****IRAQ Part Deux****

July 7, 2012
Day 36
Kurdistan Day 8 - Sulaymaniyah

One of the biggest challenges people have of my travels is they argue I don't spend enough time in one place, and therefore never truly experience the countries I visit. Although it is true I have been known to blaze through a country quicker than a redneck polishes off a twelve pack, I disagree one can't come to know a place in just a few days in the main cities (or rural towns/villages), or, just a week or two (or sometimes less) in a country. What does fully understanding a place mean anyway? After all, I have lived in the United States the entirety of my life, and I still can't understand that country. So in that case, maybe I will never fully understand anything in my life, but I will never be deterred in my search to do so.

In response to my critics (ha, as if I actually had any), I have decided to remain stationary for awhile, see what a place is really about, get to know the locals, and "experience" the life as best I can. It was in 2005 when I really began traveling, and since that time, I have spent almost 20 months cumulatively voyaging from country to country. And when I say "traveling", this is what I mean. Always on the move, my endless energy doesn't allow me to stay in one place for long. The art of traveling to me is enduring long, sometimes painful, and at a minimum, uncomfortable trips on local buses, trains, boats, tuk tuks, pick ups, jeepnees, camels, cars or whatever it may be. If it moves, and is willing to relocate me from point A to point B, then I have used it as transportation. I have slept on more overnight buses or trains than I can count, and probably more than most would ever be willing to endure in their lifetime. The point is, part of my passion for traveling comes from being on the move. It is these long endurance trips that inspire me, and allow me to reach those moments of travel euphoria that draw me back time and again. It is my desire to be on the move, never sitting idly at a destination, that has led me to over 80 countries in the last eight years. I travel, I go, it is what I do. During this time, the longest I stayed in one city is just 6 nights (Bay Islands, Honduras and Bocas Del Toro, Panama - ** this excludes six weeks of study at Oxford University, England). But here in Kurdistan, I have decided to go against my grain, after all, life is about experiencing new things, right?

As I write this at Midnight, I am on my 7th night in Sulaymaniyah, Kurdistani Iraq. I have topped, and will likely shatter, my previous mark, however meager it was. When I arrived, I certainly had no intentions of staying here this long. I figured maybe the standard two nights, in and out, and then on my way. But this is why traveling is so peculiar (and so much damn fun), because you never know what is waiting for you around the corner, and you never know what the next day will bring, and how it may shape your life. Everyday brings a new adventure, you just have to open your eyes and watch it come.

One chance meeting with someone is sometimes all it takes. People often times pay no attention to first impressions and the impact they could ultimately have. I suggest these people reconsider the value they place on the power of initial encounters. In my first hour in Sulaymaniyah, Akar, the son of the hotel owner, befriended me, and showed me around the city. We went out for lunch, walked through the bazaar, and he invited me to hang out that evening to meet his friends. This act of kindness did not go unnoticed, and I began opening my eyes to the generosity and kindness the Kurdish people had to offer. In the coming days, I was introduced to more and more of Akar's friends. They began offering to meet up, show me around, and just hang out in the city. Then, the days just started adding up...

I have met a handful of people during my time in Sulaymaniyah who, even after just a short period together, I feel are truly worthy of calling friends. In addition to Akar, who was the catalyst for it all, Nian, his girlfriend, Aza, Aziz, and Herja have all had their affect on my stay here, and are shaping the ways I perceive, and appreciate, the Kurdish people. It has truly been a special experience for me to be taken in by my new friends, and welcomed at their gatherings. I have now had numerous lunches in the bazaar with Akar, sheesha nights at the cafe with the gang, Tavla (aka Backgammon) at the teahouses, and walks about the city with all of the above in between. My new friends are my experience here, and now they are a part of me.

Aza, who spent four years at University in Malaysia, has been amazing towards me. We met at the Star Cafe on my third evening, and he invited me out the following afternoon to offer a historic walk through the city, bringing the streets to life. He was very knowledgeable about the city's older architecture, and he shared this know how and more, with me. Aza is also a great ambassador of Sulaymaniyah. He heads an organization to help plant trees in the area, with a lofty goal to plant 1,000,000 by 2015. He is working to expand the organization and build its notoriety to achieve this goal, which he admits will be tough under the current economic/political environment. He also volunteers with the organization "One Shot", which works with orphaned and street children to teach them about the power of photography. I visited their exhibition this afternoon, viewing their photos and meeting a few of the child photographers. It is hard not feeling good about life when you witness firsthand the positivity people can bring to the lives of others. If only we could all (myself included) do as much to do our part.

A few other whacky things have happened during my stay thus far in Slemani (short for Sulaymaniyah). First off, there are certain cultural taboos here that simply do not exist in America, Europe, or the rest of the West for that matter. Among others, I will briefly mention the courtship between men and women. The Middle East is very conservative in their approach (and in many other aspects of daily life) in this regard. It was described to me that it often times takes months, if not years, under some circumstances, to get a girl to go out with you. Luck must have been on my side, when only hours after having my travel beard relegated to the past, a cute Kurdish girl approached my friends at the cafe, and asked permission to speak with me. Shy, and possessing limited English skills, she asked for my number and information. Surprised to say the least, I obliged her with my contact info, and she left. Wide eyed and open jawed, my new friends sat in amazement. They say they had never witnessed anything like that in Kurdistan. I had a much higher chance of getting detained than being asked out by a girl here. I should have played the lottery this week, as I had both happen to me in a matter of days! Just another week in my crazy life it seems.

I am often times asked what are some of the craziest things I've consumed on my travels? Welcome to "Ser W Pe", meaning "head and leg", restaurant! My answer to this inquiry will be easy from here on. At 2:30am this morning, I awoke, and joined Akar and Aza, who picked me up from the hotel. We drove out to the best place in the city for head and leg... however, this place was closed, so we continued on, and found a small hole in the wall joint that was open to serve us. When in desperate need for head and leg, you will take what you can get, right? Supposedly, these places open early to cater to the construction worker crowd, who need the fatty energy to complete a laborious days work. So what exactly is it that I ate? I believe the precise terms would be a sheep brain, eyes, and face muscles, along with any other innards coming out of a sheep's head. There was also a bulging yellow sac, which I was later told to be a sheep stomach, that was stuffed with rice. Yum-Yum-Yum! I have no qualms with this meal, it actually went down well, and I polished most of it off, until I was full at least. Other than the texture from the fattier face or brain parts (who knows what it was), it was fairly tasty, the broth was nice, and the rice was excellent. If I'm ever asked to host a dinner party, I know exactly what I'm serving up (perhaps my friends should just host me over)! My favorite part of the meal was when the cook came over with the sheep head, turned it upside down, and shook it vigorously, as parts fell out and splashed harmlessly into the soup bowl. It was damn fine service if you ask me. We capped off the early morning rendezvous with a drive to the top of Goizha mountain, overlooking the sleeping city. This event was a special moment for me that will not soon (and probably never) be forgotten.

Akar's girlfriend, Nian, works as a news director for the GK news channel in Kurdistan. Although her English is very limited, she has been present at many of the gatherings with my new friends, and her warm personality transcends the language barrier, and I have come to enjoy her presence. While at the One Shot exhibition, she brought her camera crew over and proceeded to conduct a several minute interview with me, asking questions ranging from my sheep brain experience, to my late night trip to "lovers lane" atop Goizha mountain. In that moment, I had my first television interview, with translators included. Although my spot is unlikely to receive any air time, it was still a fun experience, adding to my list of firsts. In 27 years of my life, I have received absolutely zero media attention in the United States, but in Kurdistan, it took just 8 days!

July 8, 2012
Day 37
Kurdistan Day 9 - Sulaymaniyah

Since my Kurdish language skills are non existent, with the exception of several phrases that usually illicit laughter due to my murderous pronunciation, translations, and translators, have become a common theme for me in Kurdistan. I was introduced to Aziz, by Akar, at one of my earlier visits to the City Star Cafe. Aziz is a smart man, but a risk taker (my kind of guy). When the U.S. led invasion began in Iraq in 2003, Aziz signed up to work alongside the American forces to assist in the operations as a translator. One way or another, many Kurds want to find a way out of Kurdistan, not necessarily forever, as the are very passionate about their homeland, but to at least get out of the country for a time and visit, or live in, other parts of the World. Due to the political circumstances surrounding Iraq and Kurdistan, this is oftentimes very challenging. So in 2003, Aziz saw his chance. He spent almost 8 years traveling back and forth from Kurdistan to Baghdad, and other parts of Iraq, assisting the U.S. forces in Arabic translations. He was involved in numerous hostile missions over the years, and was shot, stabbed, and even subjected to exploding RPG'S. He showed me his wounds, which were thankfully not life threatening, and told me about the time a roadside bomb blew the door off the vehcile he was sitting in, on the side he was sitting on. Having never been in combat myself, it is hard to imagine the thoughts that would go through your head at that moment. But I imagine they would have been similar to his, when he said, "I thought I was a goner". But he wasn't, he survived this harrowing experience, and in the end, he was issued a green card, and has spent the last several years living in the United States. He recently moved back to Kurdistan, but he has no regrets from his experiences, or the path he has taken in life.

Aziz's special skills as a translator were not just for U.S. forces, I too found him to be of great service. Not content with just being asked out by a Kurdish girl, I wanted to meet again with the brave woman who broke several cultural taboos by approaching me. Aziz and I met her at a local cafe, and she was accompanied by one of her other girl friends (neither of whom I will mention by name), who also acted as a translator for us. The situation was exactly as bizarre as you could imagine, but it was fun, nevertheless. We hung out for several hours our first meeting, and met once again today. At one point, my new friend and I were alone at the cafe together, and I was surprised to learn that her English actually existed after all, albeit somewhat broken (she was shy to speak English with Aziz and her friend present). It was an absolute pleasure, and extremely interesting experience, having the opportunity to get to know this young girl; however, for obvious reasons, there could never be anything more between us. She was sweet and kind, and I wish her only the best in wherever her life may lead.

Since I arrived in Kurdistan, I have transitioned from a manic, "no-itinerary" travel plan, to a nice, simple routine in Sulaymaniyah. Other than the arduous journeys, I continue doing all those things I have come to love about traveling. I have kept up with my reading, finishing a quick read by Hemingway ("The Sun Also Rises"). I perused through the local papers to help "understand" the area, and I also began reading a book about the history of Islam. It is hard to understand anything about the Middle East without first attempting to learn about the religious culture, and their predominant religion. Although the past is not a predictor of the future, it can certainly serve as a starting point to explain the state of current events.

A question I have struggled with on this trip, and am attempting to understand, is this: Why does the West have such a problem with the East, and vice versa? In short, the answer is perception. We are misunderstood by people from the East (our intentions are perhaps a little misguided), and Westerners have woefully misjudged those from the Orient (the East). Islam is not a faith built to destroy Christianity or Judaism. It is simply another set of beliefs and values (actually fairly similar and based on the teachings of the above) used to guide the lives of its believers. The recent problems we have seen are rooted in what people from the East perceive the intentions of the West to be. The West's imperialist attitude towards the region, dating back to Napoleons invasion of Egypt, has been interpreted over the years to be an attack on not just the Islamic faith, but the freedom of the Muslim people.

So what is this you speak about freedom, you may ask? After all, these people enjoy dictators controlling their daily existence, right? Well, actually, the "Arab Spring" should go as a definitive "NO", Muslims don't like that; and, the turbulent history of the region, uprisings, and wars, dating back to the origins of Islam, should serve to show they are fighting for the right to NOT be controlled. Devout followers of the faith simply want a better life, and the chance to live a purer existence in the light of Allah (their god, which they believe to be the same god worshipped by Jews and Christians - remember, "people of the book").

When, first, Napoleon (French), and soon thereafter, the British, began their imperialist interests in the region, it planted the seeds for generations of discontent. Fast forward to the end of World War I (yes, I know, a lot happened in between), when the end of the Ottoman Empire (who "controlled" most of the region), brought on a carving up of the Middle East by the West, and further attempts to exploit and control the people, were undertaken. From here, you can see an unsettling trend taking shape. Fast forward even further to the 1960's, 70's, 80's, and 90's, and look at the United States interference in Middle Eastern politics (Israel, Egypt, Iran, Iraq, etc), and the predicament really begins to escalate. Political meddling is perhaps the greatest contributor to a majority of the world's problems. But even so, all this meddling would not be nearly as volatile as the current situation stands, if it were not for the addition of one more catalytic element. And this is perhaps where the largest misunderstanding lies, at least on behalf of the West. It comes from one word, "Fundamentalism".

Fundamentalism, in short, is what characterizes the extreme acts of aggression in the name of religious beliefs by a select few (i.e., "terrorists" creating "terrorism"), and, has sadly shaped the modern day perceptions, in a negative light, that the Occident (the West) has towards Islam and the Orient (the East). Ironically, the first documented cases of religious fundamentalism comes from Christians in America at the turn of the 20th century. The idea didn't take hold in the Middle East until the 1960's. So let me state this again for clarity, acts of "terrorism" by fundamentalists are committed by a very small group of people, not by Muslims as a whole, who would prefer a peaceful existence. The heinous acts that have become all too familiar on the news, are committed by a radical select few, who have actually strayed far from the teachings of the Quran, and from what the great prophet Muhammed attempted to teach. Islam is not against the rest of the World, Muslims just want to forge their own path, without the selfish, "imperialist" guidance of the West. Let me summarize this misconception with one more point. "Jihad", which so many have come to believe means "war to eradicate the Christians and Jews" (or some similar interpretation), actually simply means "struggle". This "struggle", originally meant the fight to live I life worthy of the light of Allah, but has been warped by fundamentalists, and modern day media, to mean a battle to the death of opposing parties (i.e. religions).

It is sad, very sad, the power of the few, over the will of the many. One day, it would be great for common ground to be found, or at least a common understanding of where the problems lay (ie, political meddling and fundamentalist activity). Then, perhaps the larger populations of the affected parties (those from the Occident vs the Orient) could drop their far reaching stereotypes and misperceptions of one another? Maybe one day....we can only hope.

Let me clarify one last point before moving on. The above discussion was an attempt to demystify some of the mis-perceptions the East and West have towards one another, mainly, the view some Westerners have towards the Islamic religion. What I have said here is certainly not all encompassing. Don't use this as your only knowledge of this subject (please, I am not that good), more so, as a topic to generate interest to further your own understanding. This subject is something everyone seems to have an opinion over, but oftentimes know little about, or is misinformed. My advice, seek to understand. Also, although I am writing this from Kurdistan, I am not trying to make a correlation between fundamentalist activity and the Autonomous Region of Kurdistan. To the best of my knowledge, this area has not been a hotbed source of fundamentalist activity, and in fact, quite the opposite is true.

July 9, 2012
Day 38
Kurdistan Day 10 - Sulayminayah

Last night (July 10th), Akar, Niam, Aza, Herja and myself, took a short road trip to the town of Dukan, known most famously for the dam located there which created the largest man made lake in Iraq. Akar had been talking about this trip for several days, so I was excited to finally make the visit. We picked up a few beers and snacks, found a nice spot along the river opposite the dam, and took in the evening. I haven't really had many alcoholic drinks since I arrived in the Middle East (this is another cultural difference from the West, although some are more liberal than others in this regard), so it was a nice change of pace, a chance to unwind, and a great moment to enjoy the new friendships I've forged over the past week.

Although he has been present at many of the gatherings since my arrival in Slemani, I haven't spoke much about Herja to this point. Of all the Kurds I have befriended during my stay, Herja has spent the most time out of Kurdistan. When he was a young boy, his family immigrated to the United Kingdom, where they still live, and are now citizens. Although he is attending a University in Manchester, he visits his homeland often, and actually drives (yes, I said drives!!) the distance between the two regions. The UK, however, has taken its toll, and Herja's English is ripe with the British accent. I actually found this characteristic to be quite comforting, as I have hardly spoken to, or even seen Westerners in nearly two weeks. Herja is a good kid though, (and a safe driver with me in the car, which I appreciate), and he was welcoming towards me from the moment we met. Like all the friends I have made in Sulayminayah, I hope our life paths cross again one day.

Due to the fact that my 15 day, on-arrival visa expires shortly, and, I am running low on the cash I brought into the country, I have decided this will be my last night in Sulayminayah. I was actually invited to the July 12th wedding of a Kurdish girl I met at the "One Shot" photo exhibition, who is a childhood friend of Aza. The Kurdish girl is marrying an American guy, who's brother, Mr. Hemingway, I befriended at the exhibition as well. In addition to the two brothers, I also met their parents, and this family accounts for the entirety of the Westerners I came across during my stay in Kurdistan. I eventually determined I could not attend the wedding on account that, in addition to the reasons above, I have yet to see many of the areas I intended to visit, and, logistically, the wedding proposed a problem for leaving the country on time. It would have been a great honor, and an amazing experience to have been able to attend. I do not doubt that I missed a great opportunity in this regard.

I spent my final afternoon and evening much the same way I spent the previous week; lunch with Akar in the bazaar, sheesha at the tea house with Akar and Aziz, and City Star cafe with the whole gang. We were also joined by my newest friend, Mr. Hemingway, who is a professional photographer based out of Houston, Texas. The evening was a nice farewell with all my friends, who have come to mean so much to me during my short stay here. Their generosity and welcoming attitude I will take to be representative of all Kurdish people. They have highlighted my experience in Kurdistan, provided me the satisfaction I always seek from traveling, and I can't thank them enough for that. The power of chance meetings, and first impressions, made all the difference. Walk through life with an open mind, and open your eyes to all that may be bestowed upon you. Life is short, go out, meet, live.

In a few short hours, my voyage will continue as I make my way towards the far north, for the mountaineous city of Amèdi. In the coming days, I will move along overland to the heart of the former Ottoman Empire....my mission will continue, in Turkey.

July 11, 2012
Day 40
Kurdistan Day 12 - Amèdi

My trip to Northern Kurdistan on the morning of July 10th was not without its memorable moments. Despite assurances that the agreed upon route to transport me from Sulaymaniyah to Amèdi, via Dohuk, would not pass through any non-Peshmerga controlled areas of Kurdistan, this was simply not to be. My main concern for the route had been, rightfully so, I did not want to pass anywhere near the often turbulent cities of Kirkuk or Mosul. Despite the love affair Kurds may have with Americans, Arab Iraqis are still dealing with mixed emotions regarding Americans (and in my opinion for good reason), and the aforementioned cities are considered very dangerous for people of my national background.

My shared taxi left Sulaymaniyah at 4:30am on the 10th, and shortly thereafter, I fell asleep. Hours later, I awoke, and something felt amiss. The early morning sun was cooking my face and skin, and more concerning, the traffic on the road appeared too heavy to be the back roads I presumed we were taking. Further, I'm not sure how to really explain it, but things just felt different. The cars on the road didn't appear to be the newer version vehicles I had become accustomed to in Kurdistan. Things just looked worn, the people on the streets and in their cars appeared more Arab (because they were), and the hustle and bustle possessed a little more edge, and an element of uncertainty to it. I had my backpacker "Wizard of Oz" moment, and knew instantly I wasn't in Kurdistan anymore. And a road sign several minutes later confirmed it, "Mosul: 13km"!

Before I could panic, before any unsettling feeling could set in, before I could react whatsoever to the potential danger I might have been in, the taxi took a sharp right, turning away from Mosul, and within a few minutes we passed through a checkpoint, which to my relief, had the Kurdish flag waving proudly from a makeshift stand. I was at ease, but upset I had been mislead by the route. True, the way we took was much faster than the back roads we had planned, and true, we didn't actually pass through Mosul, but damn it, this was serious stuff! This part of Iraq is not the easy going, American loving land of Kurdistan, real dangers exist, death and horrible acts against humanity are still common events, and still a part of everyday life. A non Kurdish security controlled area was certainly not a place I wanted to be, and certainly not a place for an American. However, by the time I realized where I was, suddenly, I wasn't there anymore. I never had a moment to react before I was back again to where I never should have strayed. After the fact, I made a vain attempt to inquire why we had taken such a route, but since no one in the vehicle spoke any English, I dropped my protest quickly. "Whatever", I thought, the past is the past, and there's nothing I could do about it, I was safe. There was no ill will on anybody's part, just a tired taxi driver trying to make his dollar an hour earlier.

I spent the evening in the beautiful enclave of Sulav, and Amèdi, which sits on a mountainous plateau overlooking Kurdish valleys. I met a series of Kurds who were eager to meet me and practice their English, but in all honesty, I was too exhausted, and perhaps too dehydrated, to enjoy their company. My hours in Kurdistan were numbered, I could feel it, my time had come to depart. Around 2pm today, after numerous failed attempts to flag down a taxi, I commandeered a hitchhike to the hub city of Dohuk, and from there, took a taxi to the border town of Zakho. From the intersection leading towards the frontier, I hitchhiked one final time, arriving at the Ibrahim Khalil border crossing which connects Iraq to Turkey, my moment of departure had arrived.

July 11, 4:30PM
Crossing Time: Iraq-Turkey

The smell of petrol in the van was nearly suffocating. Beads of sweat collected on my forehead, and a stream began flowing down my forearms. In minutes, my shirt was saturated with perspiration. It was uncomfortable to say the least, but that's the way border crossings usually are. Mass confusion, compounded by hordes of people trying to make a dollar, is the predominant reaction of the scene by those with an untrained eye (I.e. me). Whether it's the lines of trucks importing and exporting, or the transport touts, who I found myself subjected to, everyone has a purpose, all driven by money.

Every border crossing is different, and I've made my way through dozens over the years. Some are orderly and easy, others are chaotic and frenzied, and some are completely desolate, which I guess would place them in the category of orderly and easy. I will characterize the Turkey-Iraq crossing as a version of the middle option. There was certainly some method to the madness, it was just beyond my understanding; and, being the only Westerner in sight, there was no one to explain the situation to me. So, I just went with the flow.

I was first approached by a gang of taxi drivers who wanted me to commission their services in the crossing process. Rarely interested in doing business in the midst of large parties, I declined their offer, and went about doing my own paperwork. This quickly proved daunting as I walked into a large open room, semi filled, with about eighty people sitting in chairs, and another thirty or so congregating hurriedly at four windows. Before I could decide if I wanted to start making headway into the gaggle at the windows, a young man approached and offered his services. This time I obliged. He led me from the building, out of the security zone, and to a small shop where I waited for about twenty minutes. Oddly, a Bruce Willis movie in English was playing, so I watched it while the shop owner attempted to make small talk. When he discovered I was American, I was offered a bottle of water (as has been the case numerous times now) on the house. After the wait, my young friend returned, and I was led back to the office we had just departed. My passport, and a few others the young man had collected, were passed off to an older gentleman, who returned ten minutes later. We piled into a van, briefly stopped at a small shack opposite the building, and as we drove off, someone said "Iraq finished". We passed a sign that read, "Turkey", and an arrow pointing in the direction we were headed. I presume we had passed through Iraqi immigration, although I never visibly saw any official types.

In the sweltering, petrol infused van, we proceeded through no fewer than three checkpoints, where, I presumed my passport was being stamped. At one point, we drove over a hatch resembling a car mechanic shop, so, "perhaps they are changing the oil", I thought. No, this is a joke, they were actually inspecting the vehicles for smuggled goods and other issues. They went so far at one of the checkpoints to begin removing headlights and dashboards to ensure no secret compartments for storing contraband had been installed in the vehicles. At this particular point, my bags were searched, and I was even given the customary patdown. Noting no issues, Turkish immigration officials allowed us all to proceed. We passed through several more stops, one where I purchased my visa, and another where I actually had my passport stamped (unexplainably, this was at two different locations). Then, we made even more stops, and by this time, I had lost count over how many. One was to buy cartons of cigarettes at the duty free store, and several others were to do who knows what (I had also lost interest at this point). This was however when I realized my transporters were less than legit. They had used my passport, and those of the other passengers, to make purchases of the cigarette cartons at the duty free shop. Since the whole scam only involved six cartons, I could have hardly cared less, and let them proceed. After all, like me, they are just trying to survive.

About an hour and a half after the whole border ordeal began, the van and I had moved beyond all the checkpoints, and my adventure was ready to resume. I am still yet to figure out what is wrong with me, but often times, I actually thoroughly enjoy border crossings. Perhaps because I've had influential life changing moments on them (China-Vietnam, and Israel-Egypt-Jordan), or maybe because they are just so raw, and entertaining. Regardless, this one was no different, and I enjoyed it enough to have this much to say about it. One interesting note, on the other side of the border, the line of trucks waiting, and I mean waiting, to enter Iraq was several miles long!! However, heading in that direction is no longer my worry, I am moving forward now, and the open road through Turkey awaits. Let the next leg of my journey begin. Let's Go!!!