Pulling in to Mos Eisley

I spent my second-to-last weekend in Djerba, an island off the coast of Southern Tunisia.  It was formerly the center of Tunisia's Jewish community for a few hundred years before 1948, but only a remnant today.  An hour or two after arrival, I visited El-Ghriba, the 2000 year old synagogue, which some say was founded before the destruction of the first temple.  While the site was pretty, the constant stream of loud and scantily-dressed tourists from France and Germany took something away from the aura.  What I like about holy places is that feeling of silence.  I love sitting on an old stone floor and just being there.  Sometimes I draw or read the Bible or the Quran, but the solitude is what I love, hearing nothing and feeling the coldness of the stones.  I tried to find a niche at El-Ghriba, but the hustle-and-bustle of tourism and commerce made it impossible.

Look at that metaphor: an olive tree surrounded by guard towers.

So I moved on.


I rented a bicycle in Houmt Souq, where I was staying at a hostel, and I rode down the west coast of the island.  A couple hours later, I arrived in Ajim.  Some of my readership may know it better as that wretched hive of scum and villainy, Mos Eisley.  Many exterior shots of the city were filmed there, including the cantina, the "these aren't the droids you're looking for" questioning, and the escape of the Milennium Falcon from its hanger.


I expected a fair number of tourists, stalls filled with Star Wars knick-knacks, and lots of other stuff, but the area is basically un-touristed.  I was obviously a curiosity there.  In a fitting turn of events, Ajim, like Mos Eisley, serves primarily as a port for those going to and from the mainland and some Libyan merchants. As I wandered the streets, I came upon an old run-down bakery that I immediately recognized as the cantina, where as we all know, Han shot first.  It sits next to a 1970s apartment complex and a few other ruined buildings.

The cantina used to serve berber bread.  Now, it doesn't do that anymore.

The advances of modern construction are really tragic for an art historian. Yes, it's much easier to erect a building with pre-fab materials and steel reenforcement, but that has meant the passing of traditional styles and historical designs.  In Northern Syria, no one is building bee-hive huts anymore when concrete is cheaper.  The only new buildings in Djerba that have domes are McMansions behind tall gates.


Almost all of Djerba's architecture before 1960 could have appeared in a Star Wars scene.  Nearly every building, no matter how domestic or utilitarian was capped with an elegant dome, and you enter through tall arches.


With a sufficient number of schoolchildren laughing at me for wandering around an abandoned bakery, I went North.  A few kilometers north of Ajim on the coast is Ben Kenobi's hut.  Though it's supposed to be on the top of a hill in the desert, it really sits right on the sea.

Sand people travel single file to hide their true numbers.

It was now the equipment shed of a fisherman.  He was out on the water, so I just sat outside the house for an hour or two, soaking in the sun and nerding out because Alec Guiness was there one time.  And Mark Hamill, but that's less exciting.

Ben Kenobi's seaside abode

After a returning back to Houmt Souq with a bruised butt (3rd world bike seats, yowza), I wrote in my journal for a while.  While deep reflection isn't always the best thing for a year spent traveling solo, it gave me some perspective in Djerba.  Here is what I wrote:

"If I could go back in time and tell 12 year-old me that in just ten years, I'd be biking around a small island off the coast of Tunisia, stopping at the Mos Eisley Cantina and asking an old man for directions to "Dar Ben Kenobi," a younger me would be pleased with how awesome I turned out."

Chasing childhood dreams may not be a sane way to live one's life, but stumbling upon them a few years on is imminently satisfying.

The world economy has hit everyone. The Jawas had to sell the sandcrawler and now they ride the bus like everyone else.  (Actually, these cloaks are traditional male garb in the south.  Pretty cool though.)