Africa’s largest country is not for the casual tourist. To even step foot inside, most nationalities will need to attain one of the world’s most tedious tourist visas. As part of the application process, you’re required to get your hands on an LOI (letter of invitation). In order to secure my LOI, I made a deal with tour company Lupine Travel, agreeing to give them regular shoutouts across my Algeria vlogs in return for them writing one on my behalf. There are other ways to get one, though. Such as through a local contact or friend. Although, for your best shot, it’s better to go with a respected tour company. A standard tourist visa currently lasts 30 days - so even if you book a week long tour, for example, that could potentially mean three remaining weeks spent exploring Algeria solo.

For my visa application process I took two trips to the new Algerian consulate in London. Somewhere in a hefty file of paperwork were my proof of sufficient funds, a reference letter from an employer (tricky when you’re self employed), and even photocopies of every single page of my passport - even the blank ones. Twice. That’s right, you need two lots of everything. Plus two completed application forms for the visa itself. It’s fair to say, this process alone is enough to put most people off. And for the most part, I’d say it does. Especially when Algeria’s neighbours, Morocco and Tunisia, are visa-free to many nationalities.

ALGIERS

Visa sorted, host arranged, itinerary planned, I was ready for Africa’s largest country.

After meeting with my cheerful host, Nadir, I was thrown straight into the bustling life of Algiers. Despite my tiredness, on my first day I ended up doing a lot. I was introduced to the seemingly infinite list of Nadir’s brothers, and in the evening provided with a whistle stop tour of the city centre. I tasted camel meat for the first time, using my bare hands to pull it from the bone. This was washed down by what Nadir could only describe to me in English as ‘old milk’ (deliberately left to mature for a number of days to create a sour taste). If that wasn’t enough, hanging outside the restaurant in the car park was the hanging torso of a goat. Its lifeless, dangling body, filled with water. Nadir poured a cup and handed it to me. I distinctly remember the feeling of the warm liquid sliding down my throat. This was new. And I hadn’t even started filming yet.

Ottoman courtyard in the Kasbah, Algiers

From afar, downtown Algiers appears pretty, even elegant. The buildings gleam in a prominent white. Impressive classical 19th century French architecture looms large, a constant reminder to everyone who ruled here for 132 years previously. Towels hang from the balconies of the grand boulevards. Mothers throw leftover crumbs from half-eaten white baguettes to the energetic streets below. On closer inspection, it’s gritty. The markets are pulsating with a swell of crowds. Buildings are cracking from age, still scarred from war. Heads turn as I make my way (camera, gimbal and microphone in hand) to the oldest part of the city. The Kasbah. A crumbling Ottoman jungle 50,000 locals still call home. Here in the Kasbah, people are friendly - if they trust you. They can also be a little curious, even defensive, of outsiders. Well, so I’d been warned. Taking the advice of my host, I used ‘Salaam Alaikum’ as a disarmer when passing locals. I can confirm it works like a charm. Generally untrusting faces break into accepting smiles, and a reply of “Walaikum Salaam!” welcomes your presence.

Languages are abundant in Algeria. Whilst Arabic is the common tongue used to communicate between all, large proportions of the population are ethnically Amazigh (Berber). Of the Amazigh, there are several people groups. Each of these individual groups have their own native language. French is the second language (third for the Amazigh), due to the country’s colonial past. In Algeria it’s common to hear a confusing mix of Arabic and French thrown around casually during conversation. English isn’t prioritised until after French, so the percentage of people speaking it isn’t as high. Knowing some French or Arabic then, will go a lot further in Algeria. I found it to be quite a normal occurance to meet people that spoke four or five different languages fluently. This impressed me deeply - especially as many Brits can’t speak a second language.

Gritty but enthralling, the Kasbah of Algiers

The Kasbah of Algiers is a UNESCO world heritage site - and yet it’s probably the least touristy one I’ve ever seen. Inhabited since the second century B.C., today you will find children smacking footballs against the decaying walls, old men chatting on street corners, their voices echoing in the tight alleys. Unfortunately, graffiti and rubbish are a familiar sight at most corners. But don’t let this dissuade you. Dramatic steep steps show the way up, and the higher you plod upwards, the more the Kasbah winds unexpectedly. Its authenticity and history are undeniable. Its raw nature, exactly what you decided to travel here for. Views from the top expose the azure blue Mediterranean Sea.

It’s not necessary to spend many days in Algiers. But ‘experiencing’ the oldest part of the capital is really a must. To relive my experience exploring the Kasbah (alongside some of the other notable sites you can visit as a tourist in Algiers), you can refer to my travel vlog of the capital here.

ORAN

415km west of Algiers, sitting on the banks of the Med, is the country’s second largest city. Like the capital, Oran’s history is a story of pass the parcel. From the Romans, to the Byzantines, Spanish Muslims (Moors), Ottomans, and finally, the French. At the heart of it all - the port of Mers el-Kebir, important as a North African trading hub for the various occupying empires.

Looking out across the dense city from atop Fort Santa Cruz, on first impressions the city honestly seemed a bit lacking. However, once I delved deeper into the atmospheric neighbourhoods of Derb and Sidi el-Houari, I left the city feeling mesmerised. Like the Kasbah of Algiers, these areas leave little to the imagination. The call to prayer rang out as Nadir led me through the humble streets, the sound bouncing off the aged buildings either side of me. Groups of teenagers were quick to give their welcome. When they heard I was making a YouTube video, they were desperate to say hello to the camera. Clearly, the people of Oran are very passionate about their hometown. In fact, the vlog I uploaded from Oran ended up being the most viewed in my Algeria series. Go figure.

Children kicking a ball around Oran’s backstreets

Speaking frankly, Oran is not somewhere I’d recommend as an essential stopping point in Algeria. There are few places of notability aside from Fort Santa Cruz, or a Mosque that was previously North Africa’s largest Synagogue (now a Mosque). There are more spectacular northern cities, such as Constantine, which you might want to prioritise instead (if time is limited). However, those who do take the time to venture west, will find an edginess portraying the reality of northern Algeria’s urban life. It makes no apologies, and truthfully, you wouldn’t want it any other way.

TIMIMOUN

After visiting Oran, I made my way back to Algiers, heading straight for the domestic terminal. Feeling cosy on the smallest airplane I’d ever sat on, I knew this was where the real Algerian adventure was about to begin. The Sahara.

It’s obvious why 90% of Algerians live in the northern part of the country, and not the desert. The landscape of the coastal north is the country’s most fertile region (running parallel to the Mediterranean Sea). Looking out from my plane window I remember gazing below as the the landscape transitioned somewhat dramatically. At first, the scenery became visibly more hilly. Increasing numbers of rocky peaks add tinges of darkness to the land. Gradually the bushes, grass and trees start to thin out. Then dry, arid country becomes more visible. Before I knew it, we were soaring above a golden ocean. The Sahara doesn’t disappoint. I found the vast nothingness below quite unsettling, albeit exciting. There was only sand. Peering out, thousands of feet under I could see a dramatic blur for miles, where the heat bounced off the distant dunes skywards. As we descended, I was even more taken aback at the sheer isolated nature of Timimoun. There was absolutely nothing else around. As we dropped closer to earth, it looked as if we were about to make an emergency landing. In the last few seconds, a lonely runway emerged out of the nothingness, and the plane wheels connected with the earth.

Stepping out of the aircraft, I was in another world. The temperature 43°C. Along with fellow passengers, I made the burning pilgrimage across the scoulding runway to the terminal building. The heat rising from the ground now more obvious, blurring the ant like dots of bodies ahead. Before I could collect my luggage from the conveyor belt, I was immediately spotted as the only foreigner by the local security. Taken to one side by four men - they wanted to know why I was there, and where I was going to be staying. Logistically, it can be tedious travelling to far-flung parts of Algeria. On arrival (especially in small Saharan towns like Timimoun) you are required to register your presence at the nearest police station. You will be told this is for your own safety. Whether or not you decide to do this in every town/city you visit, I’ll leave to you (I didn’t apart from in Timimoun).

Looking out towards the Sahara from the edge of Timimoun

A lot happened during my stay in Timimoun. I saw a way of life so different from anything I’d seen before, it left quite a profound impact on me. The buildings, made from nothing more than a great deal of clay and red mud, gave the town an ancient Mars-like appearance.

The majority of locals in Timimoun are black African, compared with the more Amazigh/Arab north. The black population are mainly the descendents of Malian/Nigerien merchants and slaves, originating from the African Sahel region. The rest of the local population are comprised of a mix from different Amazigh groups - providing Timimoun with a fascinating diversity of race, culture, language and identity. I observed how freely and happily they all lived in unison. Each individual in Timimoun seemed to know everyone else by name, and rarely failed to stop and shake the hands of each man that he passed. I too, found myself at the very least, exchanging a few words to every man that passed my side. The few women that I passed, I opted for a quick smile instead, unsure of customs. Once again, in Timimoun, that ever familiar "Salaam Alaikum” and its appropriate response “Walaikum Salaam” were the absolute minimum of any exchange. This was followed by the familiar sight of calmly placing one’s hand on heart. I found that in Northern Algeria, formalities tended to end there. In the Sahara region, these well wishes always went on a little longer. “Labas?” one would ask - “labas!” the other declared enthusiastically. “Alhamdulillah” (praise be to God), the first always then happily confirmed.

Local date seller in Timimoun’s central market

It was in Timimoun that I had some truly memorable excursions into the world’s greatest sand desert. My young host and his friend enthusiastically planned to take me to some villages and old forts in their little car. Not until I was in it, did I realise they had taken the decision to brave driving along the faint tracks of a road, through desert wilderness. On this route, only small villages and oases existed, miles apart from one another. The road we took had the largest dunes I’d ever seen on either side of us. It was thrilling but scary. Wind sometimes blew sand over the road, or parts of the way were already dangerously covered by it. We would have to drive off-road, onto the sand, before bending our route back round onto it again. In these moments, the car would struggle to make it over, the engine rumbling and tyres fighting. They accelerated over the less lumpy patches faster, to try and avoid falling victim to it. Occasionally, the car would swerve from side to side, as if we were driving on ice. I remember one particularly long period of over an hour’s driving, where several times we nearly became stuck. There were no villages between where we’d left, and where we were going. Just sand and desert. At temperatures in the mid 40’s, low on water, and suffering from the sh*ts, it was quite the experience.

This vlog was one of the most difficult and off the beaten path I had ever filmed. We visited a number of isolated villages in the Sahara, with incredible green date trees and tiny mosques sprinkled with peaceful locals dressed in all white. This is the real magic of the area. At the end of this particular day, as it happened, we did eventually get the car stuck in the sand. Despite coming close earlier on, it was after sunset when our luck eventually ran out with the car. My host who was driving, got lost trying to find the road back to Timimoun in the dark, and the car came to a depressing halt. Some incredibly helpful locals from the village we had just left, came to our rescue. They brought manpower (quite literally a truck full of several men) and water (we’d run out of our own). Normally you should only venture around these parts of the desert in a 4x4. We eventually made it out, coming home to a hospitable mother’s hearty couscous. I could probably write an entire book of my experiences in the Algerian Sahara region alone. Perhaps I will go into greater in the future.

Despite challenges of the heat and sand (bad for camera equipment) - for me, Timimoun is a place I will never forget. The town and its surrounding villages are out of this world. So much so, I find it hard to describe through just my words. Which is why I’d urge you to visit for yourself, if intrigued.

Adrar (Tamentit)

Warming hands over the fire as the sun rises

Following my time in Timimoun, Nadir (my host from Algiers) phoned to tell me of a friend who lived in the nearby town of Adrar. Only a couple of hours away from Timimoun by bus, it was a no brainer. Especially as I was determined to see more of the Algerian Sahara (knowing I would be unable to visit Tamanrasset and Djanet on this particular trip). Admittedly, I didn’t even know what Nadir’s friend looked like, or what to expect of his character. But I trusted Nadir. So I jumped on a sweaty, cramped bus, which journeyed through the empty plains. Sitting by the window, I marveled once more at the nothingness of the great desert, as I made my way further south alone. By this time, I was sporting full traditional clothes (which I’d picked up in Timimoun). Along with my now thick beard and ever growing need for a haircut, the attire did little to disguise my origins to all those travelling on the bus. It was so hot on that sweltering bus journey, that l can still feel the intensity of the air whenever I cast my mind back today. I opened the window beside me, hoping to receive a gust of something pleasant. But this only resulted in a near constant blast of hot air, equivalent to a enormous hairdryer on full heat. Welcome to the desert.

Bus journey through the Sahara, from Timimoun to Adrar

Rostom, Nadir’s friend, welcomed me at the bus station. I immediately trusted him and his calm nature. He drove me in a squeaky white truck to his cosy home, where I was treated in typical Algerian hospitality. We ate well, drank coffee, and snacked on dates, before taking an afternoon siesta. At dusk, we set out across the brittle land between Adrar and the nearby village of Tamentit. The glowing amber sun was slowly disappearing beneath the horizon in dramatic effect.

Tamentit was my favourite place in Algeria. This little known village is the stuff of every explorer’s dreams. We met with some of Rostom’s friends after parking up. Just like him, they were all fully dressed in white. As they led the way through the atmospheric ancient town, their white figures contrasted sorely with the reddish mud buildings. Walking around Tamentit is like navigating through some bygone Saharan maze. As we passed underneath the last frame of a doorway, exiting the tight network of alleys, the space opened up. This dramatically revealed a mosque standing alone, just outside of the town’s moody walls. The sun was almost gone now, and the call to prayer broke out in perfect timing. Viewing it all from behind the lens of my camera, I remember filming a POV shot as we approached the steps leading up to the mosque. This was desert fantasy. The entirety of Tamentit revealed itself from a lookout point atop the mosque. A prominent green oasis differed spectacularly with the buildings and distant landscape of panoramic golden sand. Rostom looked at me and smiled. He knew I was enchanted.

Walking through the maze of Tamantit’s abandoned city

Dusk views over Tamantit from the mosque’s vantage point

As night fell in Tamentit, I was told we’d be camping it out on the dunes. It was no doubt one of the highlights of my trip. We feasted on delicious food and banged drums whilst looking up at the starry sky. There was nothing around us, only large beetles bobbing along the sand to offer company. There was lots of laughter and joking amongst the group. I’d only known them for a few hours, yet I’d felt their acceptance and friendship without hesitation or judgement. These moments will stay with me forever.

Tamentit is little known to the world outside Algeria (and some Algerians won’t even have heard of it either). If you do decide to visit Algeria at some point, make sure to at least do a little bit of research into Tamentit, because it really is remarkable. Waking up early for the sunrise, the sun’s morning rays hit the beautiful pea coloured oasis around us, revealing the full splendour of where we had just spent the night. You can watch my experience walking around Tamentit and camping out in the desert here.

Ghardaia

Another domestic flight back to Algiers from Adrar, and I was now reunited with Nadir. That same night we made the eight hour drive down to the golden city of his birth, Ghardaia. Lying on the edge of the Sahara and sitting in the M’zab valley, it’s home to a branch of Amazigh known as Mozabite. They have their own distinct set of traditions, and also belong to the Ibadi sect of Islam. The men generally wear a distinct style of white hat, alongside familiarly loose, but more intricately patterned traditional clothes than you’ll find further south. On first impressions it was bewildering to me just how different Ghardaia was from Timimoun and Adrar. It was here that I truly glimpsed the sheer extent of Algeria’s diversity. Each town has different clothes, cuisine, languages, religions, history and architecture. If someone told me that Ghardaia is not in the same country as Timimoun or Algiers, I would easily believe them.

Ghardaia is yet another spellbinding Algerian city. And those who are familiar with it, will know all about the Mozabite women of Ghardaia. Whenever venturing outside the home, they traditionally dress in a manner that is unique and mysterious to an unacquainted foreigner like myself. They fully wrap themselves in a white cloth known as a ‘haik’. They hold this (which covers them from head to toe) in place as they walk. The only body part revealed to the outside world - a single eye. This creates an illusive image you won’t find anywhere else in the world. A flurry of hooded white figures float gracefully through the dense neighbourhoods. At times, there will be dozens of these covered women in your eyeline, and as a single man it is best you do not stare for long. I had to be extra careful when filming my videos. Any woman accidentally in one of my shots, and someone was likely to take offense (I’d been warned). I didn’t make any attempt to film or take pictures of them, as I wanted to respect the customs of life in Ghardaia. As guests of another country we are essentially just spectators. It is not our place to offend and enforce our different views or ways of thinking onto societies that have functioned without them for thousands of years. I often find this to be the biggest mistake of western travellers in foreign countries. They seek to criticise something which is from a culture unknown to them, without understanding context. Instead we should attempt to learn about such antitheses, and empathise with how these other ways of living came to be, before we begin to think about opening our mouths and critiquing them.

As his home city, there was no one better than Nadir to show me around Ghardaia. We toured the central square, filming spice and date stalls, chatting with friendly locals. The highlight came inside the Kasbah, which was far cleaner than its counterpart in Algiers. We came to a old mosque at the top of some steps, overlooking the sprawling tangle of lanes beneath it. Nearly sunset, it was a good opportunity to stick around for the Maghrib (sunset) prayer. Nadir became chatty with one of the Imam’s, who seemed a gentle and good humoured elderly man. As it turned out, he was in fact the Muezzin (the man who leads the call to prayer). To our surprise, he invited us to join him inside whilst he delivered it. I’d never witnessed such a thing in person before (and am unlikely to again), despite visiting countless mosques. With permission to film the event without showing his face, my camera beeped on and was in position. The Imam flicked the microphone switch - and a croaky but experienced voice, full of raw emotion, let out: “Allahu akbar allahu akbar!”. To relive this moment along with my time exploring Ghardaia, you can check out the full video here.

Constantine

Following the Ghardaia trip, Nadir and I returned to Algiers and said our farewells. I headed east to my last stop in Algeria. Known as the ‘City of Bridges’ - this nickname doesn’t really give Constantine the credit it truly deserves. It is an extraordinary place - dramatically built on either side of a 200m gorge. The deep earthy crack splitting between the heart of the city looks as if you are staring down to the depths of the underworld. The sheer fact Constantine not only exist today, but has done so for thousands of years, despite the huge engineering challenges involved in making it habitable, are a credit to its rich history. The Phoenicians, Romans, Arabs, Venetians, Ottomans and French, have all left their mark here.

I stayed a little outside of the city with a wonderful young host, who also happened to be an English teacher. Like Nadir and Rostom, he and his family were Mozabite. Thanks to repeated exposure during my time in Algeria, I came to learn much about the Mozabite people and their traditions.

Now in Constantine, once again it was further emphasised to me just how staggeringly diverse this country is. The recent memories of dry and sandy Saharan towns (Timimoun, Adrar, and Ghardaia) were quickly replaced by craggy cliffs, adorned with leafy shades of green. Once again, the people seemed different, and the architecture had changed. The weather was now breezy and rainy enough that I had to wear a jacket to stop feeling the cold. Just days before, the temperature was soaring above 40°C in Adrar.

The most well known structure in Constantine, the Sidi M'Cid Bridge, draws breath from every angle. Look down while you are crossing it, and your body will instinctively warn you of the drop below. From certain viewpoints, the bridge appears to be so high above the gorge beneath it, that the people walking across look like they’re walking on air. What’s more, this isn’t the only bridge you'll be astonished by. There are various points along the Rhumel river where you can marvel at the magnificence of all that is around you. For me, this is the main draw of the city. Despite the brilliance, I found the central streets, people and shops to be a little unwelcoming in comparison to the warmer south. The atmosphere was not right at the time of my visiting, due to the ongoing political situation in the country (protests towards the government were happening weekly). The commonly used French term ‘journaliste?’ was thrown around every time I was seen with my camera. This did not happen in the south/Saharan places that I visited. Only in the big northern cities did I generally grasp a feeling of quiet, unnerving tension.

Although I thought I had managed the day’s filming well, it was in an area with few people around, that things took a turn for the worse. Apart from some boys playing football just below the bridge I was standing on, it was quiet. I thought the view of some old buildings would be a nice backdrop to show the contrast of the scene. After filming the shot, I turned around to carry on walking and catch up with my host and his cousin, who were further ahead. It was then, that a man starting shouting and running towards me. When he arrived, he grabbed my hand, and produced a police badge. Speaking in a serious tone, Arabic and French mixed into one confusing jumble of words.

My host translated for me. We had to follow him to the police station. I asked what I had done wrong, but the officer refused to provide me with an answer. I tried along the way to explain that I was filming a travel video about Constantine for my Youtube channel, and that I must have accidentally caught the police station in the shot. But the man seemed to just get angrier whenever we tried to explain ourselves. I realised at this point, that any further protestations would be met with more negativity. The undercover officer was a short and plump man with a little dark stubble. His unfriendly, aggressive expression, showed me that he’d already made up his mind. As we got closer to the old buildings, I remembering thinking facetiously to myself that I still didn’t know which building the police station was. As we walked towards it, there was no obvious details that would identify it as a police station. There were some small words in Arabic on the top, but it blended in with the rest of the buildings.

Once inside the station, things got a bit ugly. I didn’t really talk in great depth about what happened in my Constantine YouTube video, and I won’t really go into too much detail here either. I am conscious not to portray Algeria with negativity, as I am one of the few western travellers that have covered it through my vlogs or blogs. It doesn’t get enough positive attention in the first place - to heap on pessimism would not only be unfair, damaging to the country’s already fragile image, but a sort of injustice to all the good hospitality I had received. What I will say, is that I was kept for over seven hours, and there was a lot of tutting, shouting, threats, pointing, and aggressive behaviour/body language. It seemed to go on and on, round in circles. Being kept in a room with six or seven men, with nothing better do with their time than chastise me and blow cigarette smoke in my face. All in all, it was an unpleasant experience. At one point they brought in two men wearing suits, who were special investigators. They questioned every aspect of my trip. I did try opening my phone to show them my YouTube channel at various moments, but the undercover officer refused to look at it when we were walking, and then once inside the others didn’t seem to care. I just wished they’d actually listened to me and checked my YouTube channel in the first place. The fact they refused to do so, and didn’t give me a chance to explain myself, revealed their agenda from the beginning. It felt like they just wanted something to do, someone to waste their time on. When we were finally allowed to go, I had decided to leave Algeria for Tunisia the following day.

Despite the negative experience in Constantine, the city is absolutely worth seeing. It’s highly unlikely you’ll have trouble with the police like I did. My vlogging draws a lot of attention, most of it positive, but it’s not always good attention, either. Anyhow, I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend Constantine to people visiting Algeria. The hosts I had were exceptionally great guys, and they really put themselves on the line to help me when things got a bit difficult. I’m glad they didn’t get into further trouble.

Final words

Overall, I have no doubt that my time spent in Algeria will live prominently in the memory until the end of my days. Those crazy situations, like being stuck in the desert, I now look back on and smile. Out of all the videos I have shot on my YouTube channel, the Algeria series is still my favourite. That’s testament to the richness of experiences you can find here. The diversity of landscape, and friendliness of the people, I can’t emphasise enough. Yet, I only covered a tiny fraction of the country. There are more otherworldly places than the ones I saw, such as Djanet and Tamanrasset in the far south, which both look astonishing.

The country is now the largest in Africa (since Sudan split into two in 2011). Still, Algeria is a sleeping giant in terms of tourism and economic potential. Just look at Morocco and Egypt, and visualise the possibilities of this magnificent, culturally rich, north African supergiant. Bureaucracy ensures the country is hard to access for many, and sadly holds it back in many ways. But for those who do decide to take the plunge, you will be rewarded with jaw dropping hospitality, and wonderful memories that will last a lifetime. I know I was.

This is the first blog I’ve written for my website. Let me know in the comments what you thought of it. I hope you found it interesting/useful, and I’d much appreciate any feedback. Thanks again to all my friends in Algeria for making it the trip of a lifetime.

Travelling Solo as a foreigner in Algeria: My Wild Experience through Africa's largest Unknown