I knew practically nothing about Northern Iraq (aka Iraqi Kurdistan, as opposed to Turkish or Syrian Kurdistan -- it's all a rather ill-defined geo-ethni-political region) until right about the moment that Savage and I hitched across the border via the perfect storm of a ride from a paper-delivery man who said absolutely nothing to us other than when and where to hand passports in order to secure visas. Once in Iraq (weeee!), we stuck out our hands to continue our hitching-odyssey, and...
no rides.
You can't really hitch in Iraq. We did manage to attract a glut of taxi-driver attention though, and finally figured out that taking a shared taxi to our final destination of Erbil (the capital of Kurdistan) was our only option, as there isn't really a bus system in Iraq. So we chummed it up with our fellow passenger, an english-speaking student, en route, all to the chime, wail, and rattle of traditional Kurdish music through blown out speakers.
The socio-political situation began to crystallize a bit as we waited for two hours at a check point in order to enter the outskirts of Erbil while police searched vehicles for bombs, etc.; these shake-downs are recent developments, and our student friend made this, via painstaking effort, very, very clear. He made sure we understood that they -- I can't figure out how to say this any other way -- hate the Arabs. There's a serious distrust and loathing toward what they consider to be the cause of their ruined reputation as Iraqi's. While Kurdistan possesses separate control over its visas from Southern Iraq (they also have a separate parliament -- their pretty much a state of Iraq), Kurdistanites (that can't be the right term) bemoan their inability to travel almost anywhere because all Iraqi's still have the same passport.
Clearly, there are some cultural tensions. Probably in part because the place is downright culturally confused. After spending a day there, we still couldn't figure out what language people were speaking to us -- all the signs were in Arabic, Kurdish, and English, yet people spoke German and Turkish to us as well. And it's not as if the signs really matter in Erbil, as there is no functioning bus system, which led to an eery sensation of place-lessness. It's very difficult to develop a spatial relationship with anywhere that lacks rooted axis', routes, and schedules. As a result, pretty much no one knew where anything was, and more often than not, referred us to their cousins taxi driver when we asked for directions. For clarity, we spent half of our time in Erbil trying to find the bus station in order to get back to Turkey -- no one knew where it was, and we saw it randomly on the side of a road while taking a tax in a part of the city that we hadn't even heard of before.
In stride, ask me what we actually did in Iraq, and, well, I don't have much to say. There's nothing in particular 'to do' in Erbil -- basically, one can visit the old Citadel, hit the bazaar, or get lost in massive shopping mall. We ended up hanging out with our student friend again, but, unfortunately, that meant being subjected to his ardent attempts to impress upon us how western Erbil really is. The city, which is experiencing some serious foreign investment as well as sitting on oodles of cash from the regions oil reserves, is expanding at an alarming rate -- high-rises are shooting up all over and there's a distinct ritz-n-glitz vibe poking through the tangled, exposed electrical wires which dangle above each street. Regardless, pretty much all we managed to do was smoke shisha in massive Arabic robes (which we unfortunately couldn't sneak out with), pee in an alley, get haircuts (I got my cheeks floss-waxed!)(oh man that sounded much better in my head), take pictures with some police officers, eat too much falafel, and peace out.
That sounds pretty lame, and yet, per usual, there remains one preeminent, singular, saving grace: CAY, BABY! Iraqi cay is amazing -- for a helpless addict to Turkey's tea culture (didn't take but one cup), Iraq's brew straight blows it out the water. They spice it up, and, wait, you think you can choose whether or not you're going to be three spoonfuls of sugar deep on this one? Yeah, right, pal.
Jokes aside, I understand why the student was so keen on winning us over -- trust can feel as fragile as a new-born in your hands at times, and nowhere was this more palpable than Iraq; our pre-conceived notions were so deeply embedded in us that we felt like we were constantly getting ripped off, which resulted in some retrospective feelings of ass-holeness for giving people a hard time when they were charging us the normal price.
A lot of wariness also resulted from the stark contrasts to Turkey, where most people smile and talk to you (and shake your hand, and buy you cay; although getting free stuff has nothing to do with this... uhhh). It's not as though people were necessarily friendly in Iraq, but they weren't too cold either -- they just didn't really react to our presence at all (but they want us there, says the free ten-day tourist visa). Yet there was a very distinct, somber tone to the whole place, that of spirit withdrawn. Given the war, this comes as no surprise, and yet, it weighed on me more than I was willing to initially admit.
That being said, the majority of our interactions were positive, although in a much different manner from those that we've experienced in Turkey. After breaking down our encounters with locals, the only time we were slightly ripped off was by the barber -- even so, would I pay that much and more for a face-floss-wax again? HELL YES! Lesson learned: just because people aren't exceedingly expressive doesn't mean that they aren't good human beings.
It has been asked, why would one go to Iraq? Well, the prevailing credo that's emerge from all adventures here is, as my best Turkish friend, Vahid, puts it: Why NOT?
More obvious / important: don't judge until you've seen a country, its people, and drank the cay. There are good folk everywhere, no matter what fear-based media might show and tell.
Less obvious: queue this little poem that's been roaming about my mind over the last few days -- it's been keeping me loose when big bad rationality starts buzzing a bit too loudly (and little birds can be people too, you know)...
may my heart always be open
may my heart always be open to the little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old
may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if its sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young
and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there's never quite been such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile
-- ee cummings
You're a good one, says Kelsey.
ReplyDelete