COME WITH ME TO THE CASBAH
ALGERIA – 1987 Racing with dolphins I very nearly never made it to Algeria. Through a combination of circumstances including an irrational faith in the veracity of Spanish bus timetables, I was the last passenger to embark on the “Zeralda” in Alicante, and was observed stoically by three decks of zealously punctual Algerian passengers, who had watched unblinkingly as a dishevelled Englishwoman had screamed onto the quayside in a taxi and conducted a rapid process of passport and customs control with an uncomprehending Spanish border policeman at the foot of the gangplank. The officious Algerian steward reprimanded me as I stumbled up the ramp, red-faced and harrassed in that elegant British way. As it turned out, the ship did not move from the quayside for another hour, by which time I had more or less recovered my composure and was leaning over the rail with a nonchalant air, apprehension having given way to the thrill of horizons new, and the Dunkirk spirit...