Algeria: My favourite photos. Ghardaia, Beni Isguen and Bou Saada.


There are times that my trip to Algeria felt totally thrown together. Flights were booked there and back, the internal flight was pre-booked, but getting from place to place seemed to just happen because we ended up in the right place, people told us where to go and we had money to get around. To this day, I don’t feel I was ever ripped off in Algeria when travelling around the country, but I can’t say I was shown a price list in advance. Our exit from Timimoun to Ghardaia by coach was arranged by the hotel and they were 110% relaxed about sorting this out, to the extent that I wasn’t even 60% sure they knew if such a coach existed. The moment of truth arrived and a member of the hotel staff suddenly yells at us that our coach is outside and we have to leg it down the street to get on it. Relaxed.

I am struck that we twice needed a police escort in Timimoun but there was also no problem getting on a coach to another town. We settle in for lots of desert landscapes but the sand storm that had been turning the sky orange since the previous night reduced visibility. As we got further into the endless expanse of nothingness, I drifted in and out of sleep and got gently covered in sand from the open window. The road was not wide enough for the coach so we had a few hours of driving on rocks, which was even less comfortable than it sounds.

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Shades of orange
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The road was not wide enough

We pulled into a sort of Algerian Moto services for a bit and looking around at the less than salubrious surroundings, I dreaded the loo situation but needed it regardless. In one of those strange circumstances I often find myself in when abroad, the people at the toilet entrance who clearly collected money waved me through, not wanting one dinar. The toilet was clean as a whistle, so I luxuriated in my visit. There was real poverty in the service station; people praying not prayer mats but flattened cardboard, flies buzzing around rancid looking meat, bins that looked like they needed to be put in a bin.

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There was no brochure, but if it existed, it wouldn’t include this image

We were headed for the town of Beni Isugen, in the M’Zab Valley. This part of Algeria interested us because it’s a UNESCO world heritage site due to the architecture of the towns, perfectly suited to the desert heat. I loved the buildings we saw as we got closer, which to me looked like little castles, with their crenellations and tiny windows to keep the searing heat out.

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New Barratt homes, offering desert living
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Our castle/home in Beni Isguen

When we arrived in the town, we had to call our guide who would take us to his place. He arrived in an incredibly old car that had a plank of wood in it to stop something falling off and took us on a high-speed chase through town to a home that was equal parts castle and Tataouine dwelling. He told us to settle in and that he’d be back soon with food. My friend and I are pretty patient people but after two hours, we started to wonder a) where we were b) did we give our passports to the right guy and c) when is the food coming. But the castle was incredible, unlike anywhere I’d ever stayed before. Eventually our guide returned with the biggest amount of food I’d ever seen and later I slept fitfully as dogs howled outside while I lay on 10 mattresses.

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The towns of the M’Zab valley are tourist destinations so when we visited the old town of Beni Isguen and Ghardaia, we needed guides to show us round and tell us the rules. A rule they were really keen on was not to photograph the women. They wear a white haik, which is a large cloth wrapped around the body and the women only have one eye visible at any one time. When I saw the women, their hand was clutching at the cloth so that they could see and keep everything in place. It’s such a fascinating set of towns, and incredibly picturesque.

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Style guide
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Both Beni Isguen and Ghardaia were engrossing and it became clear that the structure of the towns followed a similar pattern. The buildings are tightly packed into a circular formation and at the centre is a mosque. The minaret is a watchtower. UNESCO estimate that these towns were built between 700 and 1000 years ago, with little changing in that time. I was so excited to be amongst all this history, but it all came crashing down when I first spotted some graffiti saying “hip-hop” and then heard a Samsung ringtone. So, it’s mostly an old way of living.

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Ghardaia main market square
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Ghardaia from far away

In Beni Isguen, we walked through a square that was jaw-droppingly gorgeous. We arrived at the time of day where the light struck against the walls in such a way that everything glowed, with the sky a shade of blue that even photoshop couldn’t improve.

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Beni Isguen square

In an unexpected turn of events, our guide told us we’d be popping by the celebrations of a wedding. It was split, so we never saw the bride or any women at all, but what struck me was the friendliness of everyone who acted as if two Brits turning up at the wedding was the most natural thing to occur. I loved seeing how the men fussed over kids and how efficient the serving of couscous, meat and veg was. Later, we went to a sort of after-party, where mint tea was served and I noticed that there was always enough for me and my friend – yet more friendliness from the hosts. They shot guns into the air and ground a couple of times, but I think I managed not to shriek and hurl my tea in the air.

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Wedding

After a wonderful couple of days in Ghardaia, we made our way to Bou Saada, which is perhaps the least interesting town in existence. It could be that we didn’t arrange for a guide to show us the town or there was just nothing to do, but really, Bou Saada was a pitstop on the way back to Algiers. Our hotel was amazing, with beautiful gardens and a pool but there’s only so many circuits of the garden you can do before madness kicks in. An art gallery provided some relief for an hour or so, but there’s really not much to say.

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The birds get a great view
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Child. Running.
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Waterwheel of delights.

My friend told me recently that the reason we wanted to go to Algeria in the first place was because of Constantine, a city with incredible bridges going over a gorge. We never got to visit, but that only makes me more keen to go back to Algeria and explore even more of this fascinating country.

A little trip to… York

2020 really is the year that just keeps on giving. In the summer, those wild and carefree days where we could go out and see people without the fear that they would kill us, I planned an Autumn trip to Yorkshire. It would have been my first proper trip to Yorkshire as in the past I have only been to Keighley and Leeds for short trips. The trip I was to take would start in York, moving to Harrogate and Knaresborough. Walks along the River Ouse and Nidd Gorge were planned. But the start of October saw coronavirus rates rise rapidly in York at the same time that tiers were being introduced and I just didn’t feel too thrilled about everything unravelling like a rusty old slinky. So the trip was ditched and, stuck with some expensive tickets, we chose in the end to spend just a day in York. A day in York is still a day well spent.

It’s a cheeky pig

When we arrive in York, it is raining and the forecast is for rain all day. The wise words of a friend ring in my ears. York will be wonderful whatever the weather. He was right. York announces itself as a gorgeous place a few minutes outside of the train station as you cross the river and the city walls come into view. While there are some modern bits, they pale into significance and grandeur next to many of the surrounding buildings. Even in the soggy weather, York looks like a place you want to explore.

We wanted to go to Betty’s tea room for lunch but despite the pandemic, there was a queue outside and there wasn’t anything to shelter us from the rain so we found an alternative in Mannion and Co, just up the road. Having the benefit of an awning, we briefly waited before being shown inside to a world of cosiness and the most wonderful accents. Honestly, just a few words from people from Yorkshire is a real treat to the ears. With Bettie’s oversized presence (not saying she’s fat, just that she’s everywhere) there must be a need to be a really good café to compete and Mannion and Co bring their game in eyesight of Bettie’s hard stare. The sausage roll was excellent as was the coffee. The cinnamon bun was somewhat dry, but I have had worse. Next door is the Yorkshire Soap Co, which smells gorgeous inside. Being not as overwhelming as heading into a Lush and getting a migraine, I could distinguish smells here so bought some early Christmas gifts. For my mum, a mojito bath bomb. She doesn’t like mojitos and doesn’t use any smelly gifts I get here because “then I will have used them!” But still, it looked nice so she’s getting it.

York Minstere

I had heard much about York Minster, most recently in the aftermath of the awful fire at Notre Dame. The fire at York was compared to the one in Paris, and at the time I read about how they managed to repair the damage using traditional techniques, which people still seem to think no longer exist. The Rose window at York had 40,000 cracks in it and they repaired that and they fixed the rather pressing issue of the missing roof. The incredible thing is that there is no sign whatsoever that a fire ravaged York Minster. It’s a real testament to the talent of the people involved in the work.

In 2019, over 700,00 people visited the minster, and so it would usually be busy during half term but of course there was no queue to enter and the whole site was really quite empty. The benefit was that we could really explore to our heart’s content and get a sense of just how impressive the minster is. The central tower is as tall as a 21 story building, it’s wider than a football pitch, and there are 2 million pieces of glass in the hundreds of stained glass windows. There is nowhere in the UK with more stained glass and the earliest pieces are from the 12th century. I have to be honest and say this melts my brain just a little bit.

York at dusk

The nave naturally gives some grand views, showing off the sheer enormity of the place but it’s when you look a bit closer that you see the glitz of the minster. Having the space to really explore the whole place was wonderful. There are little details everywhere. Signs abound banging on about the size of their organ, which seems appropriate for the church. This organ has 5,403 pieces and it has been taken to Durham for a once-in-a-century renovation. When we were there people were hoovering the outside of the organ with a sort of dust buster, which is not something I ever thought I’d witness.

Chapter House ceiling

Perhaps the most beautiful part of the minster is the Chapter House, which was finished in 1290 and so is just a mere 730 years old. It was in this year where some crazy things happened, and in a way, things back then felt just as messy as they are now. Only they had much brighter people than Dominic Raab appearing on the telly, or whatever they watched the Brexit negotiations on in those days. The Chapter house is a wonder, with some architectural details that are seriously impressive. The building’s ceiling doesn’t have a column to support the ceiling, which shows off the abilities of the builders. There are gargoyles aplenty throughout the room, which have some bizarre sights, including all sorts of animals doing ghastly things. If you want to see demonic pigs, men having their eyes plucked out or a head dug into with claws, this is your one-shop stop.

Scary things in the minster crypt

After we sampled the glories of the minster, we walked across town via Shambles to the art gallery. Shambles used to have a lot of butchers, as many as 25 in 1875 but have now all gone, replaced mostly with Harry Potter shops and tourist tat emporiums. Anywhere remotely old trades on some sort of Harry Potter connection, and York has done its work convincing people that Shambles is the real Diagon Alley. JK Rowling says she’s never been, which would surprise me as she seemed to write her books in every café in the UK. Perhaps I am being deceived. It is a wonderful street, but even when we visited, it was still fairly full of people taking photographs and gaping at the oldness of it all. I obviously took photographs of the people and the buildings. It is a shame that all too quickly, my Shambles experience was over so we headed to the art gallery which though small, has plenty of diverting pieces in the collection, including some L.S. Lowry and pop art. Most interesting was a video by Laura Besancon called Alone, Together which was a wonderfully simple but effective idea. A letter was sent to residents of a series of high rise towers in London, asking them to play a song at a specific time and turn their lights on and off to the beats of the music. None of the people doing this could see one another, but the video captured what it looked like from the outside. I found it quite moving in the context of 2020 and how alone we’ve all felt at times. The art gallery also hosts the Centre of Ceramic Arts, which is the world’s largest collection of 20th century British pottery. Some of the work on display is incredible. I have no idea how they make some of the protrusions and knobbly bits, so it all looked quite magical. The Anthony Shaw Space is a highlight, with his extensive collection housed in what looks like a living room and there are also works by Picasso, who shows that he can put funny faces on canvas as well as vases.

The Shambles

At the rear of the gallery is a gorgeous garden full of plants and herbs from all around the world and then, quite unexpectedly the ruins of St Mary’s Abbey Church come into view. York museum gardens is a wonderful spot in the city and the ruins really add history to the area. I can’t help but find it fascinating that the Abbey has been left to become ruins since the dissolution in 1539, without bulldozing what was left and turning the site into a car park. At the end of the walk, we find a bar and restaurant that oozes coziness. The Starr Inn the City might have a clumsy name, but we were sat right by the wood burning stove, watching the rain through the windows. In that moment, York felt like home.

Ruins in the museum garden

After reluctantly leaving the pub, we went to walk around the city walls in the last gasps of daylight, only to find that much is changed due to covid. One way systems and plenty of locked gates later, we managed to walk a few hundred metres of the wall in the wrong direction before getting tangled in two sets of people, walking in opposite directions. The stretch of wall we got to walk along was a delight, but obviously this lack of real walk means I will need to visit again, which is no hardship. A final walk around the city centre before the train home showed York at its best, the streets mostly empty and looking enticing with their Christmas decorations up. It’s a beautiful place and whenever I go somewhere this beautiful, I always kick myself at having never been before. Yorkshire, I am coming back.

Algeria: My favourite photos. Algiers and Timimoun.

Back in the heady days of 2016, a friend and I flew to Algeria because we could. Reading back on my travel diaries to understand why Algeria appealed, I wrote

Here’s the thing about Algeria: nobody really knows where it is. People are shocked to find it has a Mediterranean coast, that it’s less than three hours from London, that it exists at all. My mum thought I shouldn’t go, without quite knowing why. This is what led a friend and I to choose Algeria as our holiday destination of 2016 after we realised Iran is a dry country and, crucially, only lets Brits in if we go as part of a tour. Uzbekistan lost its charms when we couldn’t easily find more to do than whiz around the Tashkent metro eating plov, described in a guide book as “an oily dish”. Earning bonus points, too, was that Algeria has no current travel guide by anyone.

Algeria offered the novelty of boarding an aeroplane at Heathrow in the morning and having a late lunch in Africa in the afternoon. Looking back on those photos in 2021, the trip feels remarkably exotic and exciting so I wanted to pick out some of the favourite photos from the trip.

Central Algiers

We spent the first day getting to know the city centre. There is a distinctly French colonial flavour to many of the buildings in the Bab el Oued district, and it is clear that a lot of care has gone into retaining the charm of the buildings. Alger la blanche is startlingly beautiful up close. Without guide books, our walk in the city centre took us wherever looked good and by chance we found the museum of modern art. It’s based in a stunning neo-moorish building, dating back to 1901, that photographs wonderfully. 

The Modern art gallery

The Casbah is part of the city that feels very different to the French part of the city and my friend and I went on a walking tour of the city which takes in some gorgeous buildings. There are attempts at bringing the Casbah back to life, but it’s a slow paced affair and many of the structures are in a parlous state, with bits of wooden scaffold propping up drooping walls. We walked from the middle of the Casbah down to the sea. On the way we were able to go up on a roof of building to see the city out beneath us. From the top it looked like a city of satellite dishes. Halfway through the tour we stopped by a cafe for a mint tea.

The bench situation has room for improvement.
At the bottom of the Casbah, there’s a busy market and every building has fabrics hanging off balconies and more satellite dishes. I remember that street being an assault on all the senses.

From Algiers, we took a teeny tiny plane out to Timimoun in the Saharan Desert. On board I could hear a bird squawking which didn’t help my ever-present worry that the plane will disassemble in the air. But the bird was in a cage, covered in a bin bag, and apparently this was totally normal. The bird experienced the novel concept of flying and I am sure it was most pleased. The flight from Algiers to Timimoun took us swiftly into the desert where I couldn’t stop looking at the never-ending emptiness and figuring out how I’d survive if we crashed into the sand. As time passed, I realised it would be impossible. But it looked incredible from the air.

On landing, our passports were whisked out of our hands at pace and then we sat about on different benches of the airport for a bit, looking outside at the Algerian flags fluttering in the wind and waiting for our passport to come back. Perhaps our UK passports merited close attention but it was at least 40 minutes before we had them back. The Police enquired as to how we’d get to our airport and spotting a taxi rank outside the airport, we said we’d call a cab. Ah, no. Due to fears of terrorism, the Algerian government had put in measures in place so that we’d need to be picked up at the airport by someone from our hotel and then accompanied there by a police vehicle. An escort, how exciting!!

Some time later, we arrived at the Gourara Hotel, where the strangeness of a Police escort was immediately replaced by a standard hotel check in and the view of the hotel pool, with families splashing about in it. The hotel faced a Palmeraie that stretched out until a sebkha (salt lake) and then dunes rising up miles away. I can’t recall being so shut off from the rest of the world, in the sense that though I had wifi, I was nearly 800 miles from Algiers and flights were irregular. It was quite an exciting feeling.

Abandoned village

The next day we arranged for a guide to take us to the salt lake, and again, we needed an escort. We hung about outside a police station for a bit with our guide saying if they weren’t available, there would be no tour. However, soon we had some men with guns taking us out. The whole process was handled well. The police didn’t interfere with our tour and we saw some wonderful sights. We visited an abandoned village that is situated on top and under a hill. Under the ground, you could, even in April, notice the temperature change. I can only imagine how hellish it would be in the summer. The abandoned village was fascinating to walk through and it was a surprisingly complex set of structures that have survived.

Abandoned village

Later on, we were driven around the dunes, which towered above us and looked magnificent. It was at this point that our police escort got stuck in the sand and our driver had to walk a fair distance to help them. We were surprisingly relaxed about this turn of events. But then, the two times I have been to a desert, I have found myself utterly content with the vast silence and emptiness of the landscape.

Hanging out in the dunes
Our guide, going to rescue our police escort.

After our guide rescued out escort, we stopped by a tourist shop which had a reindeer for sale. I wonder if that was for tourists or something totally exotic for locals. Then we popped by a cave where I bought a scary looking fossil off some guys who were selling this stuff. I didn’t see any other visitors clamouring for them and wondered what they did all day.

Desert reindeer

I was delighted to see salad being grown in the desert, using little irrigation channels that our guide washed his face in. The sudden green of the delicate leaves against the orange of the sand transformed the landscape.

Desert salad

After the tour of the salt lake and the abandoned village, we decided to check out the town of Timimoun and get some money exchanged at a bank. It was a strange thing to need an escort for some things but not others. Nobody stopped us when we went into the town and at no point did we feel uncomfortable, though I certainly appreciated the effort the Algerian authorities went to in keeping us safe. The town itself is pretty small, with lots of interesting architecture and it looked even more mysterious and compelling with a glow in the sky from an oncoming dust storm.

Looking back at these photos reminds me why I love travelling so much. Getting to visit other countries and experience their sights and cultures is one of the most fulfilling things I can ever expect to do.