From:  Bob Keith - Cool Dadio Media - Halabja, Iraq, Tuesday, 2:00 p.m. 17 October 2006.

 

  This drive to Halabja, Iraq was my most sensitive (nerve wracking, precarious) travel yet.  It is only about five miles from Iran.  Halabja is the site of the 1988 poison gassing of the Kurdish people here.  Estimates put the death toll at 5,000. But who really knows.  I saw some people with injury and facial burns due to the gassing.  I did not take their pictures out of respect.  I did not want to appear as if I might profit some how from their plight.  Also, it seems inappropriate for tourist photos as well.  But, also I was stopped by soldiers twice and asked for my identification.  They are very sensitive here to outsiders especially since Saddam Hussein's trial is currently discussing the Kurdish genocides done by his regime. 

 

  The bus I was on was detained at one of 10 check points on the journey from Sulaymaniyah because of me, and everyone had to wait until the Pesmerga soldiers figured out that I was an American.  It took longer than usual.  The man sitting next to me read my visa stamp wording from my pass port to one of the soldiers.  What ever language the visa information is in, the soldiers could not read it.  The man sitting next to me read it off and then wiped his brow after the soldiers waved us on. They had their AK-47 machine guns at the ready as this took place. The man that helped with visa language then looked at me as if to say, "we appreciate your taking the effort to visit our nation, but please, next time take a different bus."  The Pesmerga do not mess around. 

 

  I saw the memorial that was dedicated in 2003 to the dead in Halabja and then Secretary of State Colin Powell was on hand for that event.  The memorial has since been wrecked by Kurds mad at the current government management of the area.  I of course, dared not take a picture of the site.  There were guards around it today.  Click here to see this site for information on the Halabja Memorial. 

 

 As usual, I have snapped pictures of street scenes.  Just imagine a couple machine gun toting soldiers every hundred feet or so beyond the scope of the photos. 

 

End of message.

 

Bob Keith - Cool Dadio Media 


    - The grimy streets of Halabja, Iraq 18 years after the poison gas attack.  Photo by 
       Bob Keith, October 2006 -

From:  Bob Keith - Cool Dadio Media - Wednesday, 8:30 p.m., 18 October 2006.

 

  I am back in Erbil, Iraq. It is the capital of Kurdistan of Iraq. The computers are slow here.  I suspect it is because their infrastructure phone lines are old here in the center of the region.  Some of you have emailed me some questions.  I will try to answer your questions a couple at a time via these "list emails" so everyone can get the info.

 

  Probably the best way to answer what is most notable in this part of the world, is actually some absences.  There is an almost total absence of women in any type of role here.  Yes, they often dress modern here in Iraq, but they do not work anywhere that you can see in daily life. If they are out they are just shopping and with the children in tow.  That is hard for a hopelessly American guy to get used to - a total male dominated society.  It is boring and annoying both at the same time. 

 

  There is also an almost total absence of the English language.  There is some words on signage but I do not think anybody knows what it means.  The signs probably come from Europe. Few of the people I have tried to talk to speak to, can even speak a few words of English if any.  Now I understand I am a visitor here and it is not their job here to entertain me in English.  But, much of the world communicates across borders via English. I am just surprised few can speak it. 

 

  There is no American civilians wandering around here in Northern Iraq. I have met none; nor, have I met any Europeans, Chinese, Africans, Russians, etc., etc.  Of course I am aware there are thousands of American military personnel here.  If there are American civilians, they hide well.  I can not say if I have seen any American soldiers.  I am not a war correspondent and it would be inappropriate for me to comment in that regards; that should be an obvious.  I will say however, that it is a weird feeling to see soldiers (not commenting on their nationality) in full combat gear, in body armor, riding in armored-up combat vehicles, and carrying machine guns, and then I myself realizing that I am just wandering around here in a Harley t-shirt and Khaki pants. But then again, jeans and sport shirts is a common clothing for many of the citizens in this country at war. 

 

  Coca-cola and Pepsi are ubiquitous in both Turkey and Northern Iraq.  Both countries have never heard of such a thing as a smoking ban.  I believe you can be beheaded for even suggesting it.  Cigarette shops, cigarette street vendors, and water pipe shops and cafes are plentiful. There is something liberating about watching the kabob shop guy flick ashes in the salad.  Keep in mind I do not smoke, but for some reason I find cigarette smoking cooks a bit of humor in a war zone.    

 

  This is a culture of generators, electric shops, and generator repair shops.  They are needed to keep this society up and running here where the electricity goes out everyday.  This is also a cell phone society.  Everyone has at least two or three.  They do not have always have lights but they can call each other in the dark anytime.

 

  Turkey and Iraq are like America in that they are "car cultures."  Turkey has its buses, but both countries do not have much for rail.  So, many of the people of both countries drive their own cars where they want to go. 

 

  In Northern Iraq there are many cement block structures. They sometimes put a facade over the cement, but it is a war zone and they build things the best they can.  There is construction going on everywhere in Northern Iraq.  There seems to be few official ordinances, and there certainly are no pollution rules, at least non that are followed.  Smog is ever-present. It looks like Chicago in the early 1960s - a constant haze everywhere.

 

  Many men in Northern Iraq and Eastern Turkey wear the baggy pants that I believe is a Kurdish fashion.  Also, all through the whole of Northern Iraq you see the same Baklava pastries and meat kabobs you see in Turkey. Men in both Turkey and Norther Iraq drink tea in tiny class cups.  And they drink it often. It is I suppose, like the ever-present Thermos of coffee in America. 

 

  All over Northern Iraq where no one can apparently stop them, you see the Kurdish map tacked up everywhere.  It makes no bones about the fact that the Kurdistan in the map includes the regions of Kurds in Turkey, Syria, Iran, as well as the part of Iraq I am in.  Good luck World, taking away the sovereignty of the Kurds of Northern Iraq, if that should be some-body's notion.  I think I have witnessed here the broken-up nation of Iraq.  The Iraqi government just the other day made it rather official that three regions of Iraq would rule themselves in 18 months.  The Kurds have run their own show for 15 years since the first Gulf War anyway.  Like I say, did the Iraqi's really have another choice?

 

  The ride to Erbil from Sulaymaniyah was another clinic in "cabbie gone mad."  The driver understood I could not go to Kirkuk.  He at least understood, he would also be killed by the bad guys if he took "me" through that city.  But, what he did do was hit the mountain roads at 75 miles an hour.  At first I thought he was a raving mad-man. But after we passed the third head-on collision in the middle of the road in the mountains, it dawned on me that for these drivers, it is sport.  There was no real reason that people needed to drive 75 miles-per-hour on mountain roads other than it is an adrenaline rush for a culture held hostage by their country at war.  Any psychologists out there are welcome to correct me, but they all drive like crazy-men for no good reason.  They have to stop at all the check points anyway, I sure was not in a hurry, masked be-headers and bombers are all pretty much in Baghdad, and the 50 Dollars I had to pay him was enough for a week's pay in these parts.  So I ask again, "what's the big hurry?"

 

End of Message.

 

Bob Keith - Cool Dadio Media


    - Compared to the constant din of construction and the colors and skyline that goes with
 cities like that under renovation, this picture of Erbil - Northern Iraq's capital and third large
 city - cast a rather menacing persona. Photo by Bob Keith, October 2006 - 

From:  Bob Keith - Cool Dadio Media - Dahuk, Iraq, 2:00 p.m., Friday, 20 October 2006

 

  I thought it might be interesting to show a typical Internet cafe in Northern Iraq.  This cafe in these two photos is not as rough around the edges as some here, but their system is very slow to bring up Web pages. 

 

  The fellow on the right behind the counter was taken to Norway at nine years old in 1992 by his family to escape the war here back then.  He just moved back to Dahuk last year, now as an adult.  The other guy in the picture is his brother who runs the cafe.

 

  The term "Cafe" around these parts does not mean food.  If you are lucky, you can find a cooler of soda pop in the lobby of these Internet "cafes."  You have to get used to serving yourself.

 

  Then completely opposite of the serve-yourself Internet cafes, there are the street shops of various businesses and products.  In those the clerks (99.9 % of the time men) follow you around and watch you make your selections. A friend of mine I used to work with down South used to call that kind of thing back here in America, "someone look'n up-side your head."  Not a good feeling for Americans.  I don't believe they think you are trying to steal something, but rather it is just a cultural habit to participate in the product selection. Often while they wait for you to make up your mind in the selection process they will smoke, and/or cough, and sometimes talk loud to someone else near by, all this while standing very close to you.  I bring this up because these things don't seem to happen in other countries I've been to where women are often the clerks.

 

  This part of the world is a total man-world affair, and the lack of feminine detail and demeanor everywhere is blatant evidence of that. Now I understand there is a war here and feminine ornamentation is low on the priority but the non-militarized areas of Turkey I saw were the same way.  At night after say 5:00 p.m., the streets are packed with men shopping; sitting in sidewalk chairs and people-watching; chain smoking; talking loud; clearing their throats and spitting; and, generally doing man-things that would otherwise be relegated to the man-palace in the garage or basement in America.

 

 I do not believe it could be much fun to be a women traveler here, or must it be much fun for a woman to live here in the Middle East I have seen anyway. Perhaps I am missing the point, but it is sure contrary to the female-inclusive cultures I am used to in Viet Nam, Germany, and America. 

 

End of message.

 

Bob Keith - Cool Dadio Media


    - These are the two fellows from Dahuk mentioned above.  Notice their leader Brazani is
 ever present on the wall.  Also, notice the Kurdistan map conspicuously omits the rest of
 Iraq.  Photo by Bob Keith, October 2006 -


 - The same Internet cafe in Dahuk. Photo by Bob Keith, October 2006 -

From:  Bob Keith - Cool Dadio Media - Dahuk, Iraq, 8:00 p.m., Saturday, 21 October 2006.

 

  I have attached a couple photos that seem to bend the imagination of what a war zone should look like.  There is a strip of businesses here in Dahuk where the street light poles have neon flower ornamentation. 

 

  On that same street is an Iraqi hamburger cafe.  It is their best interpretation of a hamburger.  It is a wrap with a fried egg, some tomatoes, some well cooked meat.  Also the street Gyros cafes are ubiquitous.  Every street seems have a dozen. 

 

  A few days ago I sent out a photo of a toy shop.  They all are loaded with realistic looking toy guns.  At the time it just struck me as an odd thing for a war zone.  How do the soldiers know what is real or not I wonder?  You don't see toy guns much in America these days for just that reason.  I am old enough to remember that once in America all the toy sections of the stores were lined with toy guns. Us kids (mostly boys) then played with them all the time.  But it has been a long time since I lived in that culture. 

 

  Today a boy (about nine years old or so) aimed a real looking plastic machine gun at me and fired.  I had just rounded a corner and was totally taken off guard.  Of course, my teeth just about jumped out of my head.  As I collected myself  and passed him by, I realized he was aiming it at every one who rounded the corner to the amusement of his friends, older brothers, and what looked like dads and uncles.  Welcome to a surreal world, for this American anyway.

 

End of message.

 

Bob Keith - Cool Dadio Media


    - It seems so odd to see normal things like neon street pole decorations and trees planted
in tree wells in the concrete medians.  This is in Dahuk, Iraq.  We are so conditioned about war
zones to not think about what would be normal sights in America.  I find the mind verses reality
contrast stunning.  But then that's why I came to Northern Iraq - to see the unexpected. 
Photo by Bob Keith, October 2006 -

 
    - This is an out door / sidewalk Gyros cafe alos in Dahuk, Iraq.  It is after dark so during
Ramadan the cafes fire up as the sun sets.  It is traditional to not eat during day light hours
during Ramadan. Photo by Bob Keith, October 200 -


    - These little guys and their realistic looking toy pistols are just across the Iraq border in
Turkey.  The culture of realistic toy guns transcends the two regions. 
Photo by Bob Keith, October 2006 -

From:  Bob Keith - Cool Dadio Media - Dahuk, Iraq, 12:30 p.m., Sunday 22 October 2006.

 

  This is an experience I have been sitting on for a couple of days.  But I feel comfortable relaying it now.  I have been changing hotels each night to make my travel more unpredictable to anyone who might wish me harm.  But here like in Viet Nam the hotel people are suppose to write down your passport number on check-in.  I was woken up the other night after midnight by the travel police.  These guys go around and check hotel occupants for bad guys.  Well, it seems the hotel never wrote down my passport number immediately setting off all kinds of bad signals to the ever-vigilant hotel police. Anyway, by two in the morning we had all determined I was indeed an American.

  But, in the process of determining I was not Osama, the travel police discovered that the absent minded stamp guy at the border two weeks ago, had stamped my entry visa 2005 instead of 2006. It took another hour and a call to the border to find the absent minded border guy (thank god for cell phones) to determine I was indeed actually here in 2006 and not just a figment of their imaginations.  Apparently, he stamped the wrong date all that day.  Not my problem, I think.  That your problem!  By three in the morning we have it all sorted out. In the end we are all friends again; I have not damaged U.S. and Kurdistan of Iraq good will; and, I am offered a cigarette and the hotel night clerk is dispatched to make tea for us all at 3:30 in the morning. Jeese!

 

  But here is the amazing thing. I had just traveled 500 mountain miles east across one of the most dangerous places on earth and went through 100 thorough machine gun toting check points; then, I made the journey 500 miles back across west again, and nobody noticed the wrong date on the stamp.  Go figure. 

 

 On top of that it is the end of Ramadan month and all the government offices are closed off and on for a week. I was originally issued a travel visa with permission to stay about two weeks.  I went to the passport office here in Dahuk to get an extension, but of course it was closed.  This could cause some complications in my exit of this country.  However, the people I have talked to so far assure me no body wants to keep me around because of a bureaucratic snafu. I have been assured the office is open today (for some strange reason). 

 

  Fridays are always days off for official offices in this part of the world I think. Some things also seem to be closed on Saturdays.  Their work week starts on Sunday mornings I guess. I guess the government offices are working today to fit in one day of work before the long holiday.

 

  No matter how hard you plan, stuff like this always happens in places like this. I also have a bag of winter gear that so far I have only needed to use just a bit. The warm weather is lingering in this part of the world.  That is another thing you can read about forever but you just don't know until you get there.  Several sources I read, said be prepared for cold weather in October. Today it is 75 Degrees.

 

End of message.

 

Bob Keith - Cool Dadio Media 


    - A typical street in Dahuk, Iraq.  Some people in Northern Iraq look European. 
Northern Iraq has always been a cross roads between Europe and Asia.  The eclectic collection
of residents, and travelers passing through, keep the "hotel police" busy trying to keep tabs
on everyone in their region as the war grinds on.  Photo by Bob Keith, October 2006 -

From:  Bob Keith - Cool Dadio Media - Dahuk, Iraq, 6:30 p.m., Monday 23 October 2006.

 

  One question I was asked quite often before I left for this trip to Iraq was, "Can you even go there - to a country like that?"  To my knowledge, the U.S. government does not forbid its citizens from going anywhere these days. They just put out plenty of travel alerts via various government Web sites. The burden of entry permission to any particular country is on that country.  It is kind of like that sign you see in restaurants in America,"we reserve the right to refuse service to anyone."  So it is, with entering another county. If they don't want you in, they will send you back at the border.  As far as America letting its citizens go to other countries, I believe the general tone is, "You can go where you want, but don't come crying back to us if you are kidnapped, shot at, or worse."  Ok, fair enough, I guess.  Some one out there may know a country you are absolutely forbidden to go to by our government, but I haven't been able to find one on the government Web sites.  

 

  The caveat to travel in a country where a great many people carry machine guns is to do a great deal of research on that country before getting there. And even then, assume it will not have been enough research.  

 

 The Kurdistan Region of Iraq, originally issued me an entry visa so I could visit there for about two weeks. The cost was about one Dollar. The real cost was in the taxi driver who acted on behalf of the government and took me through seven check points in two miles. That cost was 40 dollars.  I had to track down what they call a "Residence Office" here in Dahuk to get an extension on that original visa.  The office was only open it seems on one day in about seven because of the end of the Ramadan holiday season. My visa had expired during all the days the office was closed. Fortunately, I got to the office on the one day they were working and they gave me a week's extension to stay. No one seemed the least bit concerned the old visa had expired during the holiday. Nor, was anyone interested in the minor detail that the original visa was mis-dated 2005 instead of 2006.

 

  While applying for the visa extension I got to see their fledgling bureaucracy in action.  No computers.  Just clerks with stacks of paperwork on their desks.  It is a newer building.  It looks more like a two-story doctor's office than a government building.  It is on a strip of road that sports several new government buildings. The Iraqi flag flies no where in site - only the Kurdistan flag with the big yellow star in the middle.  The absence of the Iraqi flag every where up here is quite a symbolic jester.  People who study the "meaning of symbols" should be all excited.  Any way, I waited two hours and saw three different officials. The visa was re-issued. The only mention of "Iraq" was in the wording on the visa stamp. The whopping cost of the morning's rigamarole, one Dollar and 25 Cents.  I smiled thinking that at that moment, some taxi driver's ears where burning. 

 

End of message.

 

Bob Keith - Cool Dadio Media 

   

From: Bob Keith - Cool Dadio Media - Zakho, Iraq, Tuesday, 5:00 p.m., 24 October 2006.

 

 Unlike Turkey, there just isn't much for bus service in Northern Iraq.  And, I have had to rely on taxis.  It is best to pile in with four other travelers because then you all share the price. Often though, they want to short cut through Mosul and Kirkuk - bad guy places.  So I often rent the whole taxi to myself and go through the mountains. And, this Ramadan holiday time here often sees days without many people at the taxi ''garages'' at certain hours.  So I had to ride the 50 miles to Zakho, Iraq alone. 

 

  You know one of the only bus lines I was able to use was the ride from Sulaymaniyah to Halabja, which is only five miles from Iran.  That ironically, I considered one of my most complicated and dangerous days. It just wasn't a route you would expect a bus to go. But the Zakho ride escalated to almost match the Halabja ride.

 

  The 50 mile taxi ride from Dahuk back to Zakho went well until we got to town.  ''I'' and only ''I'' of course, misunderstood the Arabic numbers used to agree on the price of the taxi ride before hand. But that was the least of my impending problems. 

 

  The taxi driver pulled into Zakho and he immediately shifted into, I-can't-find-the-hotel-mode. I knew where it was because I had stayed there on my first night in Iraq. I started to see landmarks and knew I could walk from that point, but he rolled on seemingly determined to play stupid for as long as possible even though I gestured in every sign I could for him to stop.  

 

  The straw that broke the camels back for me was after he drove down three dangerous alleys.  One which was a dead end.  When he finally pulled out of the alley maze, he turned down a one way street the wrong way.  The police here enforce no traffic laws except for that one because somebody going down the wrong way could be a bad guy trying to do some kind of damage.  So of course this guy being on a ''stuck-in-stupid'' mode broke the only traffic law anyone in the entire region enforces. 

 

  Keep in mind this fool drives the Zakho route for a living.  By then I had the door open, but he turned right into a machine gun check point.  While he tried to explain his lunacy to the soldiers, I got out and waited to pay him.  Then he jumped out of the taxi (soldiers at his sides), and wanted to argue about the price after almost getting us both machine gunned. 

 

  It is like the their Christmas Day here.  All the shops are closed except some sidewalk toy vendors.  That in itself is creepy, because the streets usually bulge with people. All that was in the streets were plenty of soldiers; adolescent and teenage boys by the hundreds playing with realistic toy guns (to make matters worse they play with fire crackers too); and, a few people trying to get to their relatives' houses for the holiday meal. 

 

  When ever there is a car wreck here, or even some problem with a work truck ýn the street or something similar, the men and boys in the streets crowd into the scene for a first hand view and talk loud about it.  In one minute, the taxi was surrounded by three hundred men and boys (the boys all with toy guns).

 

  I threw the money at the taxi driver, grabbed my bags, pushed away from the taxi, and proceeded to turn right into a Pesmerga soldier with a machine gun. I held my breath.  But, he just touched my elbow, gave me a reassuring smile, pointed at the taxi driver and said in rather good English, ''Idiot.''  

 

End of message.

 

Bob Keith - Cool Dadio Media


    - The odious orange and white taxis in the busy "men" filled streets of
 Erbil, Iraq.  Photo by Bob Keith, October 2006 -

From:  Bob Keith - Cool Dadio Media - Zakho, Iraq, 7:00 p.m., Wednesday, 25 October 2006.

 

  In taking just a second to reflect on my trip into Iraq, I am thinking the reality of making it to and into such a complicated country and region will no doubt hit me like a brick at some later date.  I have noticed that getting close to the exit border does not necessarily lower the stress.  In fact, it goes up for me a bit because I keep thinking, What if something goes wrong so close to getting out? 

 

  I was able to visit five cities in Northern Iraq: Zakho; Dahuk; Erbil; Sulaymaniyah; and Halabja.  I was only able to spend one day in Halabja due to what I felt were risks to my security.  The other four cities, I was able to spend two to four days in each.  I am not quite sure my level of awareness to my surroundings has ever been this intense for so long a duration. It is a fatiguing experience. And remember, the worst safety is south of where I have traveled.  I can only imagine in my wildest dreams what it must be like for an American military person to be in the Southern part of the country for a year.  What little non-gray hairs I had before I got here, are long gone now after only two weeks. 

 

   This has been a two week experience I will take with me to my last days on earth.  Almost all of the people I have met were kind and helpful.  I will not dwell on the taxi driver culture.  They no doubt are beasts un-and-to-themselves.  But the people I met in every other setting were good people as far as I could tell.  Some of their help was rough around the edges, but their intentions always seemed to be in my best interest.  I was often given many small things for free: Internet usage; cell phone numbers in case I got in trouble; lots of free snacks and food; and, what seemed like a genuine concern for my well-being as a visitor to their region.  Remember, I can walk out of here and they must stay.  This is not a well off region of the world even though some money has started to make it back here from all the people displaced over the last 20 years of wars.  And, despite their stressful world, they were the ones giving me little things to make my stay better.   

 

  My Irish mother used to say when she relayed a quiet warning, ''Let me put a bug in your ear.''  A business man I met in Erbil, Iraq quietly put a bug in my ear about my visit. 

 

  ''As an American here, you must be careful,'' he said. 

 

  I thought, ''No kidding!'' 

 

  Then he saw the look on my face and said, ''No my friend, you misunderstand me I think.  You must be careful because if someone tries to do you harm, some of us will be killed or injured as well. Those that try to protect you, as well as those that are just in the wrong place at the wrong time.'' 

 

  That was a clairvoyant moment I will never forget.  I was glad at that moment that the majority of my stay in Iraq was completed by the time I had met him.

 

End of message.

 

Bob Keith - Cool Dadio Media


    - Zakho is a typical dusty, busy border town.  It is easy to start forgetting you are in Iraq
once you get to Zakho because the people seem preoccupied with people things rather than
war worries.  Yet, one must not forget the serious war looms just over the horizon only a few
miles away.  Photo by Bob Keith, October 2006 -