
Algiers can't be visited. You discover it, slowly, layer by layer, like a confidence whispered at the turn of a staircase. In the alleyways of the Kasbah, a black coffee in hand, time suspends its breath. From Notre-Dame d'Afrique, the sun gilds the bay in a sacred silence. Further down, the Jardin d'Essai breathes between palm trees and memories. Algiers is a sensation: raw, luminous, indelible. You think you're passing through. But it remains.