If you'd rather place an order by talking to one of our cheerful order desk clerks, please call 1-888-232-4444 (USA and Canada only) or 250-383-6864. From Europe, ring our UK order desk clerk at local rate number 0845 230 9601 (UK only) or 44 (0)1865 722 113.

Memories of the Moorish World, and Beyond

by Marjory Harris

114 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #00-0084; ISBN 1-55212-419-3; US$19.00, C$22.00, EUR16.00, £11.00

Read more!

About the book      About the author      Sample excerpts      Catalogue info

About the Book Memories of the Moorish World, and Beyond is a lively, engaging, and refreshing travel book. It is a world tour in the grand old style of luxury hotels, parties, and interesting, influential people. Marjory was interested in everything she saw, and takes the reader to exotic sights and places: to harems, pagodas, cave dwellings, and a camel-powered water system. She takes the reader, also, riding on ferries, rickshaw, and camels. Marjory also loves to shop, and frequented bazaars filled with jewels, silks, rugs, brass, and lacquered oriental ornaments. Marjory began her travels on a three-week group tour to Spain, Morocco, and Tunisia, then continued on alone to Rome, Athens, Turkey, Lebanon, Iran, India, Thailand, Hong Kong, Japan, and Honolulu. She traveled in the late 1960s - a sixty-one year old grandmother - when a woman traveling alone was rare, and traveling around the world alone rarer still. This was a time, too, when the world still held secrets, and a woman could be shocked by belly dancers. When Arabic writing could be a mystery, and a man landing on the moon, truly unbelievable.

About the Author Marjory Harris was eighty-nine years old and legally blind when she first thought about writing. Although blind, her visual memories of ther travels were fresh and vivid, so she bought a computer, memorized the keyboard, and sat down to write of happy and exciting times. Memories of the Moorish World, and Beyond is about her first around the world trip, in 1969, and her first travel book. Marjory was born and grew up in Vancouver, the daughter of the Hon. H.H. Stevens, a cabinet minister in R.B. Bennett's government. She nows lives in Kerrisdale, not far from where she grew up, and raised her own family. she is now ninety-two years old. No longer writing, but busier than ever. Involved with researchers, editors, and publishers, getting the first of her five books off to press. Click here to read about MEMORIES OF A DETOUR TO TURKEY Click here to read about MEMORIES OF SOUTH PACIFIC ISLANDS AND AN AFRICAN SAFARI

Sample Excerpts

We arrived at our hotel after dark. I always think it is a shame to drive through a new city after dark, because it is difficult to get much of an impression through a bus window at high speed. Our hotel was small, white, and clean, on a pretty tree-lined boulevard conveniently near the centre of Tunis, the capital of Tunisia. When we ventured out in the brilliant morning sunshine to explore the city, we were pleasantly surprised. Everything seemed to be white. The buildings were painted white, and by law, they must renew the paint every few years. The men wore white, either Arab robes or western 'tropics'. Even the women wore white. Everyone seemed to be happy and friendly. Everyone and every-thing was dressed up to enjoy the lovely summer sunshine. It was such a pleasure to walk along the shady tree-lined streets. Tunis had been badly damaged during the Second World War. The Germans had occupied Tunisia, so when the Allied troops closed in, there was fierce fighting and terrible destruction. It was here that the Germans were forced into the Cape. They had no way to retreat, no way to get supplies, and were forced to surrender. After the war Tunis had to be rebuilt - thus the wider streets and boulevards. The wide streets and modern buildings made us feel more cheerful. There was much laughter, telling of jokes, and clowning. We all seemed to be in a party mood!

We visited the Roman Carthage ruins, which seemed to be part of the city. We had one serious lecture about Carthage, the Roman Empire, and the conquering Moors. Then a tour with a local guide who made it very real, and gave us a picture of life as it was then. One day Anne and I were walking along a side street, and were interested to see an elderly gentleman sitting at a table in front of his store writing with an old fashioned pen and a bottle of ink. He seemed to be writing backwards. He looked up at us, and smiled. He stood up, bowed, and asked if he could help us. We were embarrassed and surprised that he spoke such perfect English. "I am sorry to interrupt you, but you seemed to be writing backwards," I said. "Yes, it is the Arabic way." He explained that he was a scribe, and that letter writing was his profession. "There are many illiter-ate people in this country, so I write letters, personal or business." He bowed again, and invited us in to see his little shop.

It was like a small stationery store. There were samples of letters, business forms and documents, official seals, pens, pencils and other items. He continued, "You are surprised at my English, my blue eyes and my shop? Yes? Well, I was born in Sfax, a city south of here. My mother was English and my father Tunisian, Moslem. They were both educated people, so they insisted that I should go to university. I taught school for a while, then decided that there was a great need for a scribe. So here I am."

He asked us where we came from and why we were in Tunis. He was very interested in our plans to travel south, and gave us suggestions about what to see and do in his home town, Sfax. As we thanked him and as were leaving, he called after us, "Do not forget to visit the university; it is one of the oldest in the world."

We thanked him again, and asked if he would allow us to take his picture. He bowed and said, "But, yes, of course. But do not go around taking pictures of people or animals, because many of our people believe that the eye of the camera is evil and will take away their soul. Be very careful. Mobs have seized cameras and trampled on them, very angrily. Please be very careful." We thanked him again, took his picture and left. He was such a good-looking man, so kind and serene. I will always remember him.

After we left him, we met some of the group, and went to a roof garden where they served mint tea, and where there was a good view of the city. That night we went to a night club. Refreshments were served. Then with clanging cymbals, the floor show came on. Wow! Belly dancers with jewels sparkling in their navels glided on to the stage! I had seen floor shows in Paris, New York, and Los Angeles, but seldom one as shocking-in a country where most of the women had to cover themselves from head to toe, somehow I had not expected to see so much bare flesh! Their sheer silk pantaloons were tied around their ankles with flashing bracelets. A semi see-through blouse covered the top half of their wiggling bodies. Bracelets glittered at their wrists, and jewels flashed in their black hair, dazzling the eye. They were good dancers, and the audience loved the show! Need I add that most of the audience were men. In my travels I saw many other belly dancers, but never again felt so shocked. When the floorshow was over we walked back to the hotel.

We left Tunis in the morning in a comfortable new bus. Our local guide was very friendly, helpful, and full of interesting facts and legends about his country. He would point out a farm, telling us that one raised cows for the production of milk, but another raised them only for beef. Over there the government was drilling, not for oil, but for water. We arrived in Sfax early in the afternoon, and had a tour of the city before dinner and a quick tour of the harbour before checking into our hotel.

The large harbour was a surprise, not only because of the size, but the numbers of big ships loading and unloading cargo of all kinds. Here were big freighters that probably came to Vancouver, yet I had never heard of this city. Perhaps during the war battles were lost and won here. However, this would not have given the city of Sfax a reputation of being an international commercial shipping centre!

The city itself was an interesting mixture of the old and the new. There were tall air-conditioned office buildings, apartments, and streets of open stores with shutters that were pulled down at closing time. The parks were full of shade trees, palm trees, fountains and tiled resting areas.

We left Sfax in the morning, and, because the scribe had suggested that we see his university, Kairouan University, we detoured inland to see it. The university did not impress us; some of the buildings were obviously very old, but most of them were contemporary. Within a few miles of the university, we saw the Egbert rug warehouse which impressed us very much. The rugs were so beautiful that many of our group bought them! Evidently Kairouan was a centre of rug weaving and manufacturing they made rugs of all kinds. Those who bought large ones had to arrange for the rugs to be shipped to Vancouver. The salesman knew his business, and papers were quickly signed. Then we were off to a different kind of horse show than the one we had seen in Meknes. This was more of a family affair.

Shelters had been arranged around a large oval racetrack. The audience consisted of men, women, and children crowding under the shelters in the shade, if they could find a space. I would call this display acrobatic horse riding. Riders would do all kinds of tricks.

Men would ride backwards, then flip over the horse and touch the ground on one side, then flip over to touch the ground on the other side while the horse was galloping. One man stood on his head and did not fall as he flipped back onto the saddle!

Between shows, there were clowns, children riding ponies, ice-cream vendors, Coca-Cola in the bottle, and strange things looking like hot dogs. The horses were big handsome brutes, rather frightening from our low-level vantage spot. It was an impressive example of superb horsemanship. We all enjoyed the afternoon, although some of us got severely sunburned.

I was happy to have a single room, although small, with the window looking out on a wee courtyard with a fountain, pretty tiled walks and lots of shade trees, palms and shrubs. We continued travelling south, on the main highway to Jarbah Island. This day's trip was very different. One reason was that we took another detour - because the Roman ruins expert on our tour insisted we see this jewel in the desert, a small replica of the Rome Colosseum! Djem was built hundreds of years ago. The story told to us was that the rocks were brought from Rome by ship, and because of hostile tribes, were hauled twenty miles inland through a tunnel. To us that seemed to be a futile arrangement. But perhaps they were not so stupid,because the Romans were expert at building rock works, and this was preferable to shifting sands and hostile tribes. They had built aqueducts all over the known world to carry water for domestic purposes and for irrigating the land. The sand-storms had done plenty of damage, but had failed to obliterate this colossal example of Roman engineering skill and superb workmanship. We were very impressed but puzzled: why here? With this thought uppermost in our minds, we climbed into the bus, returned to the highway, and headed south. We never did find out why.

Another reason the day was very different was because we visited a camel farm, south of Sfax. But it took us a long time to get there, and the country became more and more desert-like. Although I could never love camels, I have always been fascinated by these curious animals. They had camel races at the farm, but not that day. Instead, they were offering to take any of us for a ride around the oval. My friend, Anne, and I were the only daring ones to accept the offer.

I had bought a Berber costume-just the head dress and the top shirt-so I put that on for the ride. The camel knelt down on all four legs and I had to climb onto an unfamiliar saddle. The camel startled me by getting up jerkily on front legs first, then hind legs. I felt sky-high looking down on all those people. I do not know how camel riders can endure long days in such discomfort. When we were back at the starting point, the nasty animal suddenly dropped down on his front legs. I jerked forward, almost over his head, but managed to grab around his neck, and as he lowered his hind legs, I slid ungracefully to solid ground! The guide rescued me, but my pride was bruised. I took off my Berber outfit and sat down in a spectator's seat just in time to see Anne arrive back, and slide gracefully to the ground! There were gales of laughter and plenty of joking about the blonde camel riders.

"Perhaps you would like to join a caravan and ride our camels across the Sahara to Timbuktu?" said the tour guide. We thanked him, but "no," we said, and said goodbye to our friendly camel farmer, instructing the guide to thank him for us, as he could not speak English.

Further south, on the main coastal highway, we turned inland again into into a deep valley. On one side there was a high cliff, paths led up to holes in the rock-like side. The guide told us that people, even now, lived in the caves! Perhaps with little or no rain and continual heat - up to 120 degrees fahrenheit in the day - the caves would be cool. Was this how the original cavemen lived? We were all silent for a long time. We had almost reached the end of our southern tour, and, as we turned east around the bay, we could see the Island of Jarbah, with the long, low bridge leading to it. The first part of the bridge was over mudflats, probably covered with water at high tide. The whole bridge stretched for about half a mile before rising up over the deep channel, then on to the island. The island was not very large, about five miles wide and ten miles long. There was a modern motel on the eastern beach. As we were all anxious to have a swim in the Mediterranean, the tour of the island was brief.

The most interesting sight on the Island of Jarbah was the method they used to get water out of a well. The well was about three feet in diameter, and had some sort of a pulley arrangement that pulled the pail of water up out of the well and dumped it into a trough. The power to do this was provided by a combination of ropes and pulleys attached to a camel! The camel would stride down the hill, pulling the bucket of water up out of the well. As he turned at the bottom of the hill, the bucket would dump the water over the edge into the cement culvert. When he started up the hill, the bucket would drop down to the bottom and fill with water. As the camel went around the top of the well and started down the hill, he would be pulling the bucket up out of the well again. We watched this unusual generation of power for some time.

As we checked into the charming motel on the north east shore of the island, we looked with excitement at the beautiful sandy Mediterranean beach. The last few days had been very hot, and we looked forward to a refreshing swim. It did not take very long to change into our bathing suits and race to test the water. One by one we all tested water, and found it fine. But a strong, very cold north wind chilled us, and made the sea rough. We ran back to the wind breaks, and had second thoughts about going for a swim. Some hardy souls did swim, but most of us just plunged in, ran out, and huddled behind the wind breaks. We were all soon back on the patio, out of the wind, and in the warm sunshine. As we relaxed on the patio, we looked across the sea toward Lybia, and speculated about the reasons for closing the border between Tunisia and Libya, about thirty miles away. Tripoli, the capital of Lybia - and our last 'Moorish' destination ‹ was about one hundred miles east of the border. But we had to fly back to Tunis, before flying on to Tripoli, the next day. We were urged to pack only enough for a one-night stay in Tripoli; when we returned to Tunis, we'd be flying to Rome, and then home to Vancouver.

The others would be flying home to Vancouver. I was staying in Rome, and completing my around the world trip.

The flight to Tripoli seemed very short. We settled into our rooms in a very pleasant hotel, and had an hour to spare before the trip to Leptis Magna, the Roman ruins. I decided to go for a walk. The hotel was facing the Mediterranean on a wide boulevard, which swept around the bay to the city harbour. It was too far for me to walk the entire distance, so I rested on a bench admiring the lovely view.

Not far from me was a fruit stand with bananas. I did not have any Libyan money but, as usual, the sight of an American dollar bill worked magic. (I have found this reaction to American currency all over the world.) The vendor wrapped my four bananas in a sheet of newspaper and I sat on my bench to eat one. As I opened the paper, I was astonished to find that it was a sheet of the London Times. The next surprise was that the bananas were from Costa Rica, in Central America! All of this, while sitting on a bench in Tripoli, in Libya, in North Africa! After eating one of the bananas, I returned to the hotel to tell my friends about my international exchange, all for one American dollar!

The bus was soon at the door waiting to take us to the centuries old Roman ruins. We left the city suburbs, passed through some farmland and undeveloped desert, and finally arrived at Leptis Magna. There was a guide at the gate to explain how the Romans built the city, why they built on that spot, and how they lived. These ruins were the best preserved and the most realistic example of Roman ways of living that I have seen. I followed the crowd along the avenues, admiring the excellent tile work and the pillars and walls still standing. Then the heat overwhelmed me. I went back to the guide's office looking for a cool spot. I just had to lie down! The tiles outside were blazing hot, but the table inside proved to be a good place to stretch out with my head by the open window where a soft breeze from the sea somewhat revived me. I was not the only one who felt the heat; everyone came back exhausted. The bus was like an oven as we stepped into it for the ride to the airport. The stewardess could see that some of us were ready to pass out, and brought us ice cold drinks with salt tablets, and bathed our foreheads with cold cloths. She explained that there was a particularly scorching sirocco blowing in off the desert, and that this wind happened only once or twice a year. A short stop in the air-conditioned airport located south of Jarbah helped to revive us. The plane was air-conditioned, too, so we all arrived back in Tunis feeling fine.

That night, we had a special farewell dinner, and went back to our rooms early. We were to catch the six a.m. plane to Rome. I waved good-bye to the rest of the group at the Rome airport, and watched the plane leave for Vancouver. I sat down on a chair, momentarily bewildered. I'd never felt so alone and so on my own in a foreign city. What was I doing here? Alone in this airport! What was I going to do?

Catalogue Information