First Days of Travel

June 10th, 1883, at five o’clock in the morning, I walk into an old house in the Jewish quarter of Algiers: this is the domicile of Rabbi Mardochée. My companion lives here in a single room with his wife and their four children; he is expecting me, as I am to quit my European clothes at his home and take on the costume of an Israelite. A long blouse with loose sleeves, canvas trousers that go to the knees, a Turkish vest in dark wool, a white tunic with short sleeves and a hood (the djelabia), white stockings, open-topped shoes, a red skullcap and a turban of black silk have all been prepared for me; this makes a half-Algerian, half-Syrian outfit that fits the possibly multiple roles I will have to play. I get dressed, and Mardochée, his wife, his children and I all go out and down the alleystaircases that lead to the port, and to the station for Oran. We will leave for Oran at seven o’clock in the morning by railroad. I ask for two tickets in poor French, to be in keeping with my costume. Mardochée says his goodbyes with his family, and then the two of us are seated in a third-class car. The weather is wonderful, the car is full of Arab workers, and we leave surrounded by good cheer and inundated with sun.