Chréa National Park

Breathe in. The air up here carries a sharp, clean scent of resin, and the ground underfoot is soft with old cedar needles. Somewhere above you, wind moves through branches that spread flat, like layered shelves of dark green. Below the treeline, the city of Blida feels very far away, though it sits only a short climb down the mountain. Welcome to Chréa National Park, in the Blidean Atlas of northern Algeria.

These mountains belong to the Tell Atlas, the long chain of ranges that runs parallel to Algeria's Mediterranean coast. The Blidean section rises steeply from the Mitidja plain, one of the most fertile farming areas in the country. On a clear day, you can look down over that plain toward the sea. The contrast is sudden. Below you there are orchards, roads and towns. Up here there is forest, rock and silence.

The tree that defines this place is the Atlas cedar. It grows naturally only in the mountains of Algeria and Morocco. Young cedars are shaped like narrow cones. Older ones change with age. Their tops flatten, and their branches reach out sideways in broad horizontal layers. Some of the trees around you have stood here for a very long time, and their trunks are thick and deeply furrowed. Look at the bark closely, and you will see grey plates broken by dark cracks.

The forest changes as you climb. On the lower slopes, oak trees dominate, including holm oak, an evergreen oak with small, tough leaves. Higher up, the cedars take over, because they prefer cold winters and cooler summers. This layering of trees by altitude is one of the quiet lessons of the park. You can read the height of the mountain simply by looking at which trees surround you. As you walk, notice when the leaves give way to needles.

Algeria created Chréa National Park in the early 1980s to protect these forests and the wildlife within them. Today it is one of the country's best-known protected areas, and it sits close enough to Algiers that many families come for a day trip. That closeness is both a gift and a challenge. The park offers fresh air to a crowded region, but every visitor adds pressure on a fragile mountain ecosystem.

Now, here is something many visitors do not expect. These forests are home to the Barbary macaque, a monkey that lives wild in North Africa. It is the only macaque species found naturally on the African continent. The animals have thick, tawny fur and almost no tail. They move in family groups, and you may hear them before you see them — a rustle in the branches, a short bark, the snap of a twig.

The macaques are especially easy to spot near the Chiffa gorges, on the edge of the park. Here a river has cut a deep, narrow valley through the rock, and a road follows its course. A spot locals call the Monkeys' Stream became a famous stop for travellers, who came to watch the animals by the roadside. It is a joyful sight. But feeding them harms their health and makes them bold around cars, so watch from a respectful distance.

The second surprise is the snow. Many people imagine Algeria as desert from end to end. Yet in winter, these slopes often turn white, and the cedar branches carry heavy loads of snow. The small mountain village of Chréa has long been a winter destination, and it holds one of the very few ski areas in the country. Families from Blida and Algiers drive up simply to touch snow, build snowmen, and throw snowballs among the trees.

The village itself grew during the colonial period, when the cool mountain air drew people up from the hot plain in summer. Chalets and holiday houses appeared along the slopes. Later, after independence, Chréa remained a favourite escape for Algerians. During the difficult years of the 1990s, visits to the mountain fell sharply. In more recent years, the village and its trails have slowly filled with day visitors again.

There is also a gentler way to arrive than the winding road. A cable car links Blida with the heights of Chréa. As the cabin rises, the city shrinks beneath you, and the orchards of the plain spread out like a patterned carpet. Then the forest closes in below the cabin floor. Many locals say the ride is the best introduction to the mountain, because it shows the whole journey from plain to peak in a single view.

Blida, the city at the foot of these slopes, is often called the City of Roses. For centuries it has been known for its gardens, its orange groves, and the water that flows down from the mountains. That water matters. The forests of Chréa help to hold rain and snow, and they release it slowly into springs and streams. In a real sense, the green city below depends on the green mountain above.

As you walk, use your senses. In summer, listen for the dry hum of insects in the warm afternoon. In autumn, mist can drift between the trunks and soften every outline. Birds call from the canopy, and woodpeckers sometimes drum against the bark. Underfoot, look for fallen cedar cones, which break apart into small, papery scales. These small things carry the life of the forest as much as the great trees do.

Before you leave, pause for a moment where you are standing. Look up at the flat, layered branches of the nearest cedar, and notice how the light falls through them in thin bands. Feel the cooler air on your skin, so different from the plain below. When you turn back toward Blida, the forest will close behind you quietly. But the scent of resin may stay with you for a while, all the way down the mountain.