Chapter XXVI: Bou Saada

Leaving the ugly suburbs of Algiers, the car turns on to a broad, straight road bordered with plane-trees. On either side stretch interminable vineyards, while ahead the blue slopes of the Atlas rise up from this great plain of the Mitidja. Little French villages are passed and long, white buildings, now closed and silent, which will be in a whirl of activity in August and September when the grapes are being pressed.

In an hour or so l’Arba has been reached and the steep slopes covered with rough scrub and cork-trees. Up, up the road climbs toward the bare crests of the range. Algiers and the Mitidja are lost to view, and the eye wanders over a great expanse of mountain, cultivated here and there with patches of cereals, and now and then a vineyard.

The air is fresh, and the clouds seem ominously close. At Sakamody the watershed is reached, three thousand feet above sea-level, and a wonderful panorama of hills and rivers and forests spreads itself before us.

The road is now running steeply down toward the silvery stream at the bottom, and, reaching Tablat, an iron bridge is crossed and away speeds the car through a fertile valley. If lunch has been carried in the car there are some delightful fields near Bir Rabalou—at the one hundred and third kilometer—where one can picnic in peace. For some reason there is an abundance of tortoises in these fields.

If one is depending on the hotel one must push on to Aumale, where a rather second-rate inn will provide a correspondingly second-rate lunch. Aumale is well over two thousand feet above the sea; it is a modern garrison town and quite uninteresting.

Shortly after Aumale the road starts sloping down toward the flat country parallel to and east of the Sersou, and after thirty kilometers the village of Sidi Aïssa is reached.

At this point two vast errors are made by guides, tourists, and even by many Algerians; and, as stated in a previous chapter, it is the duty of the author to destroy legends invented for the ears of the credulous.

The first of these stories is that Sidi Aïssa means “Our Lord.” Translated literally this word signifies “the Lord Jesus,” but, though the Mohammedans venerate all the prophets from Moses down to Christ, this Sidi Aïssa is not the founder of the Christian faith. The person after whom this village and many others are named is Sidi-el-Hadj-Aïssa, the great _marabout_ who founded Laghouat in the eighteenth century. Of this later.

The second story, which is perhaps served up more frequently, is that at Sidi Aïssa the desert begins. It is an excusable legend, and let it be said at once that the author himself has fallen into the trap. It is an absolute fallacy, but Bou Saada and its neighborhood is one of the most amazingly natural fakes in the world.

Sidi Aïssa is at one thousand eight hundred feet above the sea and is on the same latitude as Boghar, which is perched on the southerly slopes of the Atlas of the Tell. Bou Saada is actually north of Djelfa, which the traveler will visit in two days and which is at over three thousand feet.

“But what of this?” exclaims the reader.

Well, this—that the approach to Bou Saada is as desertic as any scenery he will see, and that many oases of the south have that same first aspect of the Sahara created by Bou Saada; and yet to reach the beginning of the great wastes which run away to the Soudan and the Niger, ranges of mountains and forests south of Bou Saada must be crossed, which in winter are often covered with snow.

Bou Saada is an oasis, of that there is no doubt, but why it springs up in a country which is only a few miles from forests and vegetation is not to be explained. Perhaps it is one of the great jokes created by Allah for the benefit of the Compagnie Générale Transatlantique—and a very profitable joke too! However, the important point is that the traveler, on leaving Sidi Aïssa, can, if he wishes, feel that he is entering the desert, but he must not believe it. It is an impression which can not be forgotten, just as if a boat had been exchanged for the car and one had put out to sea. The hills and trees to the north seem to be the land, and the great expanse of stone and scrub spread out before one is the sea. To the west barren mountains rise up with almost flat tops, reminding one of billiard tables built by some dead race of giants. The world has suddenly changed as the car rushes on along the straight, even road.

No one is in sight, no habitation—just the wide plain. If the Sahara proper is to attract one the attraction will come now. There is no question about this: the expanse of desert either takes hold of one’s mind or else it merely bores.

However, bored or enthralled, the first aspect of Bou Saada must seize one and make a thrill pass through the brain. The road suddenly bends to the right, the sand-dunes appear all golden in the evening light, a city of rosy mud houses nestles against a russet hill, fifteen thousand palm-trees bow ever to the lilt of the wind.

Such is the first glimpse of Bou Saada, “the father or place of happiness,” and indeed so it must have been before the days when motors made a week-end visit possible. The Transatlantic hotel is comfortable, and constructed in harmony with the place, and though the rest of the life is as great a fake as nature has made it, it has great charm.

On arrival let the visitor hurry to the bastion below the military hospital to see the glory of the sunset— those amazing lights which he will see again in the south, but of which his first impressions here will never be forgotten. A mantle of gold-dust, the palm-trees in the breeze, herds of sheep and goats returning from their pasture, stately camels plodding along into the city accompanied by solemn Arabs: a vision of enchantment.

The return to the hotel, through the quiet streets in the rapidly increasing dusk, while the _muezzin_ calls the Faithful to prayer from the mosque, is such a complete contrast to the scenes of twenty-four hours before that one wonders if one has only traveled a hundred and fifty miles.

Yet it is not the Sahara, and at night, after dinner, when one is obliged to fall into the hands of the clamoring guides to be taken to see the dancing girls of the Ouled Naïls perform their weird steps, it is not the real thing. Not the real thing inasmuch as the dances are organized for the tourist and do not go on continuously for the native population, but as real as possible as far as it concerns the actual dances and the fact that the girls all belong to the tribe of the Ouled Naïls, in the center of whose area Bou Saada lies.

Another disillusion to the veteran guide is impending, but in a merciful spirit the truth about the Ouled Naïls will be kept till the next chapter. As, however, the traveler has not yet been to the far south, he will appreciate this evening in a quaint little room hung about with gaudy carpets, or, if it is fine, perhaps on the roof, watching the girls dance slowly up and down before him to the squeal of the _raïta_, or to the deep notes of the reed flute, while the time is kept by a rhythmical beat on the _tam-tam_.

The stars are flashing overhead in a black sky and peace seems to have settled on the world, a peace which will gradually increase as the journey progresses into the Sahara.

Next morning it is advisable to take one of the small boys outside the hotel (not a regular guide) and, descending into the river-bed, walk along between the tall palm-trees until the end of the oasis is reached, and then, crossing a belt of rough scrub, climb up on to the golden sand-dunes. A great expanse spreads out before one till, away in the distance, can be seen the beginning of the Aurès Mountains. It is a land of strange mirage effects, and, if the sun is hot, visions of palm-trees and green lakes will appear and shimmer away again before the eye has grasped the picture. If the country has taken hold of one, an hour’s contemplation in these golden dunes will pass quickly.

After lunch there is an interesting little excursion to be made some eight kilometers up the Djelfa road to El Hamel. The car should not be overloaded, as there are three or four kilometers to do off the main road up to the gates of the town. Built on the side of a barren hill, it has a wild look, and its tall walls give it an imposing aspect as the car climbs up the steep road to its gates. El Hamel is interesting because of its _zaouïa_ and Mohammedan college for those studying the Koran with a view to becoming _muftis_ or _imams_. Up to 1904 it had the peculiarity of being under the patronage of a female _marabout_, Lalla Zineb, and her tomb, much venerated, can be seen in a very lovely mosque. At present there is a charming _marabout_ who is always glad to see visitors. He will show one round and offer coffee in his rather gaudy reception-room. Though it is not usually known, _marabouts_ accept, and often expect, gifts of money, ostensibly given for the _zaouïa_; it must be presented with a speech explaining that it is a charitable donation.

There are many other pleasant excursions round Bou Saada if time warrants a long stay but, if not, there are more interesting things to see in the south which will entirely eclipse this false little oasis.

I say false and at the same time it is an almost unjust epithet, as, though the place is infested by conducted tours, they have not yet succeeded in removing its original charm, or making of it a middle-class fashionable resort like Biskra.

N. B.—Should it be impossible for the traveler to carry the journey on to Laghouat and the far south, there is a track across country to Biskra, some two hundred and fifty kilometers. Thence the journey can be carried on as laid down in the itinerary.

The track starts on the way to El Hamel, and it is well to have some one who knows it in the car, as there are no signposts and it is very desolate. Moreover, it must not be attempted in wet weather or after a storm, as there are many dried-up river-beds which rapidly become torrents, and there are no bridges.

Otherwise it is an interesting journey, and the first sight of the Sahara near Tolga is arresting.