatif, all whitewashed arches, shaded courtyards and tiled roof terraces, high up on the city’s west side, gated. and is protected 24/7. The villa was an artist residence from 1907 and today hosts special guests as well as the headquarters of the Algerian Cultural Aid Agency (AARC).
Algerian students, artists, writers and other stakeholders who attended my simultaneously translated book events were responsive and understanding. They were particularly interested in hearing how popular the “nature writing” genre was in the UK and wanted to talk about environmental issues that concerned them, such as pollution, plastic waste and soil erosion.
On a sweltering day, we left town to visit the Unesco-listed Roman ruins at Tipaza, which include a red sandstone amphitheater with some sturdy, intricate mosaic floors. The Romans were just one of a number of settlers in Algeria that included the Phoenicians, Ottomans, Spanish and French, all of whom left their mark. A group of Kabyle women—indigenous Berbers—came out one day, singing and beating drums with joyful howls, then walked fully clothed, laughing, to the sea.
The street markets here sell fruits, vegetables, herbs and spices for local people instead of tourist souvenirs.
Just beyond the ruins stands a sea-facing monument commemorating the writer Albert Camus, who was born and raised in the country when it was a French colony.
We had arrived in Algeria not only during a midsummer heatwave (hot even by Algerian standards), but also during the week of the year when the internet was seized for the country’s baccalaureate exams. One day, while I was sitting next to Wahiba, her phone rang and it was my number. I had called him 10 minutes ago, but he had just arrived over various mobile networks and Wi-Fi connections. The call reflected how I felt: strange and displaced.
There were moments throughout the week when I felt overheated and overstimulated, afraid I had taken on more than I could handle. One afternoon, a fire broke out on the dry floor of the villa, and the quiet space was suddenly filled with hoses, buckets and fire extinguishers. Traveling with a child is a commitment, and my son was so unsettled by the heat and unfamiliarity that I started breastfeeding him again weeks after I stopped breastfeeding.
On our last day, we took a guided tour of the Kasbah of Algiers, the city’s historic fortress district that stretches between steep lanes between high walls of houses, mosques, and palaces. Instead of tourist souvenirs, the street markets here sell fruits, vegetables, herbs and spices for local people, and musicians play Algerian songs mandol beneath the great patriotic murals. We then saw the ruins of buildings bombed by the French during the war of independence and the hiding places of Algerian fighters, as depicted in the 1966 film The Battle of Algiers.
I was afraid of heatstroke as I climbed hundreds of steps with my son on my back, but then we reached a rooftop with a magnificent view of the entire city and refreshed ourselves with mint tea and honey couscous as we heard the call to prayer rising from all places. Mosques at once.
It was a great privilege to visit a country that is not on the tourist route. We were warmly welcomed everywhere. A curly-haired one-year-old boy was a connection that transcended language barriers. My son kissed cheeks, chased many cats, and ate delicious local cherries and figs. We were never able to wander around on our own during our visit; We always had a guide or driver waiting. Western tourists are being kidnapped in the country and I am kept safe and shown the best of the city, such as the picture-perfect Hamma Botanical Garden, where families stroll among fountains and giant palms.
I looked at the lights of the city from the roof of the villa and enjoyed the Mediterranean air and African warmth
I found a young, excited and proud nation. I loved the way Algerians spoke a distinctive blend of Arabic, French and Berber. DJ Snake’s Disco Maghreb has topped the global YouTube charts with a video that combines traditional Algerian culture with modern Arabic style, and we talked about it with Brahim, a bright English-speaking student.
In the hot night, I hung the baby clothes on the roof of the villa to dry, looked at the lights of the city and the harbor, the Sahara sands in the air, and enjoyed the mixture of Mediterranean air and African warmth. Neither Karen nor I were quite prepared for how different we would find the country. Men and women were mostly separate in society. There were few imported goods in stores and no bank machines or external postal service. The pace was slower and people were open.
Traveling by train and ferry required a slightly different, slower-paced mindset, viewing the journey as part of the holiday. Parenting on the road is hard work, but I have to do these things (pajamas, nap times, pasta) wherever we are, so why not do it in interesting places?
It would be right to consider the environmental impact when traveling to Algeria, as the country bears the brunt of climate change. This year, forest fires in northern Algeria reportedly killed 34 people and undermined the forest restoration projects I visited.
Our journey to vibrant, warm Algeria felt like an old-fashioned adventure. It was so special to share this with my little boy and my old friend, and it’s something we will always remember. Maybe there were problems, but it was good.
Amy Liptrot is the author of the bestselling memoir The Outrun, which premiered and stars Saoirse Ronan. at the Sundance film festival next month. He traveled as a guest of the British Council. Visitors are required to obtain a visa from the Algerian Embassy, which lasts at least 10 days. TGV train from Paris to Marseille It takes 3 to 4 hours. Algérie Ferries operates flights from Marseille to Algiers twice a week (21 to 23 hours). UK-based Lupine Travel runs seven-night Algeria group tours from £980 per person, including accommodation, local transport and guides, but not international travel