The Safir

The Safir, central Algiers

Central Post Office, Algiers

On my visits to Algiers on behalf of Culturissima I invariably stay at the Hotel Safir on the city's esplanade. Built by the French in the early 20th century, the Safir is located just next to the Assemblé Nationale and overlooks the port of Algiers.

For first-time visitors to Algeria's capital, arriving at the "four-star" Safir can be something of a disappointment.

Before the disappointment, though, comes the fear: Why is there a road-block outside? What are all those policemen doing with guns?

The answer to the second question is simple: bugger all - they are trained by the French, after all. And the road-block? Well, because of the threat of terrorist attacks, security is pretty tight outside all the major hotels in Algiers. At the Aurassi, for example, cars are banned from parking within bombing distance of the hotel. At the George you have to endure three separate security checks before you're allowed to enter the historic interior (such draconian measures might seem something of a fag, but, once it's dawned on you that the George is one of the few places in Algeria that openly serves booze, well, they seem a small price to pay).

When I'm showing English guests around Algeria on behalf of one of Culturissima's clients, I usually advise them that, though they might be disappointed in the Safir on arrival, by the time they've tasted the other hotels that Algeria has to offer, they'll come to view the Safir as a pleasure palace. Sure, it's crumbling at the seams; sure, it's home to the world's oldest, scariest lift; sure, the staff all seem to have been trained under the Soviets" but it has a certain je ne sais quoiand, as most of the guests are Algerian, you're far less likely to be kidnapped here than anywhere else. 

The Safir - or the Aletti as it was known under the French - has a fascinating war-time history. More on that later. For the time-being, here are some photos taken in and around the hotel.

Harraga and Hittistes II

It gets worse (see Harraga and Hittistes I).

There are reports coming out of Algeria that towards the end of August the Algerian coast-guard intercepted two-dozen would-be clandestine escapees, known as harraga and the subject of my earlier post.

Nothing new in that, except to say that one of these 21st century "boat people" was a man aged 70.

Why should a man in his twilight years flee the only country that he has ever known for seven decades?

"I wanted to get to France"

"But why?"

"To see my five children who've been living there for years and years. I've asked (the Algerian authorities) so many times for a visa to visit them, but each time en vain".

Pockets of England II

I take that back.

Having previously written that it's the unknown treasures of the south-east of England that have most fascinated me over the last few weeks, I now think that the south-west has as much - if not more - to offer the cultural traveller.

Devon seems to have everything, from the vast expanses of Dartmoor to small towns and villages such as Sidmouth and Budleigh Salterton. What's equally amazing is that the tranquil countryside is so easily accessible: within five minutes of leaving Exeter airport, for example, you find yourself driving through country lanes past traditional English pubs - a world away from the hustle and bustle of Paris, where our journey had started just over an hour earlier.

South Devon is graced with a generous collection of small manor houses, many of them privately-owned and seldom-visited.

Mothecombe, blessed with an estate running down to the sea, is a perfect Queen Anne doll's house with later additions by Sir Edwin Lutyens, whilst Sharpham, set in a Capability Brown landscape overlooking the River Dart, is an exquisite Palladian villa by Sir Robert Taylor.