Left to Write Trying to catch a moment before it is forgotten.

I count the Libyan dinar left in my purse.

25.

Curse my inability to budget while travelling.

My purse had thinned significantly after a morning of shopping under the domed ceilings of Souq al-Mushir, and now these towers of lively linen were calling my name.

All I can see of the stall-keeper is his flat cap peering above his stretched newspaper. A small glass of tea swimming with peanuts sits next to him on a low wooden stool.

Hoping I could turn the last of my dinar into some linen, I point at a purple fold of fabric.

“Excuse me, my friend, how much for this one?”

He looks up and carefully folds his newspaper for later.

“That, 100 dinar. Hand-woven ” he explains slowly, with an accent laced with both Arabic and Italian tones. His curved white moustache rises with every word.

“How about this one?” I ask, pointing at a roll of moss green linen.

“That machine-woven. 40 dinar.”

Yes.

I begin the tennis game of bargaining. However, this match is a gentle one – rhythmic and predictable; slow yet fair, and I volley the last offer of 25.

“Oh-kay” he nods. “25.”

Not needing to count my money, I empty the contents of my purse into his hand, turning it upside down to free the last coins.

“Exactly 25” I proudly announce, delighted with my luck of accidental budgeting.

His sleepy eyes crinkle with a smile, amused at my amusement.

He wraps the cloth carefully in brown paper, folding the corners like a gift. He secures it with string and hands me my package.

Like a grandfather slowly fishing his pockets for spare change for sweets, he pulls out two coins from his worn jacket and returns them to me.

I look at him, puzzled.

“For café” he says, with a small bow.

I smiled and wondered how he knew that was my favourite treat.

I meander back to the hotel through the medina as friendly children run beside me wanting their photos taken. I wondered how long this faded charm of Tripoli would last.

I hoped its gentle soul wouldn’t be spoiled by a rave travel review, turning it into the next “it” destination for the intrepid travel trade.

A month after my visit, the Libyan Revolution began and thundered through the country, as Libyans joined their Tunisian and Egyptian brothers in the Arab Spring.

Today, government websites advise against non-essential travel to Libya.

Perhaps I should have chosen my words better at the time.

Sadly, I got my wish. That rave travel review on Tripoli will probably take years to come.