Visit to Tlecen, dining in Oran with Mohammed's family

A holiday in Oran, a time to go on a family outing, and in Oran, that means heading south to Tlemsen in the mountains.

A breakfast of croissants, a slab of cheese and eggs, very sunny side up.

We're off! As in the races, since we follow Mohammed, who parts traffic like a speedboat in a sailboat race.

But  every now and then at scenic moments he pulls over.  "For Diane!" he says, climbing out with a big grin.  "Take picture!" 

 As of this chateau, with a thoroughbred grazing in the front grounds.

the long road to the shateau.

Wildflowers along the roadside.

We arrive at Tlemsen, up around acres of wooded mountainsides populated with picnickers, family after family settling on the rocks or small tables. 

 We pay our fee and are led into vast parking lots, filling with cars,  There's an amusement park, a large pool (empty now, of course) souvenier shops and restaurants.  We choose this one.

Mohammed graciously takes charge of the order.

pasta salad . . . and more.

 The plan is to climb back into the car and go to the favorite natural wonders of the place, a waterfalls and a cavern.  But  outside the restaurant I looked around. Men were offering children's rides and photos, like this one, with the Laurence of Arabia get-up all set to get on.  I had to smile. When I was 6 a man with a pony and cowboy gear came past our house. Mom happily paid for the photos of three kids bursting with joy to play cowboy or cowgirl on a real live horse.  So I understood.

 Then I looked over and there, on an expanse of sand between the sidewalks and pool, I  saw this:

Now I'm in the land of camels, and the ones I met in the Sahara didn't offer any rides.  Djelloul looked at my face and said, "You want to ride, Diane?"  There was no hesitation.

 The camel-master was a gruff guy, who wasn't taken much by crazy American ladies who think they're 12, but he knew his stuff.  "Sit up front!" No leaning back.
The riding is easy. I wished I had on a flowing Hajib.
 It's the getting up and getting down that's like riding an earthquake.  But we lived  to tell the tale, and I left bursting with joy and the camel went back into meditation, unfazed.

We drive to the falls, a place, unlike so many others, developed for visitors, with stairs and walkways.

Rock and the brothers Mohammed and Djelloul.

A mom takes the obligatory pictures, to prove they visited Tlemscen, and the clusters of teenager girls laughed and the guys sang soccer songs and the children jumped among the rocks.

Faras and his dear mom.  

The natural treasures of the area.

Another drive to the caves.

A children's poster campaign about respecting nature. I would draw mountains  like that if I lived in Algeria.   Rock and I figured Yoakum, the outsider artist of amazing landscapes, must have been here.

We pay our fee, and follow the other tourists heading down into the caverns.  

Faras.  He speaks English fluently, like his brother Walid, so we learned the most from him, and like every place in Algiers it's fraught with history.  These caverns were natural hiding places for the Algerian soldiers in the war of independence.

Note the scale.

 And back.  The cavern entrance is in the very top of this mountains, and, as always, the views are majestic.

We stop for tea from a local tea stand.  Tables are placed in clearings all around.

 And back home to Oran, where we'll spend one more night, then tour the famous Spanish fort, Santa Cruz in the morning with Walid.  Faras has school the next day, and Nedjib will have a half-day of work at her bank.

 But  first the other Mohammed, the one who drove us to Ain Sefrin,  wants to have dinner out with us at one of Oran's lovely restaurants.

Mohammed and his wife, Medjida (I think), and his nephew Abdemrahmane, a translator who is visiting from Boston.  He'll join us and Walid on our trip the next day to Santa Cruz.

Mohammed's beautiful children.

Saying farewell!