On to Oran, and the feast of a lifetime

"We go to Oran," said Djelloul way back in the planning stage. "They have very good fish there.  You see. We visit my brother, Mohammed and his family.  You'll like it."

So off we go, past rolling green hills,  high mountains and low, farmlands and orchards and flocks of sheep tucked in the folds of vast views, speeding on winding two lanes, slowing at round-abouts, accelerating on, slowing through villages, ka-thump, ka-thump over speed bumps, then cruising on the new four lane highway to the city.

 I did not photoshop this green.  It was this green.  One of the little towns we passed, translated as "River of Peace" had built platforms high on their seven street lights, and this is the amazing result.  We actually pulled over on the ride back, and I got better views.  But we were in a hurry.  People were waiting for us.  It's about a 3 hour ride, or so.

Here's an early glimpse of the ancient city of  Oran on the Mediterranian, a shining new mosque, multitudinous high rises, and the distant mountains.   

 We exit the highway and pull behind a silver car. Out steps Djelloul's older brother, arms wide in welcome.  He leads us to his home, an apartment above shops near the center of the city, near the promenade overlooking the water.  His wife has prepared us a feast.

Rock, Djelloul, and Mohammed. My place is set by the fresh-squeezed orange juice in the far chair.

 Nadjet and Walid in the kitchen, happy to have my visit.  I check what's on the stove. Rouge fish.

 Sole.

But first course, fish soup.

Second course, salads, cheese tarts. . .

Third course, du mer -- small shrimp, large shrimp, with sauce.  The rouge fish, breaded and fried and served with tomatoes, the sole, and fried calamari.

Now, if Mohammed, Nadjet, Walid and Faris visited me.  I would probably serve them lasagna and salad and think I'd done myself proud.  But Nadjet is not yet done.
Fourth course. We need a little more veggie and a little more drama.
Out comes the artichokes and the marinated shrimp and chicken kabobs.

And of course, for the fifth, some roasted lamb.  We are in Algeria, after all, and all those sheep need some purpose in life.

With crepe's stuffed with ground chicken (I think) just to fill in the cracks.  Enough already.  But it's not enough.  

 When Nadjet presented the main course,

 -- stuffed boneless lamb with potatoes and parsley, I was dumbstruck.  Didn't this woman sleep?  Every single dish was nothing less than mouth-watering.  The love that went into this meal was utterly unforgetible.

Seventh course, strawberries, fresh from the farm, cheese, tea and coffee.  Could I take another bite?  Was there an atom of space inside any of us?

But there was another feast, besides.  The brothers hadn't seen each other in years, and Mohammed was eager to share his stories with his brother's family.  He was a major in the Algerian military, serving in the Western mountains -- among other places -- at the time of the uprising after the overturn of the elections in the 90's.  Their father, too, served in the military, fighting for independence, killed when Djelloul was just a baby.  Nadjet's father served as officer for the police, the gendarmes, and she and Walid proudly showed us photos from their family and her childhood.   Mohammed now heads security for a large international company in town, and he loved practicing his English.  

At one point Rock asked, "Don't mean to put you on the spot, but how would you fight terrorism?"   The question was appreciated.  In broken and unbroken English, this was the sense of what he said. "First, I talk to the mother and father.  Reason with them.  If that doesn't work, we must try to capture them.  If wounded, we take them to the hospital, bring them health.  Then they go to justice, to court.  Reason with them. But most important, we find them good jobs.  We make them good life.  That is how to end terrorism."

Now to see Oran.