Hats @ Bazaar Sirwan

After the last trip to the carpet shop of 2006 (for me to buy a last minute gift for S in London), we continued to the hat shop for O to buy gifts for relatives in France. This picture should really feature S as well as O as it was S who discovered the wonderful hats at the bazaar... but she had already left on her UK get-away. O had been indoctinated into the joys of scarves (a la Arafat- dare I write this?) and hats by S the week prior to S's departure. Note our pleasant salesman. He is pictured to give a few lessons to A. who could practice his scarf-winding technique before embarking on another journey in his Aga-suit (if you know the real name of these outfits, please let me know... sorry A if I have offended).

The elderly gentlemen's club

So H and Mu cooked and we sat around and ate and talked crap. A typical evening at the elderly gentlemen's club. This was the night after Shaklawa. But all evenings here are the same. No need to document. O may have pictures of Mi and me (and others) dancing with linked pinkies.

Shaklawa

OK, so I am very late posting. These pics were taken on Friday, Dec. 16th on an impromtu trip to Shaklawa.Pic 1 is our trusty driver MU is his Monica!

Pic 2 is of the streetside market where we stopped for almonds, water and beer.




Pic 3 is of the road...










Shawklawa is amazing, although very hard to take photos which really show the contrast of the red earth, the valleys, the green, and....










The final pic fails to show how very cold we were when we arrived and discovered it really was too cold to drink the beer we bought. However, it was all in all a very enjoyable trip. Can't wait to go again! Will wear hiking boots and a warm jacket next time.

The fake Sheraton

So I have always maintained that I am a lousy cook… partly because I don't do it very often… especially the last few years, but I was starting to relearn… until I discovered the joys of the fake Sheraton – a place that some prefer to avoid. It is overpriced (meaning that it likely will cost more than $10.00 for a meal - with a few bottles of wine, over $100- and hence many can't consider eating there). I toohad planned to boycott it… until I discovered they had dai vata and other Indian delicacies on the starter menu. Now I worry I may have overdone it as
I went tonight and the staff at the bar greeted me by name and informed me my friends weren't at the bar, but in the Chinese restaurant.

Hawler Wedding Banquet

So what happens at a Kurdish wedding in Hawler? I still don't know as I seem only to come in part way through. At this particular wedding, I experienced the banquet part. I don't know if and when there is an actual ceremony (I guess it was before I arrived), but at the banquet, guests sit and the bride and groom visit each table to shake hands and take pictures with the guests. Then there is Kurdish dancing where guests form lines and hold hands by thier pinkies and dance. Finally the food comes, big trays full of fried meat... and big surprise, there is no champagne to toaste the happy couple... in fact, no alcohol of any kind.... I enjoyed the wedding immensely, but had to go out and eat again afterwards as I couldn't manage any of the food on my plate at the banquet.

Iceberg, Ice tea, Ice cube… Eskimo

Or was the last 'term of endearment' ice cream'? I certainly was called all of these by a certain Kurdish gentleman who was irate over the fact that he had surreptitiously slipped me his number one night and that I hadn’t used it. I thought that it was obviously a greater likelihood that I wouldn’t, seeing as we have no common language with which to communicate over the phone. (Hence the comment that 'Eskimo' is not really a term we use anymore was silly and wasted.)

To make matters worse, he then produced a picture (which he had snapped via cell phone and printed out on a color printer) and further complained (in front of people!) that he looked at my picture every night before sleeping… and that I hadn’t called: and then again with the ‘iceberg, ice cube, ice tea'… Me! Is this a Kurdish notion of romance?

View from the top

Last weekend I finally made it to the rooftop of the university! This first picture is of the mosque. It is just visible from my office window (to the right).

This is a street scene further right of the mosque.



This is the view of what you might see from the offices on the other side of the hall. If you look in the center of the picture, the sandy structure in the distance is the Citadel.


This is the view directly in front of my window. If it wasn't so dark, you'd be able see that the sun is setting over the prison!

Bales at Lenga

Italian leather shoes soaking in tubs of water and stuffed to regain original shape, Parisian coats with fur collars, American quilts and Korean silk and cotton futon blankets… Do they all come out of bales like this? Does the UN just drop them here? However, it works... S and T find the best stuff here and D has been a fan for a while.


Seeing as most things at this market are second-hand, some locals scorn it... But if you want real leather shoes for women, or a stylish coat, this is probably your best bet. The other markets, while they have nice shoes for men (S noted this), the bulk of women's shoes are non-leather plastic-soled made-in-China deals... and the clothes - synthetic and shipped over from Turkey.

Inshallah Airlines

Those of you waiting for news of S and T… I am sorry. It has been hard not only due to poor connections, but also because we have all been busy of late… and worse! My update will have to state that S and T have suffered extrodinarily prior to leaving on vacation. This suffering is not only from work stress (their own, mine and everyone else's) but also from the stress of extreme exasperation over travel bookings.

Where else but here are bookings changed near to the last moment... and without warning? Only on calling the airlines of their own accord were they informed of the changes. This happened not only once, but twice! And what of connecting flights? What about the cost of penalties for changing flight times every time 'Inshallah Airlines' decided to change the flight schedule? Hmmm... Lucky for S and T, God must have willed it so, because they were able to fly out on Tuesday! It is so quiet here now. I miss them and have to admit, I have not moved some of the things S left on my kitchen table for me to use in her absense as it reminds me that she will be back soon. But then again, I will also leave on Friday. I will spend 2 weeks in London and expect that all of my flights will leave without any hitches. (I could not let the lessons learned from T and S's experience go unacknowledged and have booked on Austrian Airlines instead). I anticipate my only problem will be dealing with Heathrow immigration when they see Iraq stamped all over the insides of my passport.... and dealing with angry emails from K in Frankfurt who was excited at the prospect of a visit when I was still planning to travel via Frankfurt with 'Inshallah'. Any guesses which airline now bears this moniker?

Street Scenes

This is a scene from Sirwan Bazaar.


And this is the view from the taxi on the way home. Although the picture may not be of much interest to those outside, this was a different route from the bazaar to New City! We passed through residential areas which was a nice change of pace.

Alienated by technology?

So ironically, after posting about how I syndicated my blog so that you could 'subscribe' and truly get it delivered daily... I stopped posting. Although much has happened over the last week... and which I will return to in upcoming posts: trips to Lenga - a different kind of bazaar, curious meetings at the fake Sheraton and Hawler Plaza, Kurdish food at my home, Kurdish dance lessons/a birthday party in a local women's university dorm (in full Kurdish dress), an incident in S's bathroom which now make her afraid to take a shower, suspicious dissappearance of musician after wild party, Z's promotion to King of the World... and more (badminton and art included), I just couldn't post anything. I have been sitting sad and lonely in the midst of all this due to an innability to get online and stay there for more than a minute or two.

So people think that technology alienates. This could be true for some, but for many of us 'expats', we know better. Friends or family who only live a few blocks away meet up once a week or so... friends and family (when all concerned are living abroad) may spend a few minutes or hours every night on msn, skype etc... Anyway, I now have a more dependable connection at the office, so please post and let me know which of the stories mentioned you'd like to hear first.

Feedburner

This post is just to let you know what the new little icon (that looks just like this one) at the bottom of the right-hand sidebar means. It is a link to feedburner. And what feedburner does is let you 'subscribe' to the 'Daily Hawler'. If you click on the icon in the sidebar, it will take you to the feedburner page, from which you can select to add Daily Hawler to a selection of browser 'homes'. Mine is Google, so I just selected Google, and now when I open my Google browser I can see my personalized page (the space for searching, plus weather in my city and links to the most recent Daily Hawler posts in the upper left corner).

Half-vegetarian

The cafeteria at my workplace is now open! The cooking staff seem to be all from Turkey and the food, it has been promised, will be MUCH better than what can be obtained from ordering it from the 'tea boys'. As there are at least three vegetarian members of staff, it has also been promised that there will be a half-vegetarian option each day. After all, the kitchen manager claims to be a half-vegetarian himself. Now you might be wondering what this 'half-vegetarian' means? Some people go 'half-vegetarian' and eat no red meat, but still consume chicken, fish and eggs. And R thought that maybe it meant that it was food for people with one vegetarian parent and one non-vegetarian parent. Both NOT the case! As it turns out, 'half-vegetarian' means regular menu items with HALF THE MEAT! So on Wednesday, there was lamajun (an Arabic snack conisting of nan spread with sauce and minced lamb - the 1/2-veg version had more spice and half the lamb). On Thursday, there was rice, bread, and salad with an option of 2 entres: eggplant stuffed with beef or green beans cooked with half the usual chunks of meat.

Anyway, I should now apologize for calling the 'tea boys' tea boys. They have names; R & R (not standing for rest and relaxation)! We just call them 'tea boys' because on first arrival, it seems like all they did at work was run around collecting stray tea cups, smoke, teach us random words in Kurdish and wear tight pants.

Healthcare in Hawler: pain in the...

Fed of of being a pain in the ass (for being bitchy and scratchy over a case of extreme itchiness following a carpet buying spree last weekend), I decided to take myself off to the clinic... Or rather I let H (an English speaking brother of our motel complex owner) take me. This was a real experience. First he drove me to a little clinic which was just a big room with about 4 little rooms off of it. In the first little room, I paid about 75 cents for my visit and received a slip of paper with my name and age written on it. Then I waited for my turn at door number 2. The doctor didn't examine me, but just listened to my story and pronounced that I had contact dermititus (this is neither specific nor descriptive) and should get an injection and some allergy pills. Then I went back to the first door to pick up pills, a syringe (and contents) to go to room number 4 (for women). That nurse had gone out for an hour, but the man in the room for men was just leaving on his rickety bicycle. This rather dusty-looking man said he could give me my shot if I liked. I hesitated, then rolled up my sleeve only to find that was NOT where the shot was to go!

Anyway, H suggested we take the injection to another nearby clinic. It was closed. No problem in Hawler, you just bang on the neighbor's door. A little girl came out of the first door and said that her dad was the nurse's landlady and we should go around the corner to the second door.... At that door, we were directed to yet another door. Nobody home. So we just drove around the university area to a home clinic. WOW! A man opened the door into the tiniest clinic I have ever seen. A stone sort of room attached to a house with two uneven 1 meter benches built into the wall and covered with colorful blankets with just enough room to stand in between; one higher bench (examination table?) was in the center at the back of the room with just enough room to stand on either side - also covered with colorful blankets. The man prepared the syringe and went to get his wife. She - dressed as colorfully as the blankets and looking serene in a mauve scalloped headscarve - took the syringe. I felt a little worried as she rather looked more like your stereotype of a 'gypsy' fortune teller than a nurse. The two men stepped outside the clinic and she jabbed it in (intermuscular for allergy patients). OW!

Happy Birthday S

Yesterday was S's B-day. As an unofficial 'gift' from university staff, she got a trip to Shaklawa. Wonderful to get out of the city for a bit, I imagine. (I won't write more on that as I still hope to go myself and be able to supply photos). However, after getting home, she received the best gift EVER from Z - a hot-pink 3 piece track suit with light blue piping and the word Kurdstan emblazoned across the front and emphasized with applique flags. How nationalistic!

Anyway, we then went to Hawler Restaurant (unfortunately S did NOT weat the pink suit - I have major pink suit envy as I have considered the pink J-Lo velour tracksuit more than once). Anyway, the primary thing to mention about the restaurant (aside from the fact the the food and wine were both good - uncommon for Hawler) is that the restaurant was decorated with kilims and local carpets. Imagine S, T and me in such a place... I believe the owner can probably be convinced to part with S's favorite rug at some point in the not so distant future, so who knows, there could be yet another B-day gift to come for S.

Photo Album up

This post is just to inform you that there is a photo album page up on my personal album of some of the scenes around Hawler. If you would like to have a look, just click here.

Snaky Poo

This is the dried up dead snake from S's office. G supplied me this picture some time ago, but I just couldn't upload it due to network problems. Hence the picture gets its own post.

city of mourning

I have lost count of the number of people who have asked, Why Kurdistan? It is a question that most of us have asked each other more than once; but not in the usual way of expats (to discover what line of work another person is in or if they share any similar interests). It is almost as if the asker is hoping that the other's response could lead to a better understanding of his or her own motives. I imagine that there are people who visit places in or on the edge of war zones out of perverse curiosity; there are also the economically motivated, and those who see the opportunity to carve out a niche for themselves in a newly opened region (become a big fish in a small pond). But for many of us others, I think the reasons - like our individual impressions of this place- are intensely personal.

My impressions: This picture (taken by S) captures some of what I felt when I first arrived and saw a group of black-clad women teetering like crows on a fragile branch in the dark in front of a deserted shack just outside the airport. They appeared to be waiting for something/anything to happen. The other day, when commenting on the disappointment and frustration I imagined some local people must surely be feeling (regarding how long certain types of development were taking), I was told, They are used to waiting.

So maybe we are here to wait alongside the local population and learn patience. Is there any hopefulness or eagerness to truly live that punctuates the later stages of mourning following trauma? In the early stages, what happens when there are setbacks? I hope we are here not to capitalize on the pain present, but to share in the process of moving past it.

Pictures from S's journey to XX

I would love it is S would write something about these pictures as they are from a journey I didn't take. However, I have included them on the blog as I think they are incredible. They are taken at a place that most people here will never get the chance to visit. The woman on the far left in the top photo is the sister of someone S knows from her life in the last country she lived in... It is fitting that I place these pictures here after telling you about the wedding at New City since S described a similar warmth from people in XX as we did with the wedding party members.
The second photo is taken from inside one home and pictures a woman studying in the home directly facing. I think this photo needs no further description.

Bazaar

Woman in Kaftan

There are lots of things I could say about this picture, but I will refrain for the moment and just say that although her carpet purchases may have been good, T had some BAD shopping moments this weekend. Check out the green embroidered kaftan!

Frenzy

Every weekend seems to end with some sort of frenzied carpet shopping mission to the bazaar. Mostly, it is T with the full-on cut-throat FRENZIED shopping attitude. You do NOT want to get in this woman's way! However, this week when we arrived, our little carpet shop man was not present at his shopfront. The boy from a nearby shop brought us tea to enjoy while we waited. However, S (pictured) simply could not wait and crawled up into the piles of carpets and started unrolling them herself! What I have neglected to tell you in prior posts is how terribly dusty and heavy these carpets are! Anyway, as usual, we left with another huge pile... T and S's living rooms are now almost completely transformed into opium dens... as for me, I only bought one small and somewhat raggy, but very pretty floral carpet which may end up in Saint John, New Brunswick someday.

Daily Hawler Reflection and Corrections

In other cities I have lived in, I have neglected to keep any kind of journal. After leaving, I regret. I can remember 'newsworthy' things - the Kobe earthquake and the Om Shinrikyo sarin attacks in the Tokyo subway; tear gassings of students during North Korea support rallies in Myongdong, Seoul and suffering the IMF crisis with everyone else being paid in won. What I struggle to remember are things like green tea Haagen Daas sundays with red bean during summers in Japan, tutoring Park Wan Seo (first Korean female novelist) in English and learning about life during the Japanese occupation, shopping for decadent French imports and watching movies with T at Taipei 101 (currently tallest building in the world)....

Therefore, the postings on this url are purely impressionistic. There are many errors (such an early post claiming that B was from Cardiff - she is Welsh, but not from Cardiff) and there have been a couple of posts which have caused concern - most notably 'A TRULY mad tea 'party'. I would like to clarify. The details on that particular post were most shamefully lifted (almost in entirety) from 'Alice in Wonderland'. I am not cracking at the seams as some people worried. That particular posting was about a really surreal meeting I attended in order to clarify some work-related problems. Any resemblance of the characters to people you know is purely accidental and should be blamed not on me, but on Lewis Carroll. I just felt at the time like I had fallen down some rabbit hole.

New City Wedding 1

Yesterday we went to Nazaarmall as a break from New City... much better! I was a bit hung over, so didn't really enjoy the experience as much as I should have: lots of products not available at New CIty... and the usual shopping frenzy. S found a really pretty plate in a pile of random patterns... It was the only one, and T (deciding she like it too) started rifling through them like a madwoman. In the end, S had to give it to her.

On the way out, we ran into B and decided to share a cab. After arriving home, we were suprised to see a wedding party celebrating on the grass right inside the gate. I was greeted by these two little girls. I wanted to take their photo, but I had no camera... I quickly ran home to get it, but on returning found that there was no memory card in my camera. This was taken after a second trip to my ugly green bungalow.

New City Wedding 2

These women were lovely. After having their photos taken they each individually wanted to look at the photo, and put their arms around me.

New City Wedding 3

At this point, I had to escape the melee because everyone wanted to either take a photo with me... or have me take their picture. As my camera battery died, I beat a hastry retreat... to find S and Z standing on the sidelines laughing because T had been dragged into the crowd of merry-makers and had people tugging at her from every direction. Sounds much like the community S met when she went to XX (see October's archives).

Dear T in Canada,

I have heard that you are not satisfied with the contents of Daily Hawler due to there not being enough material directly concerning T in Hawler. My reply to you is that that your criticism has been duly noted... and is henceforth disregarded for three important reasons:

1. To be honest, as far as people go, I believe that T's is actually already the most prominently featured face!
2. T works in a different department than me... and I am not her keeper; therefore, if she decides to take a little break from me every now and then (although it is hard since we live opposite each other), then I can't help the fact that I have no new information to post regarding her comings and goings.
3. THIS IS MY BLOG! Now if I were to adjust that and focus only on T, S's friends and family might be disappointed on the lack of S's feature time on the blog. As it is, my friends actually ask me, "Are you sure this is your blog?" Although I hate photos of me, I actually had to post one a few days back to confirm that this is really my blog.

Well, I hope my answers have satisfied you. I can however, try to assist you in your quest for more info about T by pressuring her to start her own blog. In the meantime, since I am the only New City blogger, I think it would be great if you (and friends of other Hawler inhabitants/regular readers) would kindly post comments on the blog. If you ask direct questions, I will try to answer in following posts.

Finally, I would like to thank all of you who DO post comments and make me feel like I am not alone here in the midst of all the nothingness that is happening in Hawler (S & C in London, W in Yokohama, Z a few houses down... ).

Best Regards,
M (writer, editor and producer of Daily Hawler)

Deadly viper attacks S in office

OK... this title may be slightly sensationalized, but the story is second-hand and I should be able to recount it as it unfolds in my imagination. Apparently, at some point this afternoon, S entered her office and spied the scaly serpent curled up in the corner of her office ready to strike. I wasn't there, but inside my head, I hear S scream - a scream which brought several other staff running to her aid. R stumbles in first, but merely squints at the snake (which you should assume has still not attempted to strike) and says, "Oh S, that's not a snake, it's an electrical cord". You might be thinking that either the snake is extremely small, or R needs glasses... or even that R is right and S just has an overactive imagination. G then enters and documents that it is in fact a snake and not an electrical cord by taking a picture. The snake does not move... in fact, the poor thing is dead.

Later, Dr.? who has heard about S's traumatic experience asks her about the snake's appearance... perhaps to try and determine whether or not it was of the venomous variety. S answers that is was small, coiled up and rather resembled 'some kind of poo'. This sounds like a preposterous thing to say to a VIP such as Dr. ?; however, it has become a kind of catch phrase here for whatever reason... perhaps because (as Dr. Z once pointed out), the gas feeding the kitchen elements stinks like 'some kind of poo'.... and in fact, many people seem to have become amateur scatologists due to the havoc local water/food is having on their digestive systems.

Anyway, back to the snake... Unfortunately I have not had the opportunity yet to obtain that photo from G, but I have looked up "Snakes in Iraq" to discover that there are indeed poisonous snakes in the region. I wonder if S can identify the one in her office from this site... And I wonder if G also has a picture of the scorpion he said he saw in his bed. Hmmm...

Connected

OK, so the truth is, it isn't so easy to find English newspapers... neither is it easy to keep connected (via wireless) long enough to chat via skype or even send an email... I really work hard to keep uploading photos to this site since I have to wait for opportune moments when the connection is obliging. However, one thing I never lack for is TV news coverage. The photos below are all taken from the Citadel. In these photos, it should become clear that no matter what the living condition, there is always one ubiqitous item to be seen - a satellite dish. I don't believe that I have EVER had access to so many TV channels in my life before. BBC World, American talk shows, Turkish sitcoms... Too bad that in relation to the news concerning this part of the world, I have no way of understanding the news on those channels from Jordan, UAE, Turkey, Lebanon, etc. And I wonder what picture of life overseas is being constructed here from the broadcasting of "Friends" reruns. Hmmmm... Living here in in this complex, I think that "Lost" would be a better choice since I sometimes wonder if I am living some sort of psychological experiment.

Saturday afternoon at the bazaar

After coming home from my early morning trip to the Citadel, S confronted me and let me know in no uncertain terms that I must work harder to wake her up to go with me next time! Anyway, we gathered Z and returned to the area below the Citadel. We started with a walk around the bazaar and tea at the shop mentioned in the post 'Heart of Hawler'. This was nice as it gave me the chance to sit in a tea shop and read. S was occupied with reading and watching people watch/draw us. Maybe I should bring my sketchpad next time? This first photo shows the tea shop. The entrance is under the pink sign left of the shop selling machine-made carpets that look nothing like the ones in the Kurdish Textile Museum (see below). Some have portraits of religious and folk figures on them. Imagine prominantly displaying such a rug in your home!

After tea, we returned to the bazaar... I am sure you already know where! Luckily we managed to refrain from yet another carpet buying frenzy. This fuzzy picture (taken by the young guy who owns the shop across the way) shows Z, me, S and the carpet shop owner drinking tea and contemplating possible purchases.... CALMLY! (You might not recognize Z due to the lack of facial hair, but he assures us it will grow back within a week).

This final picture is one that Z took of me. This is to let you know that this really is my blog and that I have not delegated the posting to someone else in the community.

Saturday morning at Qelay Hawler

This morning I got up early to go to the Citadel (Qelay?) to revisit the 'castle' and take photos. What a shame that no one wanted to get up that early. So I slept in a bit more and then decided to go for a walk... which turned into a taxi ride to the Citadel after all- but to see the museum (which still wasn't open at 8:00). Instead I went to find some water at a local corner store which wasn't crowded with school children on thier way to school.

At 8:30, the Textiles Museum opened and I met the owner... a wonderful guy who explained about the Erbil plains and the carpets/kilims made by the tribes of the region. He has been collecting them for his museum for the last 15 years since it is an art form which is no longer practiced. This picture is taken at the museum.

A TRULY mad 'party'

Do you remember reading about a tea party hosted by the Hatter? At the moment, I am finding life here as confusing as that party. Imagine a dangerously naïve and perhaps somewhat sullied Alice sitting amongst a bunch of other Alice-like beings - also dirtied and in the process of becoming more so by circumstance of having stumbled into (or forcing a way into) a party the likes of what was unfolding. And to be truthful, the party is not much like a party. The Hatter jockeys the March Hare for recognition of the title of host. But beware, the diminutive Dormouse who appears to be sleeping under the weight of both the March Hare and Hatter’s collective elbows, is also exercising some passive aggressive methods of control. 'Wine' is offered, but then it turns out not to exist… how rude! Everyone is speaking, but with no coherence and topic-changing seems as random and misplaced as the insults. Alice sits silently while thinking it is the stupidest tea party she has been to in all her life. She does not even admonish the Dormouse nor anyone else for that matter on the inadvisability and rudeness of making personal remarks, thus becoming further blackened… What next? Perhaps she will be off to beg the Queen of Hearts for assistance or understanding.

Friendly readers, you do not have to comment on this post as it is just a reflection of my current state of frustration. It is now the weekend here and I hope to do something positive, interesting and postable TOMORROW (there's that word).

Beyond Spinack

When I walk down the little shopping street closest to the motel, the vegetable sellers see me coming, cringe and avert their eyes. And the worst part of this is, I am not in any way innapropriate, either in dress or behaviour. The problem lies in the fact that I have asked for something which they don't have in stock, and may never stock and may not even know what it is... but if one of these vegetable stand men does happen to accidentally make eye contact with me, he will nod and say, 'Spinack... tomorrow... Tomorrow spinack!' He may as well add a little "Inshallah" because it is my belief that it is His will that I not obtain the much desired spinach.... unless I want to pay about 10,000 dinars for a Palak dish at the fake Sheraton.

OK, so why harp on about the damned spinach you may be asking... well, the truth is that this is a matter much weightier than the lack of spinach in my neighborhood. The question to anything is likely to be, 'TOMORROW'! But as you may guess, this tomorrow takes a great many tomorrows to arrive. This makes everything from getting something photocopied, cashing a check, booking a ticket, to planning a language program and administering a university very difficult.

Saddam is sentenced...

...and it would seem to me that today Hawler celebrated. I went to Ainkawa after work today to experience the worst traffic since I have arrived. It took an hour to get to a place which should have taken no more than 20 minutes. Not only that, the regular beeping of horns sounded more joyous somehow. Everyone was out celebrating? On BBC World, we saw pictures of Iraqis in Baghdad protesting the verdict. How surreal! It was certainly not the atmosphere here today.

Heart of Hawler

I had lived amongst the jumble of sand-colored buildings that seem to tumble outwards from the center of the city for almost a month without ascending the citadel that sits at its core. At midday Friday, we were invited into an old and famous tea shop sitting in the shadow of the statue you see above. This statue quietly contemplates the frantic comings and goings in the bazaar below and although I cannot tell you who the statue represents, I have been told he is a poet. This seems appropriate as I sit in the tea shop which is filled with young and old men (we are the only women) engaged in philosophical debate (I romanticize). There are shelves of what appear to be literature, poetry and other tomes of academic interest behind the counter and I have been told that many like to play backgammon here.

It is while surveying this scene that we decide to climb the tell and see what is inside the inner walls of the city. It is at the top of these layers and layers of civilizations that I first tasted my first Hawler calm. I also felt something intense and personal which I suspect is associated with my own complex relationship with the past (real and imagined). Here I felt, despite nomadic tendencies, connected to history. Although not born anywhere in or near this region (and my ancestors are still something of a question mark for me), the land beneath me owned me.

This story is to be continued anther day....

Cart full of carpet therapy.

After a morning spent chasing a bag left in a taxi (see below post) and returning to find all shops closed, we finally found our carpet shop. Clearly it was open as those are our purchases loaded onto the cart waiting for a taxi. But even this wasn't enough. As with the last trip to the bazaar, S immediately wanted to return for a few more... which we did!

Lost & Found

When I tell you the story I am about to tell, those who know me well won't believe that it happened to 'a friend' and not me.... but it did! Being the first weekend after payday, a few of us decided to return to the bazaar for some intense retail therapy. And it truly WASN'T me who left a handbag containing... well EVERYTHING IMPORTANT in the back seat of the cab. After the vehicle pulled away from the curb, S's face froze and she must have muttered a certain 4 letter word at least 10 times before screaming at me to ring her. I pulled out my cell phone to ring her mobile- which was still in her handbag with her wallet full of cash and credit cards (not that there is a use for credit cards here) and possibly her passport. No answer. I rang again. No answer. I rang 15 times non-stop.

What are the odds that a non-English speaking taxi driver would pull over, search for the mobile in a woman's handbag and answer it knowing full well that the owner and none of her party spoke Kurdish? He did! After unsuccessfully trying to explain to him that we were still where he dropped us, I panicked, flapped my arms at the nearest taxi driver on the street and handed him my phone. As it turns out, the driver (Mahmoud) was the other driver's friend. He had us jump into his cab and drove us to where the first driver had pulled over.... a considerable distance. S retrieved her bag. The first driver refused to take any money for time wasted while waiting for us. And Mamoud, lovely man, took us all the way back to the bazaar again and tried to give back the money we offered him even though it was just the fare for the return trip from the bazaar and back. Although it is easy to interpret some of the attitudes of people on the street as hostility, you can see we also encounter lots of warmth and honesty in everyday dealings. But just in case of emergency, we now have Mamoud's number stored in our mobiles.

Hallowe'en in Hawler

For your enjoyment, I am posting a picture taken by G on Oct 31st. The wicked witch is T, the good witch is S; the woman without obvious costume is unknown to me; I am the ghost and Z came as a pirate. Anyway, the gathering was a D's since the invite list and invitations came from her 6-year-old. The guests (aside from me and my colleagues) were from S University here in Hawler. Three of them were English teachers and surprisingly, it would seem they were possessed of fewer teaching resources and functioned with less organization than us. Allegedly, all of their materials were downloaded off of the Internet and arranged into a photocopiable book by their director. They taught no more than 12 hours a week as they wanted to spend the rest of the time learning KURDISH! When I heard this, my initial feeling was a pang of envy... then I remembered their real purpose for being here and understood. Missionaries- all of them! Just what this place really needs!

Lack of safety in Hawler due to Chinese (!!!) negligence

So one of the things eveyone asks about life here is, 'Is it safe?' It is a difficult question to answer. I mean, despite my writing words like menacing, machine guns, security, etc. in my blog, I haven't really felt unsafe... until early this week. The picture above is of the socket outside my apartment where the washing machine plugs in. Apparently something (water on the plug? Who knows...) caused the socket to blow and started an electrical fire which was stopped by the breaker box in my room. We gave the adaptor to the owner who looked at it scornfully and muttered, 'China!'

Later in the week, S was cooking and the plastic bit covering the lightbulb in the fan over the burners melted during normal cooking activity and came off. When she raised her hand to show me, I realized that I had a matching bit of plastic in my room that I hadn't recognized for what it was. I just threw it under the kitchen sink... close to where the gas tank for the burners is located. Incidentally, all of our gas tanks seem to leak slightly since all of the rooms smell like gas when we first arrive home from work. I wonder when insurance companies will open in Hawler and be ready to start insuring homes and lives in Kurdistan. I am thinking about buying a home in Turkey and insuring my life while I am at it.

Bimbalo Bazaar Jadesirwan

I’m not sure, but I think the title of this means “I want to go to the Citadel Market.” Anyway, it worked and the taxi driver took us to the right place. All day, S kept saying things like, “I love this place” and “This is the best city in the world!” Actually, I think we both had a GREAT day today. We bought a few silly things to make our motel rooms more livable; carpets, kilim wall hangings, wooden hangers, scarves (which we are using as table clothes, doilies, etc). The kilims and carpets were incredibly cheap! We didn’t have enough money and will have to go back; S has her sights on an incredible antique Persian runner for $50.00! And being a carpet enthusiast (hence knowing a good carpet when she sees one), she reckons the same thing would run about $1000.00 in Australia. (I saw some nice ones from Sulemaniyah- can't wait to go there).

After coming home, S wanted to return to the bazaar with more money, but instead we went to New City with T (pictured holding Kat Kat Tat... a sweet we saw advertised on a billboard on the way to the border). We collectively bought all the ingredients for ‘Mercimek Corbasi’ (Turkish lentil soup served with lemon, mint and paprika). It was fabulous! Unfortunately, T couldn’t partake as she was out with the conductor of the Iraqi Symphony Orchestra and a local poet, but will have hers tomorrow. S and I may return to the market tomorrow. Life is good.

Unpleasant and Highly Dirty (Friday, Oct 27th)

This was a comment on the food of in local street restaurants by one of the university staff... Perhaps that is why I had a bit of bit of a nasty day? The evening before I started feeling less than hot. At 2:00am, I had to get up for a small bout of projectile vomiting (no exageration)… and then again at 4:00am. The rest of the night was spent fighting the urge, although it probably would have been better to get whatever it was out of my system- some kind of virus undoubtedly. As I am not prone to vomiting, the cold sweat and faintness were unsettling. By morning (7:30) I was exhausted and texted S and T to ask to let them know I was ill (so they might help me get to the Korean hospital – apparently the best in the city). G, who actually knows where the hospital is, has no cell phone... and A, who speaks Kurdish, was clearly still sleeping. As it turns out, T was off to meet a friend – a human rights activist and editor of a left-leaning newspaper. I would love to tell you his story, but I am not at liberty in this public space. But S (although possibly disappointed we couldn’t go to the bazaar as planned) took care of me and I didn’t go to the hospital.

S. comes back from XX (Thursday Oct 26th)

So the night we came home, S’s dishes were left on her counter and her clothes still in the washer. We couldn’t reach her by mobile and of course, some of us panicked… just a little. But as it turns out, she got an invitation to visit XX. I didn’t go so I can’t write much about it, but it turns out that the experience was worth coming here for. XX is a refugee camp for Kurds from Turkey… but apparently there is also some affiliation with a local political party – something M didn’t know as she sat on the floor the clay/brick houses (with makeshift plastic sheet windows) with the locals, drinking their water, eating from plastic table clothes rolled out on the floor and listening as they sang and conversed in Kurdish. Total immersion… and the total opposite experience of those of us who were living high in Diyarbakir.

Taxi to Erbil (Wednesday, Oct 25)

If you ever have the chance to read the film by the same title, please comment here! My connection at home is such that I can't download anything and I often lose connection partway.

Anyway, so I am home safely. We started on our way at about 7:30am from our hotel in Diyarbakir. To be honest, I was a little eager to be back... as much as I had been enjoying the high living in our 4 star hotel. Our driver for the first part of the journey was the same driver (white minivan pictured) who took us to Hasankeyfe - someone arranged for us by Ahmed when he visited the mayor of Diyarbakir. This was one of the great parts of traveling as a group; the trip to the border is about 3-4 hours and $140 US. I think this would be the same cost as traveling alone by yellow cab. This time we took a different route that the way in- a route that seemed longer, but more picturesque including cotton and corn fields and the Syrian border. It was much like the North/South Korean border with two barbed fences with a no-man's-land protected by mines and military patrol in between. Syrian Kurdistan from this vantage point looked much the same as the Turkish side.

It was already about midday when we finally we reached the border and of course the customs officers were having lunch. As on the way in, we have to transfer to taxis with special permits for border crossing (you can't walk through). The taxis are $40 US to travel a very short distance, but they do all the paperwork for you, including photocopies of passports. So the taxi drivers all gather around the cusoms window jostling and fighting with each other... and when the officials do show up, the fight and jostle some more to be the first to slap the official on the back with one hand, shake the other and kiss on both cheeks. Many hands reach through the window and the processing starts. We pass through this and have our passports checked a few more times (although less than exiting Iraq) and continue on, stopping briefly at a point a little ways in for our own lunch.

We pass that area with the Iraqi flags flying and realize that it is essentially the point of the road closest to Mosul (maybe you'ver heard of it?). A sign indicates that it is only 20km in the another direction. We continue on. Who could have thought I would be so happy to see New CIty Motel. Home Sweet Home!

Almost missing Dr. Z

For those of you who have been followıng my blog, you will know all about Dr. Z, aka the 'sleepwalking bellringer'. What you don't know is that just before we departed for Diyarbakır, he left for Istanbul. Today, while sitting on the verandah of a cafe eating cake and ice cream and drinking coffee (something we won't be able to do tomorrow after leaving the Turkish part of Kurdistan), A called up Dr. Z. While I had been feeling tinges of envy that I could not afford to go as far as Istanbul, it seems that Dr. Z was there feeling bored and missing us! Is it possible? (Dr. Z, please feel free to post a comment and contradict me).

OK, the truth is that I am writing this to take my mind off the fact that I will leave tomorrow. SIGH! Today before cake, T and I shopped on the hıgh streets of the Ofis disrict and bought clothes that we would actually wear in London (no polyester). The shopkeeper, who we have named Modern Macho, called his friend from an office above the shop to help him speak English with us. We also received invitations to go clubbing later (which we declined)... Yet this didn't feel like harassment, just attention! Maybe when the upstairs English-speaking guy next visits Erbil (something he apparently does occassionally), we will invite him out to a nightclub... He should plan for 10 years later as that is how long it may take (no exageration) for a nightlife to appear in Erbil. At the moment, New City (which you all know well by now)seems to be the most happening hotspot! I think I will get offline now as we are off to dinner at a place with live musıc this evening. My next post will be from back in Iraqi Kurdistan. Wave goodbye to Diyarbakır. I will miss the friendly Internet guy who has taught me the intricacies of this foreign keyboard.

Good Eid to all!

It is Eid and the city is showing signs of increased energy already after just one day not started without breakfast. There are more children underfoot than pavements... all of them shouting and stuffing themselves with snacks from street vendors, setting off firecrackers, smoking (yes smoking - even those as little as 6 years old!), piling 2 and 3 together onto motorbikes... and most ubiqitous of all, shooting each other and passer-byers with toy guns... one good aim got me in the backside.

Of course many shops are shut today, so T and I went for a pleasant stroll along the city wall. The outer part of the wall is bordered with grass and park benches. Inside, the wall is lined with homes made of stone and plaster painted all sorts of pastel colors with contrasting wooden doors. The green, blue and pink paint somehow looking natural. Maybe because the colors, like the stone, feel cool (as do the courtyards the wooden doors open up into). Not belonging to these small communities, I feel a bit like a voyeur as we walk along these narrow streets.

On the way back, we stopped at Caravan Saray - a hotel which 500 years prior functıoned as a camel stop for travelers on theır way to Iraq and Iran. The man at the gate, Mehmet Nasip Önen, was proud to show us around and offer us tea. He (and his friend who worked in some capacity for UN peacekeepıng forces) were also keen to show us thir ID cards - whıch somehow proved that they were trusted by American and other journalists as guides to Iraq and the surroundıng area and were authorized to carry weapons.

After tea, we continued on, enjoyıng kebab in the street. And now? Now we are now safely esconsed ın the Internet cafe. Tomorrow we will shop as it will be the last chance before retuning to Iraqi Kurdistan.

Hasankeyf

There is a lot for me to cover in this post since Hasankeyf was beyond words, but I am lacking in knowledge and photographic evidence at this moment. Anyway, until I can do some research and download my pictures, I want to let you know that I went to thıs ancient place. Maybe I wıll get lucky and you will do my research for me and post it ın comments here. I found the blog of a photographer who went and stayed longer than I dıd - at least long enough to capture it before the blinding midday sun: http://www.hasankeyf.blogspot.com/

Cotton Fields 20km from Batman

Today A. rented a minivan and we all traveled together to Batman to pick up his brother, niece and cousin. Initially, we (T and I) wanted to opt out since tomorrow is Eid and we wanted another day to shop etc. I am so glad we didn't. We had a great time and saw a lot of the local landscape, not the least being the outer walls of Hasankeyf. Those pictures are coming.

Environs of Hotel Miroğlu

This is my second morning of waking up in a comfortable double bed in a room with matching decor. After tomorrow, Ramadan will be over and I will even be able to order coffee in the lobby any tıme I please to add to the luxury. It has only been two days, but already Erbil feels like something from days long past. The thought of returning makes me want not to travel and explore, but enjoy the smooth sıdewalks here - no need to skip over rubble... I can look longingly at designer sunglasses I can't afford in shops in the bazaar, buy cheap clothes (the ones in Erbil are from Turkey anyway)and spend evenings in restaurants serving cheap and incredibly delicious food ($3.00 US). The 'uniform' for women is much the same as Erbil, long-sleeved tops, full length skirts, headscarves (and even the occassıonal burka - but to a lesser percentage). However, the clothes are tighter, brighter... We pass ATMs and other signs of modernization (not to be confused with Westernization) on the street! We pass markets selling fresh vegetables, ıncluding greens and even fresh herbs. But best of all, music (Kurmanji folk and folk-modern) ıs playing, there are children running amok, girls sitting on the grass by the city wall and showing off their bazaar purchases to each other, women are laughing and people smıle and treat us in a friendly manner. No hostile stares, no hissing or spitting. I guess from this, you may be getting a picture of the less pleasing aspects of Erbil rather than the pleasant side of Diyarbakır.

Overland to Diyarbakır

So I made it the 9 hours of travel to Diyarbakır. In the fırst 3 hours, never had I seen so much naked land... grass not grass-like, but yellow-green lint collecting on a dusty blanket. Mountains lıke old men carved in stone and decorated with dust and shrubs; sharp corners dulled wıth age, half-shaven and with lips pulled back to reveal chipped, broken and missing teeth. Even the little patches of trees stand tight like military ranks with branches growıng straight up, leaving the land below naked and desolate.

We pass towns nested into hills or crouching unprotected on miles of open dust. Every now and then a surge of paranoia adds menace to a quiet scene when someone catches the glimpse of an Iraqi (not Kurdish)flag fluttering above the building shading some burka-ed woman or man in combats.

Dohuk, a city close to the Turkish border, ıs better... From there onwards, every cıty and town seems more colorful and and cheerful than Erbil (Hawler)... and inside, I believe almost all of us are silently deciding not to rush back before we need to.

Now I am in Diyarbakır,Turkey so may take a couple days off from postıng while I enjoy the freedom I have here (plus the Turkısh keyboard ıs frustratıng)... But I will share all the details of the border crossing and the rest soon. Eid gives us an entire week off!