Farewell Timimoun, good evening Algiers

Morning in Timimoun

Looking at the sebkha, a broad depression of water and salt bordered by desert, from the guest house terrace in the early morning, at a certain point one feels one's shoulders wrapped by a friendly presence bringing warmth, colour and light where until then they had been missing. The body appreciates the warmth, the eyes are enchanted watching the sand take on reddish tones while the horizon takes shape, unfolding the patch of water in the depression that had appeared like a mirage.

After breakfast we go into the centre of Timimoun, where the local guide tells us in great detail the history of the town and its architecture. He is 59, has three children and has always lived here. In quieter periods he creates metal objects to resell; he knows everything and everyone, just as everyone knows him. When one is inside these small towns, it is difficult to grasp where one really is: in the centre of Algeria, in the middle of the desert, a few hours by car from other similar places. In the past those distances meant days of walking with a dromedary. It is not hard to think that these societies must necessarily have been closed, independent and at the same time solidaristic. Exchanges with the outside were necessarily limited, while hostile nature together with heat, and cold, made people resilient to any test. Technology has shortened distances and brought some comfort, but Timimoun will always remain in the desert.

The walk inevitably leads us to see the bazaar, held indoors under a low shed, where various goods are displayed and local people or those from nearby oases come to stock up on vegetables, spices, clothes and meat. Today too we have a good lunch chez l'habitant, where we taste camel meat, an experience already had several times and always appreciated. The lady hosting us has a kitchen next to the room and we see her prepare lunch on the spot. There is a bit of waiting, but it is worth it. Stomach and heart are very close inside the body, but there are occasions when they can even coincide. In plain terms, thanks to our guide's happy idea, today we eat lunch in the home of a woman widowed years ago, who has two children of her own and has adopted a couple more because they were even poorer. In this moment we receive a lesson in how there is no limit to poverty and in the admirable way this widow helped another family despite having only a little remaining capacity. Among us, whoever wished may also have felt a sense of discomfort that perhaps did not help digestion, but did good all the same.

Daily life and departure from Timimoun

As often happens in the country's peripheral and remote areas, it is rare to find restaurants for meals. Instead there is the possibility of eating in private homes that have a large room, its floor covered by a carpet with low tables on which plates and food are placed, surrounded by stools, cushions or low sofas covered with blankets. Sitting so low is not ideal for the stomach, compressed in that position, or for the joints of the lower limbs, but it is a system that encourages conviviality and is not hard to adapt to. In fact, few restaurant signs are seen in the classic sense, except for some places meant to serve a quick lunch to those there for work or otherwise short on time. What surprised us somewhat is that during the trip we did not eat much mutton or lamb; we had feared being nauseated by it, but that was not the case. Chicken certainly dominated: tasty and tender, always cooked impeccably and imaginatively.

The same or similar applies to hotels. In general, accommodation is scarce, so some guest houses seem to have more bargaining power than agencies because they operate under an oligopoly. There are a couple of hotels used mainly for business, where people eat inside. The instinct, perhaps also because of the intrinsic culture of these people, is to live outdoors and organise everything independently; consequently the concept of restaurant as we understand it seems superfluous, at least for locals. Since tourism essentially does not exist and the season is short, certain services are unnecessary. From some sources we learn that the tourist wave has yet to arrive and in a month everything will be full. One must understand what is meant: if there are few places, they fill quickly, and not least, desert temperatures will fall for winter.

Timimoun airport is as small as expected, but better organised than one might imagine for a town lost in the desert. The nearby presence of hydrocarbon extraction sites has probably helped investment, even though only two or three flights a day will depart. The flight taking us to Algiers is nevertheless an Air Algerie Airbus 320, punctual and with good service. It lands with Japanese precision, exactly on the minute, and when it is now 8:30 p.m. we go to have dinner in a place next to the hotel.