Every photo of a bike or anything bike-related. Bikes bikes bikes – YAY BIKES!

bike, bicycle, cycling, fiets, fahrrad, jitensha, velo, biciclette, bici, bicicleta, bicicletta, kerekpar, bicykl, bicikel, biciklo, bisiklit, kolo, bisiklet, darraaja, pikala

I’ve only included a “few” photos of my own bicycle here – most of those are spread throughout the other albums.

A little cafe on Avenue Habib Bourguiba. The waiter offers me a “personal discount” on my coffee because of something I’ve come to describe as “the bike effect”: my rig looks bad ass resting next to my table, and here the travel-worn, custom-grub adventure bike is out-of-place enough to mark me as an adventurer, a traveler, not just another tourist who comes on the ferry from France for an afternoon-in-the-medina to say “I visited Tunisia!” It’s not just literally that a bike is “open to the world” – it opens the very soul of the rider, and affects the first impressions of others in a mysterious but undeniable way.

The table next to me is taken by a man in a wheelchair, his wife in hijab, and their little daughter. Now, when I see wheels with tires on them – not counting cars – I pay close attention. At the bike shop, on the street, all over the world, I’ve noticed that most people don’t maintain a proper, or even safe, air pressure in their tires. I can’t count the number of times I’ve yelled “Air your tires!” to passing cyclists, or preached to parked bikers, “More air pressure directly translates to more speed. And if you don’t want to go fast, it converts to ease – less energy used.” The same goes for wheelchair tires. And fixing or replacing a wheelchair tire or inner tube is such a hassle that it’s even more important to keep the pressure up; if you’re rolling low enough, just hitting a sharp bump can pinch-flat the tube, and if you can’t fall back on your legs and walk….

Subtly I confirmed: the poor fella at the next table was running this risk. Not to mention spending a lot of extra effort pushing himself around under the Tunisian summer sun with sloppy tire pressure. So after my coffee, a bit nervous and feeling like this might be a dumb idea, I approached their table with my pump in hand.

“Excusez-moi, je ne veut pas vous importuner, mais….” He doesn’t speak French. “Do  you  speak  English?” I ask.

“A little.”

I’m weird and this is uncommon, but he lets me help him. “Yes it is a normal valve, just give me one minute.” I know the thin wheelchair tire can take a hundred pump strokes or more to reach maximum, but he cuts me off after fourty or so. I let it slide; he’s past the danger zone now, at least.

I give the same treatment to his other tire, and before I can escape as an unidentified good samaritan, he starts asking questions. I give a brief account of where I’ve been on my bike, and mention that Libya is next. “No, I don’t think the visa is easy to get – I was just at the embassy this morning. Inshallah!”

Then the cosmic serendipity reveals itself, stunning me nearly to speechlessness:

“By the way, we’re Libyan. If you need contacts in Benghazi…”

Everyone was smiling when I left that little cafe on Avenue Habib Bourguiba – the Libyan man and his wife, their precious awe-eyed little girl, the waiter, the tables nearby – and especially me. The Bike Effect in high gear, blowing away the fog of fear and indifference, to let truly meaningful life shine through!

Yay Bikes!!!

This is made even more effective when the targets themselves buy into the fear:

(Taken directly from the U.S. Department of State’s website)

“Algeria Country Specific Information

…

SAFETY AND SECURITY: Terrorism continues to pose a threat to the safety and security of American citizens traveling to Algeria. Terrorist activities, including bombings, false roadblocks, kidnappings, ambushes, and assassinations occur regularly, particularly in the Kabylie region. Since early 2007, vehicle-borne suicide bomb attacks have emerged as a terrorist tactic in Algeria, including in the capital. Suicide car bomb attacks in December 2007 targeted the UN Headquarters and the Algerian Constitutional Council in Algiers. The attacks occurred in areas where many diplomatic missions and residences are located. The group that claimed credit for the December 2007 attacks has pledged more attacks against foreign targets, and specifically U.S. targets.  The same group is believed to operate in southern Algeria and has kidnapped foreigners in neighboring countries.  This kidnapping threat was noted in the Department of State’s Worldwide Caution, dated February 12, 2010.

The Travel Warning for Algeria contains the most current information concerning the threat from terrorism.

The Department of State recommends that U.S. citizens avoid overland travel in Algeria. U.S.citizens who reside or travel in Algeria should take prudent security measures while in the country, including making provisions for reliable and experienced logistical support.  Additionally, sporadic episodes of civil unrest have been known to occur.  U.S. citizens should avoid large crowds and maintain security awareness at all times. Visitors to Algeria are advised to stay only in hotels where adequate security is provided. All visitors to Algeria should remain alert and adhere to prudent security practices such as avoiding predictable travel patterns and maintaining a low profile.”

Now, I’ll admit that people should be informed about the risks of traveling to any particular country. I remained alert and prudent. But to me these previous paragraphs don’t feel like an impartial bulletin about the situation in Algeria; they feel like exaggerated fear-mongering. By posting this type of warning, replete with all the keywords that push an automatic Fear button, the U.S. Department of State is pretty much helping the terrorists – by spreading the fear.

Some other examples:

The verbatim response from the U.S. embassy in Algiers to to my request for travel assistance:

“Dear Mr. Brigham:

The border is indeed closed between Algeria and Morocco.  Nor would we advise anyone to attempt a bicycle ride anywhere across Algeria.  Please see the current travel warning for Algeria at (link.)

We do not assist individual private American citizens to obtain Algerian visas, nor do we provide letters of support for such visa applications.

You should not attempt this trip.

Regards,

American Citizen Services

U.S. Embassy, Algiers”

The response from the U.S. embassy in Morocco:

“Hi Mr. Brigham,

Sorry for the delay in responding to your inquiry.  While the economy of Morocco does depend largely on tourism, it would be extremely unsafe, not to mention logistically impossible for your to attempt to bike across Algeria and Libya. Even if you were able to obtain a visa to travel to Algeria and made it across the closed border, you would end up stuck there trying to get into Libya, which has  complex visa entry requirements.  Please consult www.travel.state.gov to review the travel warnings for these countries.  While we applaud your efforts to bike around the world, you must consider your own safety.  Perhaps an alternative would be to ferry to Spain and travel along the European Mediterranean coast?

Once again, we urge you to make alternate plans.  Bike travel across Algeria and Libya is simply not an option.

Best Regards,

American Citizen Services

Casablanca, Morocco”

Of course they have to be rather blunt and frightening, lest some moron gets himself killed or someone sues them for giving relaxed advice. (Our society is actually prepared quite nicely to be paralyzed by fear, isn’t it?) But they were wrong.

And I’ll wager that the U.S. government doesn’t really care if Algeria maintains a reputation for being full of terrorists – they would rather Algeria just fall off the map.

But I do care.

Algeria is not full of terrorists. Algeria is full of wonderful, generous folks who hate terrorists.

I did “attempt this trip,” and the only “reliable and experienced logistical support” was me, and my attitude of love and joy for all, which blossomed elegantly into a network of Algerian friends. I never felt in danger, I never felt close to any manner of terrorism or even crime. In fact, I must say that it was an unforgettable experience of the true cosmic beauty of humankind.

Conversely, if I had swallowed all the tripe the U.S. government tried to feed me – if I had gone to Algeria full of fear – well, I can’t say for sure, but it surely would’ve prevented me from reaching out to the people of Algeria, and I would’ve been much more alone, suspicious and frightened of everyone until something ugly actually did happen. Sure, when that’s the alternative, it’s better to just stay home under the covers and watch Fox News.

I’m not saying that there is no risk of terrorism in Algeria. All I’m saying is that the people of Algeria do not deserve to be feared, and you don’t deserve to live in fear either. Terrorism depends on fear to succeed; if you live in fear of it, you’re living exactly how they want you to. If you live in fear you are being controlled. Fear is a natural phenomenon, but it’s how you react to it that makes all the difference. It lives or dies in your mind. Will you choose repression, control, and desperation – or freedom?

P.S. Please look up the book “Three Cups of Tea.” Pakistan, Afghanistan. Education to promote peace, alternatives to terrorist training camps, dedication, love, growth… it’s an inspiring story.

“If you just fight terrorism, it’s based in fear. If you promote peace, it’s based in hope.”

I stayed one extra night at the tourist complex near Bejaia. Said and Nounou had to take off, and in the morning I said a final goodbye to Saadi. It was a little sad; he’s become a great buddy!

Alone again and headed for adventure, I pedalled along the paradisical coastal route towards Jijel. There were even ten kilometers or so of traffic-free construction zone, now that’s paradise!

Nightfall approached and I found a beach to camp on. As usual the gendarmes wanted to stuff me full of food and Islam – all I wanted to do was sleep, but there’s the captain in my way with his leg up on the railing, getting more and more excited about converting me to his religion. And he was the one who originally said “No no, don’t ask about that; he is a free man,” when his privates started in with the glittery-eyed muslim enthusiasm….

Finally asleep for maybe a half an hour, when the bigger boss arrives, orders me woken up so he can put me in a hotel back in town! “NO NO NO – NO HOTEL! I WAS ASLEEP ALREADY!” How completely degrading.

In the morning there wasn’t much Islam talk, but everyone wants me to rest. “I just slept 7 hours! Why would I want to rest?!?” I reply, jumping around a bit to make my point. But something isn’t normal, and they’ve got my passport hostage…. After a swim and breakfast the captain tells me that his boss has decided they will arrange an escort. After complaining a bit I concede, but where is this escort? I can’t believe I’m saying it, but “I”m late!”

An aggravating hour later, three green and white gendarme SUVs arrive. They give me my passport finally, and I just leave - if they want to escort me, they can catch up later.

And they did, making passes all morning, all the way to the border of the province. At least they were subtle.

A girl from Constantine had invited me to visit, but unfortunately she couldn’t host me, because her brother would have to chaperone and he wasn’t there. She set me up with some English-speaking college friends who were anxious to meet me, calling calling calling… do I really want this phone?

They met me outside of town and gave me some water. I declined a ride in their car, so they escorted me – and this time it wasn’t subtle. Just behind me, hazard lights on, snapping photos from the passenger window and drawing honks and yells from all the highway traffic that had to go around.

Constantine is at the top of a huge mountain, and the ascent is straight up, no gentle switchbacks. It was a brutal climb, in danger of overheating, dousing my head with water from my drinking bottle, nearly losing my momentum over the broken concrete, no end in sight… but most of the cars that passed and all the folks on the sidelines recognized what a challenge I was undertaking, and supported me with lots of honks and waves and shouts and “Bon courage!”

After hefting the rig up ten flights of stairs, a snack and a shower, we went down to meet the girl and her sisters. I wasn’t surprised that they were Muslim, but I was a little miffed when she declined to shake my hand; “I am sorry, I can’t touch you.” And then, after a two minute meeting in the parking lot, they left! Why did I come over all those hills again?!?

Well, Constantine is gorgeous. A city of bridges, build right on the cliffs by an ancient Roman emporer(and the French). My hosts were very hospitable and everything was taken care of for me, but my original plan to stay one night seemed to have been forgotten. “Oh but I made plans to do so many things!”

But I’ve been so rushed and pampered and celebritized here in Algeria that I really, really wanted to have one full day at the end, to process everything and do some writing. Sorry guys, I gotta go. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

We met up with the sisters again the next day, still in the burkha body covering, who brought gifts and well wishes for me, and a pamphlet on “The truth about Jesus.” You know I’m not Christian, right??

The guys escorted me again, across the longest stone bridge in the world and out of town. I wish I could’ve spent longer there and learned some breakdancing, but I need to empty my cup before I can fill it with anything else!

The next day I was awoken by the 3 am a’dan call to prayer, because the village police put me right next to the mosque for the night, so I made it to Guelma by 11am. But Saadi called and mysteriously said I should wait, that there’s a gentleman coming to meet me and it’s important. Hmm…

I waited. The longer I wait in one place, this time a cafe, the larger the crowd grows. Four hours is a long time to practice Arabic and listen to Islam preaching from all angles, even if there is free food. Eventually I took off to meet this “gentleman,” thankful to have a reason to escape.

We meet at a hotel bar. I learn his name is Said, but before he can explain what this is all about, Saadi was there! “You drove all this way?!” What a surprise! Suddenly I knew I wouldn’t get my day of cup-emptying…

It was nice though, we went to a hammam in the country fed by a natural hot spring, and I was able to have a nice night’s sleep without mosque calls or police poking their heads in my tent. And it was especially nice to see Saadi one last time – he’s helped me so much, and his attitude is just golden. Thanks a million my friend!

The day I had planned to sit and write and process this crazy month in Algeria, I instead spent pedaling my ass off. Just after dark I arrived at a campground I had heard about, and pulled in with that exhausted-but-relieved aire about me. Finally.

But despite being called “Camp Africa,” it was prohibited to camp there. It’s actually a “vacation center.” But they told me I could camp anywhere I wanted in the national park; just not here. So I walked down the road a bit, and actually ditch-camped in Algeria for the first time, on my last night there. I found a nice sandy spot(under a tree to block the morning heat), well-hidden and comfortable, and slept until eleven.

Then I got up and went to Tunisia.

30 days in Algeria – what a wild ride!

Thanks for reading, thanks for your comments and messages! Thanks for the love and the joy and thanks to all the wonderful Algerian people! Sahit!

الجزائر, al-Jazā’ir, week three

Week three has been great!

A bit too much being in a car, though, I must say. I am just not accustomed to it, and my friends here want me to see everything there is to see, toute de suite! I want to see it too, and with only 30 days on the visa, I’ve been letting them make tourist plans for me – in between days of cycling, that is. I will still trace a solid route clear across Algeria with my two wheels.

Algiers is big and bustling and spread out. Parties and tours and police checkpoints everyzhere, freeways and messy little warrens of one way lanes, broken slums and huge white buildings with sky blue trim built by the French.

I finally met up with Farid, who helped me with the invitation. Sahit mon ami!! I was installed in style with Saadi’s cousins Said and Lydia; and properly pampered for a few days.

After some wicked traffic on the autoroute out of town, I crossed into Kabylie.

This is the one region that scares everyone when I talk cycling routes. The US Embassy flat out said not to attempt such a journey, and it is well known that the few terrorists that remain in Algieria are hiding in the mountains of Kabylie. It’s a long story….

Though there are Arabs here, it’s really Berber country. I thought I would be fine with French in Algeria, and when it seemed disrespectful to start an interaction in French(the colonialists’ language), I figured I could use my bit of Arabic. But here; it’s a whole other level – “Don’t say salam aleikum, here it’s azul.” They’ve got the language; and the ancient pre-Arab history, and they’ve got a strong spirit of freedom and independence. I never expected such a rich African culture that wasn’t Arab. But it’s a nice surprise, a real adventure, especially since most of the fast friends I’ve made – they’re Kabyle Berbers.

Saadi gave me a cellphone, and his cousin Said kept tabs on me as I entered “his country.” He called a couple times, and I knew he was on the line whenever I needed him, but other than that I was still pretty solo.

I hit some really backed up traffic about 80 kms from Tizi Ouzou, cut some lanes of jammed up trucks and cars, skirted around the roundabout where everyone was turning around, and found myself on an empty road. Not normal. Ahead I could see a bit of traffic, and a huge plume of black smoke. An accident? A bike can go around; I kept going.

But it wasn’t an accident. It was a huge group of people, some wearing t-shirts around their faces, burning tractor tires in the road – now that’s interesting… But the strangest part was the fact that there wasn’t a cop or a gendarme to be seen! No cops?!? In Algeria?

I thought about stopping before I reached their civilian roadblock, but only to take a photo. I just wasn’t afraid, and I rolled up with an intrigued expression on my face. Everyone surrounded me, as usual, very interested, but I didn’t feel threatened.

I give that quirky hand signal that means “what’s this?” and ask “C’est quoi ça?”

Amidst the cacauphany of replies that followed, I only heard one word I recognized, “Amerikani,” spoken with a twitch by the crosseyed, shirtless, pale-skinned youth holding a huge dry palm branch. American… what? Are they waiting for an American? To kidnap him, or to welcome him? I decided suddenly I didn’t really need to know what they were doing there. Hopefully they think I am French, actually….

“Tizi Ouzou?” I ask quickly. “Tizi Ouzou, e” says one, and ushers me around the burning tires. “Welcome to Kabylie” someone said, trying out their English, and I was past.

They used to be the only place without terrorists. Kabylie was not so affected by the terror of the nineties. But after the death of Matoub, a most cherished Kabyle musician(which everyone says was blatant murder by the state in response to his critical lyrics), they went crazy with a million and a half person march to Algiers and the complete destruction of all police and military buildings. They actually forced the government out. Perhaps this was premeditated by politicians and generals, as some Kabyle claim, because then, the terrorists all fled the increasing military pressure elsewhere to the only place they won’t be chased – the rich forests of Kabylie.

We have the phone for safety. My friends know where I am. We decided not to meet the press and keep a lower profile. Stick the big roads, travel during the day. It’s been no problems – Kabylie and its people have been more and more beautiful and welcoming the longer I stay. I’ve seen forests and mountains, lakes and waterfalls, tiny Berber villages and black sand beaches – a gorgeous backdrop for stark Berber pride and humbling generosity. It’s a shame I will have to leave my new friends soon, but that’s life on the road – each goodbye signals a new adventure.

Lee mas aqui:

* * *

They prey on your generosity, they prey on your pity. They play on your reluctance to offend, they play on whatever emotion they can. And they have a well-honed skill at discerning what your particular weakness is, like charlatan fortune-tellers. They can make you feel trapped, or they can make you feel like a stuck-up avaricious pig. They try every trick they can, for as long as you’ll listen to them, and they’ll manipulate you without shame, saying and doing dispicable things, things which in the United States would only be attempted by the most desperate bums. But in the end, they’re just trying to make a living, and they never actually do anything illegal. And despite the substantial pressure they can apply, you are still in control of your actions, and of your money. With a step back and an objective perspective, you can survive Morocco as a tourist, without being taken for every penny in your wallet and left crying and lost in the middle of the medina. I did (survive that is) and I am a tourist, albeit a rather strange one….

And oh yeah! It must be said that there truly are a lot of beautiful things for sale in Morocco – it’s a bazaar of wonders! But it’s easier to remain sane if you don’t go shopping.

I also have to include one nice moment to end this rather generalized, poison-penned travelogue: it was with the really small children. I was having a snack on the roadside in the mountains, when I saw a huge gaggle of schoolchildren walking down the hill toward me, on their way home I suppose. I decided I’d better get moving before they descended to where I was sitting, or I could get swamped…. Well, I was going their direction, so when I reached them, I got swamped anyway, in a thrill of raucous giggles and little kid Arabic. Once the first screams of excitement started, it spread through the group like a wave, and they started following me… up the hill, the way they had come! All of them. I wasn’t quite going slow enough for them to keep up just walking, so they actually jogged after me! I continued to glance behind me as I led this trail of kids, shouting encouragement – “YALLAH! ZUINA, YALLAH!” – which actually produced visible bursts of energy. I was having a great time; out in the Moroccan mountains, exercising the local children, hah! Eventually I reached some kind of partial summit and pulled up to a stop. Only one older kid had made it the whole way jogging – I saluted him and extended my hand, which he shook, out of breath but elated to be the “winner.” As the rest of the group straggled in, I shook each hand in turn in congratulations. They loved it and they really deserved it – running up a mountain they just came down. And for what? Hell if I know, but they didn’t beg. I wish I would’ve had enough safety pins to give out – safety pins are quite the exotic item – but then again, maybe that’s not the best gift for a little kid….