Kurdistan/Irak,a long cherished wish

Kurdistan/Irak,a long cherished wish

The Turkish border demands papers, stamps, waiting, bribes, and more papers. Road tax. The bureaucracy is slow but friendly. Then the barrier lifts. And I drive on. To the border of Iraq and the Autonomous Region of Kurdistan. A border that once meant danger, but now stands more as a symbol of transition: from war to peace, to progress. After about ten minutes, it’s all behind me and I’m allowed into the country. And then comes a surprise: it’s the first day of Eid al-Adha. Everything, literally everything, is closed. I had hoped to take out an insurance policy since mine doesn’t cover Iraq, but there is no office. Here, nobody insures anything. Banks: closed. Shops: closed. Currency exchange? “No have, Sir.” SIM card? “Come back in four days.” In Duhok I take a wrong turn. Navigation isn’t working, but a hitchhiker yanks my door open and shouts, “You going to Arbil?” He doesn’t wait for my “yes” and plops down on top of my maps, my CDs, and my breakfast-leftover lunch. He’s a teacher, a Turkish Kurd, and speaks decent English. In the distance, the city rises. Modern, but with the outline of countless high-rises and an incredible number of gas stations. I’ve read that right in the center of the city there’s still an old Citadel standing. It’s even a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Surrounding it is the bazaar (closed, of course) and a lot of painfully ugly neighborhoods. This is a city where civilization has been going for some 6,000 years, but where you’ll also find trendy coffee bars and shopping malls. Handshakes are fine, unless someone places a hand on their heart. Then you do the same. I’ll see it all. Along the way, I pass large families packed into not-so-large cars, with a sacrificial goat crammed in the back. On and around Erbil’s main square are many images of the late Peshmerga leader Mustafa Barzani. He was the great Kurdish rebel leader, still honored with much affection. Just before I enter the city, one last roadblock. I’m ordered to stop. The man with the automatic rifle smiles. “All good, sir?” My first roadblock, and immediately, perfect Dutch. “Welcome, we Kurds love the Netherlands.”