French Boulevards, Atlas Mountains and Deep Gorges: Discovering Algeria

The Pont des Chutes (Falls Bridge) in Constantine, Algeria, a 5-arch bridge built in 1928, situated at the bottom of the Rhumel Gorge.  

Algeria, the largest country in Africa and one of the ten largest nations in the world, remains largely absent from most travellers' itineraries. Despite its size, rich history and diverse landscapes, the country receives only a fraction of the international visitors drawn to neighbouring Morocco. The reasons are not difficult to identify: a cumbersome visa process, the lingering shadow of the civil conflict of the 1990s, and an economy built largely on oil and gas revenues rather than tourism.

For adventurous travellers, however, this relative obscurity is part of the appeal. Algeria is home to seven UNESCO World Heritage Sites and thousands of archaeological sites, ranging from Roman ruins and Ottoman palaces to ancient desert settlements. Much of it remains remarkably uncrowded.

French influence is particularly evident in the country's northern cities. Following the French conquest in the nineteenth century, large numbers of European settlers arrived, reshaping the architecture, urban planning and culture of places such as Algiers, which I spent several days in. More than sixty years after independence, elegant boulevards, Art Nouveau buildings and grand civic structures still form a striking backdrop to modern Algerian life.

Prior to my arrival in Algeria, I had visited Morocco, one of the easiest African countries to enter, with no visa requirements and consequently swarming with tourists and Mauritania, which required meticulously sized passport photos, a letter of introduction, and a pre-authorisation process online to obtain a visa. Algeria, however, does not actively encourage tourism. The country is so rich in natural resources, particularly oil and gas, that tourism is not considered a significant contributor to the economy.

My experience with obtaining a visa illustrates why many travellers are put off visiting Algeria. I had read accounts on travel forums of people having their visas rejected and, at the time of writing, visitors generally needed either a tour or a local fixer to secure entry. As one of my guides in Algeria said, “They don’t need tourism,” which makes it quite the opposite of neighbouring Morocco, where Marrakech in particular is teeming with tourists.

I turned this into a positive by choosing to join a tour with British operator Lupine Travel. They offered a hiking itinerary, but with no camping (hooray), and relatively short walking days along the way (double tick!). It suited me perfectly, so much so that I arranged my entire 20-country itinerary around the tour dates.

The only downside was that obtaining an embassy-issued visa would be difficult, so Lupine offered assistance. Although they warned me that I might not learn the outcome until as little as two weeks before departure, I was pleased to discover several months in advance that my application had been accepted.

Even then, I still had to arrive at the airport with both US dollars and euros ready to pay, depending on how long the authorities decided my stay would be. Unlike most travellers, I flew in from Nouakchott, Mauritania.

When I arrived at the airport, I seemed to be the only person presenting themselves at the Visa on Arrival window. Even the immigration officers appeared slightly surprised and murmured among themselves as though they were unsure what to do. Eventually, they took my passport and directed me to a nearby waiting room, where I sat alone.

At the first window, I had been asked for an itinerary. Not only did I provide the names of every hotel we would be staying at, information I had obtained in advance from our tour leader, Robert, but I also showed them a downloaded PDF of the entire tour schedule. One officer raised his eyebrows and murmured, “Mmm,” before taking a photo of it. I wondered whether they had ever seen a tour itinerary before.

A few moments later, I was called back, charged 70 euros, and handed an A4 receipt. On checking it, I noticed that although all my details had been handwritten correctly, they had listed my nationality as Austria rather than Australia.

When I pointed out the error, the officer corrected one reference but then shrugged and said, “It doesn’t matter,” when I suggested he amend the others as well. 

I was slightly sleep-deprived after the red-eye flight, and didn't mention the fact that they had charged me for six days rather than the nine I had calculated with my visa stamp showing, next to VALIDITE: 06 jours (French). Initially, I assumed I had made a mistake, but later I realised this discrepancy could potentially result in a fine or even accusations of overstaying my visa.

Fortunately, both Robert and his Algiers-based assistant, Islam, casually told me not to worry about it, so tried to forget about it.

I had paid for an early check in hoping to sleep for the morning but was awoken by the sound of jackhammers and a cleaning lady who walked into my room as I laid face down in the hot room in semi nakedness.  Eventually, I decided it would be better to explore the city and then get an early night. I’m glad I did.

I ♥ Algiers sign with Paul Landowski's Le Pavois monument in the background.

The city felt surprisingly cosmopolitan, with Art Nouveau architecture reminiscent of Riga in Latvia.

The manicured French boulevards lined with palm trees sit beside North African culture. At times I had to remind myself that I was actually in Africa and not Europe especially as the weather was cold and misty while I was there.  It is said that Algeria kicked the French out (after 130 years of colonial rule) but kept the buildings. 

Stunning Art Nouveau buildings in Algiers. 

Despite my lack of sleep, I packed a surprising amount into my first afternoon in Algiers. I wandered through a mix of museums, historic buildings and monuments, including the Ali la Pointe Museum, the Bardo Museum, the Palais des Rais, the Abdul Latif House, the Musée Public National de l'Enluminure and the Museum of Antiquities. Along the way I visited the imposing Emir Abdelkader Monument, Paul Landowski's Le Pavois and the vast Martyrs' Memorial, one of the city's most recognisable landmarks.

Paul Landowski's Le Pavois memorial.

One monument in particular stayed with me long after I left Algiers. Standing behind the city's ubiquitous "I ♥ Algiers" sign is the Memorial to the Liberation of Algeria, a vast Brutalist structure that at first glance appears to be a straightforward independence monument. Like much of Algeria, however, it reveals a far more complicated story upon closer inspection.

The memorial occupies a prominent position on Boulevard Mohamed-Khemisti and is framed by elegant Art Nouveau buildings on either side, including government offices whose grand façades would not look out of place in Paris, Marseille or Brussels. It is a striking juxtaposition: an independence monument surrounded by architecture that serves as a reminder of the country's colonial past.

The memorial was created in 1978 by Algerian artist M'hamed Issiakhem as the city prepared to host the All-Africa Games. What makes it remarkable is that it conceals an earlier French colonial monument within its concrete shell.

The original monument, known as Le Pavois, was unveiled in 1928 and commemorated the dead of the First World War. The name refers to the shield upon which the body of a fallen soldier was carried. Designed by French sculptor Paul Landowski, it depicted a winged Victory figure alongside a French soldier and an Algerian spahi, all supporting the shield that bore their fallen comrade. Additional figures represented the families and communities left behind by war.

Following independence, Algeria faced a dilemma familiar to many post-colonial nations: what should be done with monuments inherited from a former regime? Demolition would have erased part of the country's history, yet leaving the monument untouched would have continued to privilege a colonial narrative that many Algerians rejected.

Issiakhem's solution was both practical and symbolic. Rather than destroy the monument, he encased it within a new structure dedicated to Algeria's liberation. The colonial monument remains there today, hidden but intact beneath the concrete. Algeria neither erased the past nor celebrated it. Instead, it quite literally built a new story around it.

Standing there, surrounded by French-era boulevards, ornate façades and a monument that simultaneously conceals and preserves its colonial predecessor, I felt I was looking at a physical representation of Algiers itself. Throughout the city, history is layered rather than replaced. The old remains visible, even when it has been transformed.

One of many patriotic murals in the Casbah.

A site that can almost be missed was the Ali La Pointe Museum, tucked away within the labyrinthine streets of the Casbah. I actually visited twice: once on my own during my first afternoon in Algiers, and then again later with the group and our guide.

Even before entering, the building stood out. Outside, colourful murals painted in Algeria's national colours of red, green and white celebrated figures from the independence struggle and reinforced the site's importance as a place of remembrance.

The museum occupies the very house where resistance fighter Ali La Pointe, together with Hassiba Ben Bouali, Mahmoud Bouhamidi and Omar Yacef, was killed by French forces in 1957 during the Battle of Algiers. Knowing that the events being described had occurred in the same rooms through which visitors now walk gave the museum a sense of immediacy that many historical museums lack.

Inside were personal belongings, photographs, weapons and other artefacts connected to the independence movement. On my first visit, I wandered through quietly, absorbing the exhibits at my own pace. Returning with our guide provided a different experience entirely, as the objects and rooms became part of a larger narrative about the Battle of Algiers and the struggle that eventually led to independence.

Algeria's recent history surfaced in museums, monuments, murals and conversations. Unlike the Roman ruins of Djemila or the Ottoman palaces of Constantine, the War of Independence still feels close enough to living memory that its presence remains woven into everyday life. Further down the Casbah, an older man sat under a similar mural which actually resembled himself; I am sure he would have had many stories to tell. 

Inside the li La Pointe Museum.

Outside the Ali La Pointe Museum, a portrait of Ali Ammar. 

A man in the Casbah and one of many murals in Algerian colours at a tea shop.

One of the more thought-provoking stops in Algiers, and just around the corner from Le Pavois was the Milk Bar Café. Today, it functions as both a café and an informal museum, with visitors dropping in to view photographs and memorabilia connected to one of the most infamous events of the Algerian War of Independence.

I ordered coffee and cake and took a seat beneath a photograph of Zohra Drif, the woman who planted a bomb there in September 1956. As I sat looking at her image, I found myself grappling with a question that many foreign visitors have probably asked before me: why would someone responsible for the deaths of civilians be commemorated in the very place where the attack occurred?

The answer, of course, depends on whose history you are reading. To many outside Algeria, the Milk Bar bombing is remembered as a terrorist attack that killed three young women and injured numerous others, including children. Yet within Algeria, Zohra Drif is widely regarded as a heroine of the independence struggle. A law student at the time, she was part of the FLN network that sought to bring international attention to the Algerian cause during the Battle of Algiers. More than six decades later, she remains a prominent figure in Algerian public life. The Milk Bar was another example of how the war remains a living part of Algeria's national story rather than a distant historical episode.

Sitting there with my coffee, watching people browse the photographs on the walls, I realised that the Milk Bar is not really about the bombing itself, it is about memory. 

The Milk Bar Cafe.

Portrait of Zohra Drif above the table where I sat. Map of the Battle of Algiers.

No city seems complete without an equestrian statue, and Algiers is no exception. A short stroll from the Milk Bar stands the Monument to Emir Abdelkader, founder of the Algerian nation and leader of the resistance against the French invasion in the nineteenth century.

Like many such statues around the world, it depicts its subject on horseback looking purposeful and heroic. What made this one memorable was its location. The monument sits amid grand French colonial buildings near the Grande Poste, and near the Milk Bar Cafe, mentioned earlier, creating an interesting juxtaposition: a national hero who fought French expansion surrounded by some of the finest architectural legacies of French rule.

It was another example of something I would notice repeatedly during my time in Algeria. The country's history is not neatly separated into different districts or eras. Instead, Roman, Ottoman, French and modern Algerian influences coexist side by side, often within the same city block.

Monument to Emir Abdelkader, founder of the Algerian nation.

One advantage of my interrupted sleep was ending up with two full days to explore Algiers before the tour even started. On my second 'free' day, I walked in the opposite direction to the Casbah, seeking out some renowned 20th century pieces of architecture and two museums. The Résidence Aéro-Habitat, designed by Louis Miquel and José Ferrer-Laloë is a sprawling Brutalist residential complex of 300 apartments in four blocks built in 1955 that is both ugly and impressive at the same time. Recognisably inspired by Le Corbusier's famous Unité d'Habitation in Marseille, it shares the same concrete aesthetic of rectangular windows, although the one in Marseille uses bright primary colours. 

Different views of Résidence Aéro-Habitat.

One building I was keen to see was the Cathédrale du Sacré-Cœur. Unfortunately, like several museums and historic buildings I encountered in Algiers, it was undergoing renovation and closed to visitors. Undeterred, I spent several minutes circling the site trying to find a clear photographic angle, only to discover that the cathedral is remarkably difficult to capture. Trees, surrounding buildings and the steep terrain seem determined to conceal it from view.

The Sacré-Cœur Cathedral is another prime example of African Brutalism. Completed in 1956 by architects Paul Herbé and Jean Le Couteur, the church abandoned the domes, spires and ornamentation traditionally associated with religious buildings. Instead, it embraced exposed concrete, bold geometric forms and a distinctly modern aesthetic. Even from the outside, it looks more like an ambitious civic building or nuclear bunker than a conventional cathedral.

Whilst Algiers is often associated with the Casbah, Ottoman history and French colonial boulevards, there is also a fascinating layer of post-war modernism. Buildings such as the Sacré-Cœur Cathedral and the nearby residential blocks demonstrate that Algeria's architectural story did not end with independence or colonialism; it continued into the twentieth century.

The Sacré-Cœur (Sacred Heart) Cathedral, under renovation.

That evening I met up with Robert and Bilel, our guide from Constantine, for dinner. Although the official tour had not yet begun, it already felt as though we were underway. Travellers were arriving at different times and gradually joining the group, creating numerous opportunities to get to know one another before the formal start date. Robert was constantly on hand, joining us for city walks, sightseeing and meals, which helped create a sense of camaraderie from the outset.

By the following morning, most of the group had arrived and it was finally time for the official start of the tour. Alongside Robert, we were joined by our local guide, Zaki. Like Bilel, whom I had met the previous evening, Zaki was young, spoke flawless English, possessed an excellent sense of humour and seemed to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of Algeria. Throughout the day, he effortlessly switched between history, politics, architecture and local culture, making even the longest explanations entertaining.

We began in Martyrs' Square, one of the oldest parts of Algiers, before exploring the winding streets of the Kasbah, the UNESCO World Heritage-listed old city. The maze of narrow alleyways, staircases and hidden courtyards offered a vivid glimpse into centuries of Algerian history and felt worlds away from the grand French boulevards that define much of the modern city.

After a delicious lunch, we crossed the city using the Algiers Metro and tram network. Public transport proved to be modern, efficient and remarkably inexpensive, making it easy to move across a city built across steep hills above the sea.

Our destination was the hilltop Martyrs' Memorial, one of Algiers’ most iconic landmarks, commemorating those who died during the War of Independence. Even in misty conditions, its scale was striking—three sweeping concrete “palm fronds” rising above the city skyline.

Next to the monument is the National Museum of the Moudjahid, dedicated to Algeria’s independence struggle. It was one of the more unusual museums on the trip. Alongside photographs, artefacts and historical exhibits were large-scale dioramas populated with mannequins acting out scenes from the war. The displays included depictions of imprisonment and torture, arranged in highly theatrical poses that gave the museum an unusual, almost surreal energy.

From there we continued to the Jardin d'Essai du Hamma, Algiers’ celebrated botanical gardens. Of all the places that day, this was the one I wished we had more time in. The gardens were full of local families enjoying the afternoon, and apart from our group there were very few visitors who appeared to be tourists.

One of the garden’s notable features is a tree marked with a sign confirming its appearance in one of the early Tarzan films starring Johnny Weissmuller. It stands quietly among the paths and greenery, an unexpected link between Algiers and early Hollywood cinema.

Reaching the gardens had been an experience in itself. With only one cable car in operation, queues stretched far beyond what our schedule allowed, so we instead took taxis up the hill and planned to take the cable car back down. By the time everyone had squeezed into the cabin, any notion of personal space had disappeared completely. We descended packed tightly together with locals and fellow travellers alike, pressed shoulder to shoulder in a way that suggested we were now collectively sharing more DNA than is medically advisable.

The surrounding parkland was alive with activity—families picnicking, children playing, and groups gathered beneath the trees. It was a side of Algiers that felt entirely lived-in and local, with almost no foreign tourists in sight.

As the day ended, Algiers continued to reveal itself as a city of contrasts: historic yet modern, formal yet chaotic, and consistently more engaging than I had expected.

Departing Algiers with the group in the Sprinter minibus the next day marked the start of the next phase of the journey—the hiking section of the tour. The roads were notably well sealed, a welcome contrast after the state of infrastructure I had experienced in West Africa and the Horn of Africa (Eritrea in particular). It was one of those moments where you could see what oil and gas revenue can deliver when it is channelled into public works.

That morning we headed towards Djurdjura National Park, making a stop at the Winfred Müller Nature Museum to learn about the ecosystem, flora and fauna of the region. In reality, the educational value was somewhat secondary to the entertainment provided by the taxidermy displays. Much of the group wandered through the exhibits with growing amusement. One fellow traveller, who has a particular interest in visiting taxidermy collections, remarked wryly that he was disappointed because the displays were “too professional”, which felt like a generous assessment. I, on the other hand, managed to locate a few specimens that appeared to be in a noticeably more advanced state of decay, which somewhat restored balance to his critique.

From there we continued to Lalla Tizi Ouzou / Tikjda for a short introductory hike in the mountains. It was a gentle 2–3 hour walk designed to ease us into the terrain, and it proved to be a pleasant and accessible introduction to hiking in the Algerian highlands.

Our accommodation for the night was the Tikjda Mountain Resort, a place that seemed to exist in a curious time warp. “Retro” would be one interpretation, and I was initially charmed with the intact Art Deco lounge suites, but there were moments when it evoked something between The Shining’s Overlook Hotel and the Bates Motel, albeit with less intentional design coherence. 

Robert and I played a game of pool, although the experience was complicated by the absence of a proper cue tip, meaning each shot required a degree of forceful improvisation more than finesse.

Dinner leaned heavily into an older culinary era; my stuffed chicken with camembert felt firmly anchored in the 1980s, while breakfast the next morning, consisting of dry bread and cake-like items, was memorably described by one group member as “only good as recycling for building materials.” To his credit, Robert later arranged for omelettes the following day, which felt like a significant upgrade in operational logistics.

The bathroom facilities added another layer of unpredictability. Water from the basin in my room leaked across the floor, and at least one member of the group openly questioned whether the shower was worth the risk of engagement. The toilet, however, if I lifted the lid, functioned reliably, which in that context felt like a meaningful success.

Despite its eccentricities, the lodge did have one undeniable advantage: the views. Looking out across the mountains, it was an impressive setting that reminded us why we were there. However, we were also instructed to keep the doors to our balconies closed at all times, as macaques were known to roam the area and occasionally attempt entry. 

DAY FOUR: 30TH APRIL THE BIG ONE

Today we were set to experience Djurdjura National Park in all its splendour, spending the entire day hiking. The route would traverse the park from north to south, starting in Tala N’Yilef and finishing at Chalet du Kef. The difficulty was described as moderate, though with steep gradients at times and rough mountain paths. The estimated duration was 7 to 9 hours.

Along the way, we were promised a full immersion in the diversity of the Algerian Atlas: pine forests giving way to rugged bare peaks, alpine lakes such as Agoulmim, and the chance to encounter endemic Barbary macaques in their natural habitat. Birds of prey circled above the high ridges. At the end of the hike, we would return to the Tikjda Mountain Resort for the night.

At the entrance to the park, a hand tiled sign set the tone:

“Chaque parcelle du Djurdjura est une richesse accumulée patiemment depuis des millénaires et dont nous sommes les bénéficiaires et les dépositaires. Il est donc notre devoir à tous d’en garantir sa pérennité pour la transmettre en l’état aux générations futures.”

Every part of the Djurdjura is a richness patiently accumulated over millennia, of which we are both the beneficiaries and the custodians. It is our shared duty to ensure its longevity and to pass it on, intact, to future generations.

It was a poetic reminder that we were merely passing through and had a responsibility to preserve what surrounded us for those who come next.

In reality, this turned out to be one of the hardest hikes I have ever done. Whether it was the altitude, the steep ascents and descents, or the fact I was starting to come down with a cold, I felt every metre of it. At several points the trail narrowed into exposed edges and I looked down to my left and realised that a single slip would mean certain death. I made a conscious decision not to think about that and just keep moving forward.

When I looked back, I realised many of the others were walking with their hands held by the guides, which seemed like a very sensible arrangement that I had somehow opted out of.

But it was absolutely worth it. The mountain views were immense, there were stretches of snow underfoot, and we descended towards Lake Agoulmim where we paused among cows that appeared to be genuinely frolicking, galloping around with no obvious agenda. I had never seen cattle behave quite like that before.

We were accompanied by two local guides, Mahmoud and Raouf, though at one point the group split during a faster section of the trail. One of the guides moved ahead at considerable speed, with Jon trying and failing to keep up. After about an hour it became clear that Jon had gone missing.

We stopped and waited, but there was no sign of him. Eventually the guide returned without Jon. For a moment there was real concern as we considered what could go wrong in this kind of terrain. Then Jon appeared, completely unbothered, smiling as if he had simply taken a scenic detour.

A brief, quiet meeting followed between Mahmoud, Raouf and Robert, one of those understated but clearly important discussions that usually signals that certain operational adjustments will be made.

After that, the group stayed a little closer together.

DAY FIVE: 1ST MAY

This morning we began the drive towards Djemila (formerly Cuicul), one of the best-preserved Roman archaeological sites in North Africa. The landscape opened up as we left the mountains, revealing rolling green hills and wide meadows that felt unexpectedly lush after the harsher terrain of Djurdjura.

Before exploring the ruins, we visited the site museum, which contains a collection of restored Roman tiles and a detailed model of the ancient city. From there, we continued to the old Christian quarter, where one of the earliest known baptismal areas in Africa can still be seen.

The site itself was a highlight of the trip for me. Coming from Australia, where I had left behind a drought-affected heatwave and bushfire warnings, the sweeping grassy landscapes already felt almost surreal. What made it even more striking, however, was how alive the place felt. Local families were out in force, many dressed for the day, enjoying the open space and the spring atmosphere as much as we were.

There is a tendency to assume that religious dress, particularly hijabs or abayas, is inherently restrictive, but what I saw here challenged that simplistic view. Women and girls moved freely through the landscape, and at one point a group of them were energetically playing football alongside boys, fully engaged in the chaos of the game.

At another moment, while our guide Bilel was giving a detailed explanation of the site, we overheard a group of girls peering down beneath an ancient archway suddenly exclaim, “Oh my God!” The entire group erupted into laughter. Curiosity got the better of me later and I went to investigate, only to find nothing but an empty space beneath the stone. Whatever they had seen had clearly been more imagination than archaeology, but it was a perfect reminder of how easily wonder and humour coexist in a place like this.

The museum itself was remarkable, with floor to wall mosaics and beautifully preserved artefacts displayed throughout the space. Groups of students, including scout groups, moved respectfully through the exhibits, listening attentively to their guides.

From Djemila we continued our journey towards Constantine.

Arriving in the city felt like a change of pace again. After the rugged landscapes and ancient ruins, Constantine rose dramatically above its deep gorge and bridges, a city defined by its vertigo inducing geography. Our accommodation, the Panoramique Hotel (formerly Protea), was a welcome upgrade after the more rustic mountain lodge. Modern, comfortable, equipped with a lift and even a bar, it also offered a spectacular view over the canyon and surrounding buildings, fully living up to its name.

DAY SIX: 2ND MAY

In the early morning, the group departed for the Aurès Mountains, heading towards Djebel Chelia, the second-highest peak in Algeria at 2,328 metres above sea level. It was described as another major hiking day in the itinerary. 

This was the day I decided not to go.

After the intensity of the previous hikes, and with a general sense that my body was beginning to protest, I chose instead to stay in Constantine. It turned out to be one of those decisions that reshaped the day in a surprisingly positive way.

Constantine is often called the “City of Bridges,” and with good reason. Built dramatically across a deep gorge, it is a place defined by height, space and vertigo-inducing views. With part of the group away in the mountains, and others also sidelined by the lurgy that had been circulating through the Sprinter, the city felt unusually calm.

I spent the morning at the Cirta Museum, which holds a rich collection of regional archaeology and modern Algerian art. I actually ended up visiting twice over the course of our stay in Constantine—once independently on this day, and again later with Bilel providing commentary for the group. On the first visit, the staff seemed genuinely impressed by my ICOM pass, which earned me an unexpectedly warm welcome.

It was a pleasure simply to wander through the galleries at my own pace, moving between ancient artefacts and contemporary works, before stepping back out into the city whenever I needed air. At one point I found myself repeatedly ducking out to find somewhere to have what can only be described as a controlled coughing episode, a reminder that I was not entirely at full capacity.

From there I visited the Palace of Ahmed Bey, one of the finest surviving examples of Ottoman architecture in Algeria. Its courtyards, intricate tilework, palm-filled gardens and beautifully preserved wooden doors offered a glimpse into the wealth and sophistication of nineteenth-century Constantine.

Despite that, or perhaps because of it, the day had a slower, more reflective quality. With only half the group continuing on the hike to Djebel Chelia, the rest of us had the rare gift of time in Constantine without pressure or schedule. It turned out to be an unexpectedly valuable way to experience the city.

Constantine itself was an easy place to love. The bridges, the gorge, the way the city seems to hang in space above the landscape—it all gives it a sense of drama that feels almost theatrical. Even without the mountains, it was more than enough.

DAY SEVEN: 3RD MAY

After breakfast, we set out on a half-day tour of Constantine. Accompanied by Bilel, we explored the labyrinthine streets of the old town before heading to the Cirta Museum.

Having already visited the museum the previous day, I was able to appreciate it from a different perspective as Bilel provided context and commentary. The museum's collection spans thousands of years of regional history, while its galleries of modern Algerian art offer a fascinating contrast. Unfortunately, by this point my cough was worsening, and I occasionally had to duck outside to avoid disrupting Bilel's explanations with an untimely coughing fit.

The highlight of the day, however, came when we descended into the gorge itself. The path down was steep enough to ensure nobody reached the bottom accidentally, but the effort was richly rewarded. Standing among the trees and rock walls at the canyon floor, it was almost impossible to believe that a bustling city sat directly above us. For a while, it felt as though we had left Constantine entirely and wandered deep into a forest.

Back at the top, we crossed the Sidi Rached Bridge and continued towards the Monument of the Dead, a popular gathering place for locals and another excellent vantage point from which to admire the city and its dramatic setting. We also admired the Pont des Chutes (Falls Bridge) a 5-arch bridge built in 1928, situated at the bottom of the Rhumel Gorge. It spans the Rhumel River directly over a stunning 80-meter waterfall, providing spectacular views of the natural bridge and canyon walls.

One of the final cultural experiences of the trip came when the women in our group donned abayas before we entered the Emir Abdelkader Mosque. Vast, elegant and serene, it provided a fitting conclusion to our time in Constantine.

From there we began the long drive back to Algiers.

By this stage, many of us were feeling decidedly unwell. I skipped dinner when we stopped at a large local restaurant, instead seeking out some medicinal tea for my throat. Sadly, I also missed the post-tour drinks in Algiers that many of the group attended. Yes, you can drink alcohol in Algeria if you know where to go, but on this occasion sleep seemed the wiser choice.