City Post: Kurdistan Part Four (Guided Tour Day Three and Departure)

The final day of my tour with Govand was by no means the most interesting from a historical perspective, but it was by far the most beautiful. We would be touring the Hamilton Road, a feat of modern engineering built in the aftermath of World War I during the British administration of Iraq.

Govand picked me up around 8 in the morning to head off on our scenic drive. He had texted me the night before asking if his girlfriend could come with him. She was visiting home from Germany, and we would be visiting some of Iraqi Kurdistan's most scenic spots. I had absolutely no problem with it! Something I have said in the months since this tour is Govand and his brother (who actually owns the guide business) treated me like family from the second we made contact, so getting to meet their loved ones, I knew, would be a great experience.

The Hamilton Road was named after the New Zealand engineer who pioneered its construction, Archibald Milne (A.M.) Hamilton. His job was to build a road connecting Iraq to the border of Iran through Iraqi Kurdistan. This was a stretch of landscape thusfar untouched by modern engineering and impossible to traverse with trains and motorcars as it was predominantly rock mountains and dominated by Kurdish tribes, many of which were in conflict with each other. As a testament to his feat, many parts of the original Hamilton road are still in use to this day. (Hamilton would later write a book about his accomplishment called "Road Through Kurdistan," which, as of this writing, I am in the process of reading).

Before heading too far out of town, however, we stopped at the Sheraswar Monument. This monument consisted of Saddam's last three tanks in Iraqi Kurdistan, all of them destroyed. It was a symbol of Kurdish pride that they were able to fend off the once-most-powerful army in the Middle East. These three tanks were on raised pedestals, with raised turrets pointing over the nearest hill and the Kurdish flag flying proudly above them. And there I was, taking pictures and videos with them. Never in my life did I ever think I would be able to see any remnant of Saddam Hussein, but there I was. I asked Govand what the government in Baghdad thought about the memorial. He said they probably didn't like it, but it's not like they could do anything about it. I mean, fair enough!

On the way to the most scenic parts, we passed through two beautiful stretches of road full of switchbacks to climb the hillside: the Masif Way and Spilk Pass. It was morning, so looking out over the plains as we climbed the hill made for great views. As we passed through the switchbacks, I couldn't help but wonder what it must have been like to have to carve these roads out of the hillside almost a hundred years ago.

On the other side of the Spilk Pass was the Geli Ali Bag waterfall. This was a small waterfall where the river starts its descent into the canyons that lead to Rwanduz. It wasn't big by any means, but it was still a beautiful site. Govand showed me that this waterfall was even on the 5,000 Iraqi Dinar note. There weren't many people there at the time, but he told me that in the summer it is full of people on any given weekend. It was a popular getaway spot for all Iraqis. They would even damn up the river near the waterfall so that the pool would grow to accomodate more people. Having experienced the Iraqi summer in Baghdad years before, I could definitely see how this would make for a refreshing summer getaway.

Shortly after the waterfall was what remained of the original Hamilton Road. A few years before, the Iraqi and Kurdish governments created the modern bypass to handle traffic heading through the canyon, but, up until then, the Kurds still used the original road. It was literally carved out of the side of the mountain, with some parts having overhands from the cliffside. It was beautiful and pituresque with the river below and the Kurdish flag above. I couldn't imagine taking a modern car down this road, but, then again, it was amazing what one could do when they had no choice.

A bit further on, we came to the Rwanduz Canyon. If I thought the original Hamilton Road was beautiful, it had nothing on Rwanduz. The city was built between two large gorges on a plateau and had a winding road that led up to the front entrance. At the foot of the plateau, overlooking one of the gorges, was the bust of A.M. Hamilton, a folk hero in his own right. Govand told me that A.M. Hamilton had written a book about his experience building the road, and in it he said that crossing the Rwanduz gorges was the hardest part of the entire endeavour. Not being an engineer, this amazed me, because it didn't seem like itt would have been harder than the original road. Of course, there was a long drop to think about that probably had something to do with it!

We hiked a ways through the gorge. Govand told me that it can be dangerous in the winter, because the rain and snow make it very slippery to hike too far. Bummer for me. Guess I would just have to return in the Summer! Govand laughed at that, and told me it would take several hours to hike the whole thing.

In Rwanduz, he showed me the hotel his brother was building. It was still bare bones at the time, but I don't think anyone could have asked for a better view from a hotel in Iraq! All of the guest rooms had balconies that looked out over the opposite gorge. There was a waterfall in the distance, a river below, and a nice breeze the made its way through the canyon. I would absolutely stay there one day.

Before too long, we were making our way to the Bekhal Waterfalls. Like the Geli Ali Bag waterfall, this was a popular tourism location in the summer. Even though it was summer, it was still pretty packed with people. It reminded me of Branson, Missouri, of all places. There were mom-and-pop shops set up all around, lining the walkway that straddled the river. Even in the low season, the water was crashing down the cliff, spraying everyone and everything with mist. Just as with the other waterfalls, the entire area in front of it would be filled with water in the high season.

Govand took me up some steps that led up the waterfall. With every new stoop, we found ourselves at a new café where the water from the falls flooded the floor. On a hot summer's day, this had to be a nice place to be! Govand's girlfriend told me that sometimes she didn't even feel like she was in Kurdistan in the summer, because there were so many tourists from all over Iraq visiting. That must be a sight to see!

If I thought the original Hamilton Road was beautiful, then the drive away from the Bekhal Waterfalls was absolutely stunning. The road rose up the mountain side and gave spectacular views of the surrounding canyon. At one point, Govand stopped so we could take pictures. I told him that there was no way that I was going to get my dad to come to Iraqi Kurdistan, but if I did, he would have sat in his lawn chair and just stared out at the canyon saying, "My ain't it pretty out here," all day long. It is beyond my ability to convey just how beautiful of a scene it all was.

On the way back to Erbil, we stopped for lunch and to explore a Christmas market. I hope Govand will forgive me for not remembering the name of the town, but, then again, maybe then it will stay a little known Kurdish secret! The market area was a blocked off road on the weekends that very much reminded me of some places I had seen in Europe. Families were just out for a stroll, enjoying the Christmas break and pleasant weather with each other. I noticed a young girl dressed in a sort of Western goth getup, with a black skirt, tall black boots, and a beanie.

I asked Govand about how the Kurds feel about all of the Western influences after the 2003 invasion. He told me that, as a whole, the Kurdish people are accepting of the Western influence. It has been good for their part of the world and economy, and, quite frankly, the Kurds had bigger problems than how people decided to dress. Of course, he said, the older generation didn't like it. They felt as though the rising generations were losing touch with Kurdish tradition, culture, and values. Even then, we didn't really see older men wearing traditional Kurdish attire as a part of their everyday dress in the cities (although we certainly did in the countryside).

This led to one of the most interesting, impactful, and short conversations he and I had. He told me that the Kurds had long since decided that there were bigger community problems than how people dress or what religion people were. In Kurdistan, people dressed how they wanted (albeit, modesty was still the cultural norm) and believed what they desired. All were welcome. He told me that there are people whose religion he doesn't even know, despite asking, because the response was, "It doesn't matter. I am Kurdish." I could see his point. They were surrounded by people who wanted to eradicate them, from the Arabs in Iraq to Islamic State to the Syrians, Turks, and Iranians, and even rival Kurdish factions in some areas. The last thing the Kurds needed was to divide themselves along religious or other lines when what they really needed was to bind together as one Kurdish community.

At around 15h30, Govand dropped me off at MyHotel, and we said our goodbyes. I was leaving for Turkey in a day, so I wanted to rest up before my wake up at 2 in the morning.

That wake-up was more interesting than I wanted it to be.

I woke up early in the morning to a text from the First Sergeant I knew in Syria. He told me that there was a serious attack going on and to keep my head down, because it was bigger than what they had been seeing. That was all the way in Syria, though, so I thought nothing of it. I headed to the airport in my taxi, passed through all of the layers of security (and accidently broke my good watch in the process), and checked into my flight. I was even upgraded to an aisle seat in an exit row.

By the time I arrived at my gate, however, the flight was canceled. That was all of the information they had, and we had to re-enter Iraq through immigration and customs. Fortunately, there were plenty of immigration workers lounging around (as was typical in Middle Eastern countries), so the process actually went pretty efficiently. They invalidated our exit stamps and that was that. I was officially back in Iraq.

It was about this time that I got a text telling me that Spectre Gunships were being called in to deal with the attack. I still didn't think anything of it. My next priority was to get on the next available flight to Istanbul. The Turkish Airlines official was absolutly unhelpful. He told us to come back at about 11h30 to try to get on the next scheduled flight. Try? I wanted my seat! I liked Iraqi Kurdistan, but I'd already been there a week and was ready to move on.

It was about this time that I ended up talking to another guy on my flight. He told me that his friend texted him from the plane we were supposed to be on saying that it had been turned around en route from Istanbul to Erbil. That's when it hit me: the airspace had been closed. Spectre Gunships were raining holy Hell down upon terrorist attackers, and, to be safe, the entire airspace had been closed to civilian traffic. That made a lot of sense. I certainly didn't want to be anywhere near a Spectre Gunship in the air when it was getting down to business.

The airline told us they would take us back to our hotel and pay for the room, but I really didn't feel like 1) going through all of that security again just for a few hours in a hotel and 2) fighting the crowds to get on the next flight. I wanted to be first in line, so I just stayed at the terminal. I had breakfast and coffee at the cafe, watched a movie, and even took a nap. That all turned out to be wholly unnecessary, because the "try to get on the next scheduled flight" instructions were a load of nonsense. We were getting on our flight that afternoon. It had just been delayed eight hours.

I ended up spending lunch with an Iraqi couple I met while in line for our tickets. The man was a dual Iraq-Iran citizen, and was telling me the horror stories of his travels across the region. As soon as any security officer found out he was half Iranian, he, his baggage, and his wife were suddenly subject to obscene levels of scrutiny. They told me they were going to Turkey with hopes of moving there to get away from all of the discrimination he was experiencing in the region.

I didn't end up with my exit row this time. I was in the window seat in a full row next to two drunk Turks. They had brought their own bag of mini bottles on the flight, despite being told not to, and promptly consumed them all. Eventually they passed out, trapping me in the window seat. I eventually got up and moved to an empty row. I didn't like being next to obnoxious, drunk people.

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