January 24—had breakfast in the bar with row upon row of bottles staring us in the face, packed the car which had been garaged in the stable with cows and sheep, and were off with the wind still with us. Our road wound among the mountains covered with cork and all at once we were excited to see a whole family of monkeys run across the highway and swing into the branches of the trees above. We kept our eyes peeled for more monkeys and while we came to Pio des Singes and Valles des Singes, still we saw no more of those funny animals.

Out of the mountains and a fertile valley, we were amazed at the size of the old olive trees. Uncle Walter estimated that the diameter of many was 3 feet. Past ruins of an old Roman aqueduct. At Il Matin, Miss Weisner met us and let the way up to the mission station over bumpy dirt roads. When we reached the garage, an Arab man and the mission donkey met us and with Wester on the little beast’s back and rest of us with canes, we started the steep climb up the Rocky, muddy path to the mission. We passed through little villages of mud homes and thatched roofs or tile. Dirty little hovels in which people lived in a small room, windowless, with a fire to cook with in the middle of the room and to furnish light and heat. The natives are very colorful. The women don’t wear veils and all greeted us with a smiling “Bonjour” as we passed. It was about a 20 or 30 min. walk to the mission, but we enjoyed every step.

The Kabyles are a tribe of the Berbers of whom history knows little. They are not Arabs. It is thought they go clear back to the caveman days. “Barbary Coast” comes from the Berbers. They believe that once a spring is tapped and the water starts to flow the blood of a freshly killed ox must run into the water when it first reaches the surface or the well will not be good. In the instance of one well, the blood did not run in and the water was not good. It is very strong with minerals, even dogs will not touch it. It has an odor. We had tea and cookies and visited the dispensary. A native had just brought in her little child with a dirty scarf around its ankle. The poor child whimpered and revealed an ugly hole filled with pus on her ankle. It was a grisly sight and the dirty mother wiped off the pus with the dirty scarf. That was the final straw. We copied poems until our couscous lunch which was delicious and was prepared by an excellent native cook can. In the afternoon we visited the little girls school. They were such a colorful picture, more like gypsy children (tattooed foreheads). They have a bath once a week at school. Sang us two songs one in Maybile and one in French. Miss Weisner told us about Moulu, her Arab man, who was so proud of a day’s work he did in the garden. The mission garden was terraced to keep the soil from washing away and Moulu spent the entire day taking out a terrorist and smoothing it out and planting the onions and rose up and down! Olives are the main industry. One man may own the ground around a tree, another the tree. Sometimes one branch belongs to one native and another to another when it is time to pick the olives the chief gives the signal and everybody starts work at once. After several days they have a big couscous feast and do not work. Then the signal is given again and work recommences. In this way everyone is busy and no olives are snitched. The olives are pressed in a crude stone press pushed either by a donkey or a woman. The women refine it by letting the oil run through their fingers. We smelled some and it looked and smelled awful. The women looked 70 when they’re really not more than 40. It must be an awful life. It just tears my heart to see them. More tea and then down the mountainside to the car. It was almost dark when we got there. Our destination was Setif and the road let us by the foaming, frothing Mediterranean dashing against rocky cliffs. I do wish it might have been light. Then we turned inland down a rocky gorge. I dozed half of the time and it was almost 10 PM when we reached Setif. To bed immediately.

Tunisia January 6, 1939 

Located a good hotel up in the hills with a gorgeous view of the harbor and coast, (a tropical garden, a tennis court,) to which we moved at lunchtime. In the morning I had written the hotel at Posada, about my ring which I had lost at Posada, and I am hoping for the best. The Hotel Bellevue to which we transferred, was an old Moorish palace and is beautifully furnished with old rugs and hangings. The floors over here are always tile and cold. The owners, through a series of luck, accumulated a good fortune, but they are very common people. She yells at the least thing like a charwoman. The servants get no pay except for the 10% tips, and if she finds out they’ve been tipped extra she doesn’t give them their full share of their meager 10% tips. They are as stingy and miserly as two people can be. It makes me quite indignant for the lovely people here who have to suffer such injustices, especially the one-armed man at the desk. He was a son of the vice consul in New York and speaks excellent English. However he is smart and is getting out. In the afternoon Mr. Abry and I hiked up on a hill and part just behind the hotel and watched the battleship carrying Daladier leave the harbor amid the shrill siren whistles. Wrote the rest of the day.

January 5, 1939

Before leaving Biskra, we all wandered around that date market which was now in full swing. Natives jostled each other in the crowded street. Everyone was trying to sell us something and I don’t know how many little knives and daggers we bought from one little man.

Caravans of camels with huge wool slacks of dates were being unloaded and in one caravan a tiny baby camel was being pushed along. He was the most adorable soft fuzzy gray long-legged creature I ever saw and all of us followed him out of town and had our pictures taken with him (after we had paid the Arab) and watched him get “goodies” from his mama. I don’t know of any funnier looking animal than camel. I laugh every time I see one.

They have the silliest expressions. With their noses in the air they condescend to heartily looked down on you from under the longest eyelashes imaginable. They nonchalantly chew their cud with a chew on one side and then a chew on the other side, and it’s a big swing from side to side. The way the natives load the poor beasts down is a crime and a shame. It takes two men a hard struggle to put one bag of dates on a camel, but the poor camel has to carry two. Later on we heard a camel noisily refusing to budge or carry his load. He just lay down by the road. The natives took the bags off and then put them back on and the camel had to go on.

Out by some sand dunes we had great sport riding camels. I was never aware of the fact that camels are so noisy. The poor beast that was made to kneel in order for me to hop on was most thorough in grumbling and showing his disapproval of carrying my deadweight around. It was finally persuaded to let me sit on a most comfortable cushion-like saddle and the camels started to rise. His posterior gets up first, and I was tipped in such a position I thought surely I would fall on the poor animal’s neck. However, I managed to stick on and we were away. The camels walk swings his hump which swings the rider round and round and up and down all at the same time, and while many people get camel sick from the motion, our ride was short and so hilarious that we felt no qualms. Mr. Abry got smart and told the man to make the camels run, and we bounced around in a terrific rate, but it was loads of fun. Our dinner was of nothing but describe dates, which are heavenly fruits of sweetness and stickiness. After the first 50 I was a little tired of them. All afternoon in the desolate desert region from Biskra to Bou Saada, we passed hundreds of camels in caravans and each camel had the same silly haughty expression for us. We had tea in Bou Saada with an Arab gentleman who spoke English, and on leaving were accosted by several shepherds with fox pelts. Since they were inexpensive, Aunt Inez snapped them up. After shaking hands with much of the native population, we were off for Algiers. It was soon dark and we drove and drove up and down around the Atlas Mountains and at last about 11 PM after no dinner we arrived at Algiers. Algiers was expecting Daladier the next morning and several hotels which we tried could not accommodate us. We finally secured rooms on the seventh floor of an inexpensive hotel and all of us piled into bed without a thought of dinner.

January 4, 1939

taking a detour out to Timgad, an old Roman city in some ways more interesting than Pompeii, we were much amazed at the grandeur displayed there. Trajan’s arch and two tall columns from the capital dominated the landscape. It had been built in 200 A.D., and was a Christian city destroyed by Arabs and then buried by erosion and forgotten 1300 years. We visited one baptismal font of exquisite mosaic work. The blocks of stone covering the street had been laid in diagonal patterns to ease the carriages and carts from successive bumps. The theater was in excellent condition. Uncle wandered off into the hills and Wester and I poked around here and there—visited temples, bakeries, wells and some ice—so while the sun shone it was cold. Ate some apples and dates and waited for Uncle Walter. When at last he arrived we all piled in the car and started on. Drove through more desolate country, mountainous and barren. There was an oasis at the gateway to the desert and a native volunteered his services to take us through the village and back to the road. It was a very tiny village of red clay homes with dark green palms as a background. The man held on to the outside of the car and after the village we soon found ourselves on a bumpy dirty road. We could see the highway in the distance and so dismissed our guide. Much to our disgust we had none of the right change, either too small or too much. Native didn’t like the small change we gave him and declared he was going to ride on going to Biskra, so we gave him too much and he was “flabbergasted.”

We reached Biskra just at twilight and after leaving our bags at a hotel we drove around the city until time for dinner. Just outside the city we watched the full moon rise over the palms—not a bad sight. After dinner Mr. Abry and I went walking to the ruins of an old Turkish fort some distance outside the city. It was a perfectly glorious night! The moon was so bright we could easily read a newspaper. Everything was bathed in moonglow—the white buildings were dazzling in the silvery light. You have just never seen moonlight until you have seen it on the Sahara. However with Mr. Abry I might as well have been alone, which was probably just as well.

Mr. Abry while investigating some palms stuck his foot in some mud, but I avoided it, thank goodness. We wandered around the market square. There were huge sacks piled up around and being of curious nature we investigated. One sack contained hard dried dates, but the other sack was an Arab which we disturbed from slumber. We got out of there in a hurry.

January 3, 1939

Headed south for the desert with Batna our destination for the night. All morning it drizzled and rained. Our arrival in North Africa was just after the first rain in three years in some places and it was still rainy, cold, changeable weather. The little tiny houses these poor Arabs live in are terrible. There are hardly any trees and the land is rocky and desolate. They paste fertilizer on their homes to dry and later to be used for fuel. Haystacks are covered with mud. All of a sudden, it seemed, we arrived near Constantine which loomed up before us. A huge gorge divided the modern up-to-date appearing city, though it was very old and interesting. We had a late lunch of couscous, fruit and Algerian tea (very good), under much local color. Reached Batna at dusk.