I have not had the ability to travel as I would like in recent years. As I cannot sit for long periods of time, it is virtually impossible to take flights. The ridiculous security measures undertaken after the events of 11 September make the business of air travel miserable in any case. The only times I have gone anywhere, therefore, I have travelled by sea.
My memories are a little different, I suspect, from most of the tourists who took the same cruises as I. Today, in my ongoing, lengthy war against the 'worms with wings', I decided to open the bag that contained my abayah from Tunisia.
I remember every port on that cruise vividly, even though we spent less than a day at each destination. For me, Tunisia was Carthage, the Roman Empire and the P.L.O. For many of the tourists, it was simply a random destination where they chose an excursion simply to be able to take photographs to show their friends. Unfortunately, when one is scheduled to be in any port for less than 8 hours, one is very limited. Commercial cruise excursions sometimes are the only way to see anything.
We took an excusion to the hill that was the centre of old Carthage and now has a cathedral that was trasnformed into a museum. For me, the most memorable item there was a gorgeous, majestic Evergreen that may have sprouted from a seed descended from the ancient Trees worshipped by the followers of Attis. In other words, the ancient ancestor of the Yuletide or Christmas Tree as well as the Cross upon which Christ was crucified.
The coach took us to the hill and then was scheduled to take us briefly into Tunis and finally to a little blue and white town called Sidi Bou Said, painted by presidential edict in the colours of blue and white and designated as a tourist spot. I wanted to see the location of the old headquarters of the P.L.O. in Tunis but our coach driver, although admittedly fascinated by my interest, declared that it would not be possible to make the detour. In Sidi Bou Said, while most of the tourists went off to have a carefully orchestrated guided tour of a coffee house and some souk stalls, I was determined for find an authentic abayah.
It was not easy, I have to admit. When I asked about clothing, I was shown stuff made from synthetics, much of which actually was not even made in Tunisia. Many of the women's clothes were made in India. I finally found a shop where, after waiting for awhile in the front room filled with tatty souvenirs, I was shown into a dim back chamber more like a warehouse than anything else. It was dusty and there were all sorts of shrouded rugs and items of clothing on shelves. The owner pulled down a wrapped garment and then unfolded it, revealing a dark brown felt cloak or abaya. He told me that it was the same kind that the president of Tunisia wore (for the sake of expressing solidarity with his people, no doubt) and furthermore, that he had only one. The price was very high, but not as high as the hand-woven goat's wool jackets that he had and which I wished I could have bought as well. We bargained in the time-honoured fashion over the price of tha abayah and at last, I took it away with me. I almost missed the coach back to the ship which made my traveling companion irate... but then, he always was irate with me whenever he went on an excursion. He did not wish to draw attention to himself or be anything other than a part of the general herd. he hated the fact that there always was someting specific I wished to see or do and would not be a part of it in most cases. Never mind... I found my treasure and have it still.
It is the softest, warmest garment imaginable BUT extremely impractical. There are no openings for the arms. The shop owner showed me how it was worn but basically it was more of a blanket than a garment in which a person could perform any sophisticated movements. It has a faint odour of manure, shared by all of the camel hair and goat hair fabrics I have.
Back onboard ship, many of the women paraded about in very bright rayon machine-embroidered tops and skirts. No nne had anything like my abaya or, if they did, they were not displaying theirs. Nor was I. I wrapped myself in it and went out on the balcony to watch the stars shimmering over the water.
The recent move from one house to another, with most of my belongings still at the old place, has made me very aware of the sentimental nature of my life. I never collected ANYTHING for its monetary value or its projected value in the future as a 'collectible'. Everything I value either has some sentimental, aesthetic, emotional or magical attribute. There is very little that I valued once upon a time that I do not value now, even if my enthusiasm may not be at the same level as it was at the time I first obtained the item.
