By seven-thirty the next morning we were again hurrying down the stairs to the street. Amir started walking in the direction of the Mediterranean, then stopped a man walking by us in the street. The man greeted him enthusiastically in Arabic with a religious good morning of some sort, something which I felt probably meant, “This is a great day Allah has given us; how may I help you?” He was truly a good man. Amir immediately rattled off questions to him about how to get the bus to Tipaza, and the man gave him directions. We hurried on, full speed ahead now. I could almost swear Amir had lived a previous life in Manhattan. I could barely keep up with him. In a few blocks we came across an area that was wall-to-wall buses. Buses of every shape and size, new, old, you name it. After asking a
