For Real

Destinations are fun. Actually, more than that, destinations make TRAVELING fun. This is a great traveling story.

Instead of the usual weekend wandering of finding whatever adventure, fortunate or unfortunate, I could run into by walking around Fes, I set a destination. Destination: Algeria. Never mind that the border is closed. And has been since 1994. We've talked a lot as teachers about not lowering expectations for our students; I thought it was time to put the same in place for myself. What are laws when I have determination and a smile? Smiles get you anywhere in Morocco.

(Spoiler included for Mom: I didn't knowingly do anything illegal.)

I hopped on a night train for Oujda, and prowled around the city a little. It's bigger than I expected for being the only civilization this far east. Then the fun began - I started my frontier search! The frontier line, or border line, of Algeria is 12 kilometers from Oujda, and it took the involvment of 3 different colors of Taxi's and one swanky 5-star hotel, but I was finally in the front seat of a golden taxi on my way to Magrib-al-awsat: "The Middle West" from "The Far West."

Out of town, we encountered the typical barrenness between countries who have been known to claim each other's land, interspersed with Party Houses. Yup, they're really called Party Houses. In the desert wasteland, beautiful castle-like Casba's with neon lights proclaimed themselves "for rent," and possessing "a room appropriate for ANY party."

The taxi driver cautioned me about having my camera visible, and I stowed it in the folds of my skirt. 4km from the Frontier, we pulled up to a one-lane obstacle course. The signs indicated that it was a police checkpoint, but it looked like a stunt driver's test to me. Our mul-taxi swerved into the opposing lane to avoid the car laden with haybales that barreled toward us. We needed to be in the opposing lane anyway to avoid the first row of nails protruding from the asphalt. The taxi driver passed the first row expertly, skidding the taxi out on the way back to the right to avoid the next row of nails. He threaded the obstacle course like he could have done it in his sleep at 50kph. I have a reference for Hollywood's next stunt driver.

We arrived at the frontier. Though it has been closed since '94, none of the Moroccans here seem to know why, other than "Algeria closed it for political reasons." I didn't ask the Algerians their opinion. They were too busy telling me to get back to my side of the line.

Don't picture me fighting past trenches of armed men, or anything. There were plenty of barracades and barbed wire, but a clear path right through the border. Not seeing anyone, I figured the checkpoint must be on the other side, so I walked through.

No one there either.

Must be further up ahead.

I kept walking.

50m from the barracade, I realize nobody cares. I scout around for some officials, and go out of my way to talk to one of the policemen Gendarmes there. He tells me no, this is still Morocco, the frontier isn't for another 500 meters, at the foot of some cool looking mountains. No Algeria for Laura.

I was a little dissapointed, but had a great time chuckling at their security system. After all, I had known my goal was impossible from the beginning. I get back in the golden taxi, talking with the driver about the mountains. He doesn't really like them, but his sons like to go there. Go there? I thought no one from Morocco could go there. No, no one from Morocco can cross the Official Frontier. To get into Algeria, you have to go around!!!!

He offers to show me, not waiting for my answer as he swerves off the road into a cactus patch! Seriously, this guy could be the next 007 for the way he handles this golden taxi. We land in a tiny trail between the prickly pear and a concrete wall that hadn't even been visible from the road. There, he says, is Algeria. No more barbed wire; this part of the border is guarded on the Moroccan side by cinderblocks, and on the Algerian side by cacti!

We bump a little farther down the cactus patch - I will not call that spot a road. Nobody would.- until the borders open up. No more cactus, no more cinderblock. This is less than a kilometer from the fenced and baraccaded frontier where I talked with the Gendarme! Welcome to Algeria, Laura.

I got out and took a few pictures, tipped the taxi driver 100% (sill less than $1) and we were bumping back through the cacti and into Morocco, back to Oujda in the golden taxi.