First coup: Arrive at the Algiers airport at midnight. Out the window of the docking plane are multiple armed policemen, armed not with pistols and clubs but with what appears to be an assault rifle and some kind of automatic shotgun. This is a theme that is to repeat itself throughout the airport experience. Passport control goes off without a hitch, although the bureaucrat was incredulous that I had the specific address of my lodgings and not just a hotel or institute name: “This is the address? The specific address? It is correct? You are sure? In Algiers? Ok, bienvenue monsieur…”
The baggage arrives shortly, after seemingly everyone in the waiting area takes or makes a phone call. My bag is the second one through the plastic flaps. I take my bag, throw it on a pushcart, and exit the baggage area. I should say that the Algiers airport is spotless and modern, about the size of John Wayne airport and probably more charming, although if it has a statue that I missed it is more likely to be of Abd al-Qadir than The Duke.
After walking through the doors, there are some less-than-aggressive taxi drivers and people offering to change my Euros to Dinars, a nice service that I somehow find the nerve to decline. After finding the ATM at the bank kiosk is out of order, a guard directs me to the other one across the airport. On the way a man offers to help me find it, to push my cart, to be my taxi and any other number of services. I eventually tell him to go try someone else, as there will be plenty of Europeans coming through the customs door any minute. He seems very hurt by this.
I make it to the second (and only other) ATM in the airport. After standing trying to do the math, I take out 10,000 Dinar, which I hope is around $120. My card comes out, my bills arrive, and as I’m leaving the machine’s screen proclaims “This ATM is currently out of order, please use another.” I got the last money in the whole airport! Take that you German suckers…
As I’m exiting the airport a man says, “Hey, I’ll take you to the taxis, where are you going?” He is in a jacket and looks like a taxi driver, so I tell him and bargain a price when I notice that he is leading me away from the official taxi stand. I stop walking and of course the other taxi drivers notice and come over. I tell the man I want an official taxi and he is angry. A fight ensues among the taxi drivers.
I eventually get in an official taxi with the driver and a man he introduces as the taxi supervisor who periodically comes along for quality control. I am dubious, but as the taxi driver commences to show me his identification card and lecture me about how I should never just take a ride from some random guy at 12:30am, “are you in the habit of taking taxis? Then you should know that official taxis are for your safety. You must promise that the next time you will go directly to the official taxi stand and not talk to those people inside. I mean, really, what did you think?” This lecture continues, with the quality control man chiming in with a “you know he’s right” every now and again. But the two men were very nice. As I did not know exactly where the place was, they took Thierry’s number from me, called, got directions and delivered me safely to the Glycines.
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