This is the next guest post in a series by Kevin Post. Check back each Wednesday to follow his adventures in Iraq. If you want to guest post on Go Backpacking, please read more here.
The conversation between the driver and me on the way to Irbil was mainly in Turkish because my Kurdish at the time was very minimal, and from what I remember, we talked about the beautiful scenery and how much this man liked Mr. George W. Bush. I highly disagreed with the man regarding the former president of the United States and expressed that freely in what little Turkish and Kurdish I knew. But as a Kurd, he saw Bush’s invasion of Iraq as emancipation for the Kurds of Northern Iraq (I don’t mean to speak of politics, but this man obviously didn’t see what was going on in Central and Southern Iraq).
The most exciting part of the drive was being stopped every 20 minutes or so at pêşmerge check-points and being questioned. You have to keep in mind that I was in Iraq (Kurdish or not), without the ability to speak the language adequately, and that no one back home knew I was there; the adrenalin rush felt so good as I fed off of the unknown.
At the first check point, the soldier asked me where my gun was as if I were a soldier. My response in English, with my intention to sound Kurdish was, ” Touuurrrrist”?; of course he looked confused but let me on my way. A few minutes later we stopped in Dohuk to fill up on gas and I regret not spending some time there. It is a beautiful town situated on the foothills of the Zagros mountain range, with stunning views in every direction. I greatly look forward to exploring this town the next time I visit.
After leaving Dohuk, the geography changed almost instantly from mountainous to lowland plains which were stunning and eerily different than anything I had seen before; there was nothing in every direction. To add to the eeriness, the dust had blocked most of the sun. We have all seen videos of the dust storms of the Middle East, but I can assure you that experiencing it is significantly different than seeing it on television. Me being from Florida, I expected the dust to feel like sand, but it felt like a light soft powder, and managed to get into everything. Having a püshi (scarf) was absolutely necessary throughout the trip to cover the mouth and eyes when dust comes one’s way.
After seeing nothing for almost an hour, we saw a truck stop in the middle of nowhere just outside of the city of Mosul and decided to grab a bite to eat, which was very welcomed considering I hadn’t eaten in almost 24 hours. Although I wanted to eat, I wouldn’t say that I felt hungry because the journey to Iraq occupied every aspect of my mind and there are very few moments like these (except while rockclimbing) where I truly put all of my attention in the present. The food was flat bread, sugary chai and soup that had flavors I have tasted before, but still to this day I have no idea what was in it; the food wasn’t that memorable to be honest.
I really wanted to stop by Mosul, Iraq’s second largest city, but due to security reasons at the time I couldn’t visit. Besides, there was a strong U.S. military presence in the city and at the time of this writing, it was Iraq’s most dangerous city. I was more afraid of being stopped by the U.S. military than anything else (imagine the red flags that would have been flown finding a redheaded American boy traveling in Mosul by himself). Mosul is a city that, when it is more stable and safer to travel to, shouldn’t be missed for its history and mixture of Arab and Kurdish culture.
The best and most intimidating check-point was near the outskirts of Irbil (Hawler). The dust blocking the sun, and tall Kurdish soldiers armed to the teeth with checkered scarves covering their faces to block the dust was quite intimidating; what I would have done for a picture.
The soldier asked for our identifications with a serious tone, and after glancing over my passport, he and another soldier asked me to step out of the vehicle which made me nervous. Roughly seven soldiers stared at me without the slightest grins for what felt like several seconds, and I could hear my heart beat rapidly as the wind blew violently into my ears.
Then, the soldier who asked me to step out of the car, gave me the international signal for ” welcome brother!”? (something like, ” eyyyyyyyy!”? with a smile). Three of the soldiers hugged me and said in a thick Kurdish accent, ” Amerika! Welcome Kurdistan!”? I laughed as I gave these soldiers bro-hugs, said zorspas (thank you very much). I instantly felt a lot better. The one thing the Kurdish soldiers had in common is that they were all confused as to why I was in their country.
TO BE CONTINUED.
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About the Author: Kevin Post from Orlando, Florida, U.S.A at the age of 18 decided to utilize travel and living abroad as his classroom with aspirations to study in the Middle East, Latin America and to become a wilderness first responder, mountaineering & rock-climbing guide. He currently works at an outdoor retailer while moving to and from Florida and Colombia to be with his wife Tomasa del Carmen. For more information regarding Kevin Post check out his blog www.amanofnonation.com and follow him on Twitter @amanofnonation.
Article Series - The Road to Halabajah
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Categories: Iraq
Post tags: blogsherpa, Iraq, Middle East