At the end of the mRNA molecule is a region containing a self-complementary sequence

Last night I went out to dinner with a group of people, and realized what an odd situation I am in. I was eating in Algiers with a Cuban, two Frenchies, two Danes, a Polish woman, a German and an American, all speaking French, and the proprietor of the restaurant was a Ukranian guy who’s father was Algerian. Oh, and there were hamburgers on the menu.



I can’t decide if I feel good about it or bad, like I should really be out meeting more “real” Algerians, since as of now I know two (three if you count my Arabic instructor, although she was born in Lebanon). But again, I’ve only been here a week.



There are no working ATMs in this country. None. I have passed many in my wanderings, and not a single one is operational. I actually went into a bank yesterday and bought money with my credit card from an actual person! It was quite the experience. I had to go through those double-locking security doors where you get in between them and have to wait for the second door to open: you wait for a guy to look you over and, deciding you are legit, push a little button allowing the second door to open.



Then you have to put in a request to a man in a glass box, who will let you into the space with the credit card reader after you show him your passport; you then get a receipt for the money you bought, take it over to another guy in a different glass box, and he grabs you a big stack of cash. It took much longer than the ATM, but I actually interacted with people, which is something that one does increasingly little, it seems.



I started an Arabic class yesterday, one that is a bit above my level and taught, when not in Arabic, in French. I’m in there with a couple of nuns, who are pretty forgiving of my stumbling and smile a lot, and the wife of one of the Japanese consular officials.