Trekking up a verdant mountainside I’m handed a brand new Kalashnikov which I sling around my shoulder, imitating the rest of our party who carry similar weaponry. I don’t dare mention that I have no idea how to even release the safety.
As the altitude rises gunshots echo in the distance. Apparently, people from the capital Baghdad and other war zone cities make the trip to this part of rural Kurdistan. Walking through dazzling poppy fields and past ancient walled cities, I struggle to admire the view. All I can think is “I HAVE A GUN”.
Border crossings are often memorable and Turkey to Iraq by land is a classic. It takes half a dozen checkpoints before I’m served a cup of sweet tea in the air-conditioned surroundings of Iraqi customs.
They’re seemingly uninterested in where I’m from. They want to know what football team I like. “Manchester! Chelsea! Madrid!” they inquire with abundant enthusiasm. I plump for Barcelona. It works. “Welcome to Iraqi Kurdistan, report to the police in 10 days.”
Compared to other parts of the Middle East, Kurdistan appears prosperous. Most buildings are finished – a rarity in this region – and the highway roars with the sounds of new Mercedes and Landcruisers.
Walking the streets of Dohuk, it’s impossible to go a few yards without someone engaging me in conversation. Where am I from? What am I doing in Kurdistan? I tell them I want to experience their country. “You must come drink chai and smoke a sheesha pipe then.”
As the afternoon sun fades into a humid evening I sit on the plastic seats of an outdoor café like a quintessential Kurdish man. It thrives with chatter and Yousef summarises the country in two sentences for me: “Kurdish people are too honest; you will not have any problems here. But you must know that everyone in Kurdistan is crazy.” Why? “Because we are all from Kurdistan!”
The next morning I visit the Yezidi pilgrimage site of Lalesh. Various gangs of children compete for my attention, staring, asking questions, startled when I use basic Kurdish. A group of teenage boys invite me to join them for dinner.
Sitting on the floor of an unadorned room I watch a tablecloth fill up with food delivered by girls in their best frocks. It’s an inappropriate amount for the 15 exclusively male guests who join us and after an hour, less than third has gone.
When I retire outside, the women who have cooked and served take our place. Lalesh is an unassuming and unembellished complex of concrete rooms on the hillside where people meet, relax and chat. Each corner and turn I take I’m met by a new group of baffled and intrigued people who invite me to sample their food and tea.
After three hours I’m stuffed to bursting but none the wiser as to Yezidi’s religious practices, other than they worship an angel that was dispelled from heaven and transformed into a peacock by God for refusing to pray for Adam.
I decide to check out Kurdistan’s chief tourist attraction: the mountain resort of Sulav. There is one hotel, three restaurants and two shops that sell stuff you never knew you needed, like badminton rackets and plastic jewellery.
It’s engaging for about 12 minutes then I’m sat on the side of the road contemplating my next move. Someone passes me a phone. The voice is English. “Hello. My cousin says there is a foreigner by the side of the road who may need some help.” Correct. “I have a Nissan Sunny and will be there in 90 minutes.”
Upon his arrival, Essmet offers his services as a tour guide in exchange for petrol and food. He’s led a colourful life and enthusiastically launches into his biographical tales of adventure: a three-month journey as an illegal immigrant seeking asylum in Europe; a freedom fighter injured by Saddam’s helicopters when Kurdistan won its semi-independence in 1991; and a translator for the US army during the recent US led invasion that locals call ‘Operation Freedom Iraq’.
For six hours we drive into the Kurdish countryside as the valley narrows and the mountains rise, until we reach Gali Ali Bag, a picturesque canyon and waterfall that features on the back of Iraqi currency. It’s dusk when we stop for fuel.
“Excuse me,” he asks the petrol station attendant with his permanent vitality, “is there a place nearby where me and my friend can spend the night?” To my complete shock, he replies: “You can sleep at my house.”
This poor, uneducated man, who has never laid eyes on us before, invites us in with a naturalness and warmth that would seem suspicious in Europe. Essmet explains that the Kurds are the largest ethnic group in the world not to have their own nation and centuries of oppression have taught them to always protect and support each other.
Essmet takes me on a circular tour of the country, stopping at beautiful towns that belie my preconceptions of Kurdistan being a desert land. Each stop induces numerous offers for dinner, drinks of tea or a bed to sleep in from locals keen to help and get to know us. One man offers to drive his mother over from another village as she “cooks better food than my wife”.
Galling as it is to refuse, Essmet is insistent that we keep moving so I can visit his favourite place before I leave Kurdistan. We’re joined by a group of uncompromising looking men who arrive in a pick-up truck. It’s one of these that hands me the gun. We trek up the mountain. Illuminated by the scarlet of a flawless sunset we drink tea at the top. I pose with the gun. ‘Kurdish freedom fighter’ Essmet laughs.
Suddenly, people around me ignite into action, moving from their lethargic slouched positions into attack mode. Someone fires, the sound reverberating through the valley. More gunfire. I sit, motionless.
Then, laughs and jokes. They’ve missed their target: foxes are remarkably nimble and this crowd has as much experience using the impressive arsenal as I have. But hunting wildlife is popular here and an animal skin, I’m told, is a great way of impressing your wife.
While danger and menace could be perceived in this situation, Iraqi Kurdistan is not Iraq; it is one of the safest destinations you could possibly visit.
In how many other countries would you be offered help if you spent 10 minutes in the same place? Where else would offers of dinner and a bed to sleep be so readily made?
It is one of those rare places where the government and the people are desperately keen for tourists to visit. So head to Iraqi Kurdistan, and prepare for your perceptions to be shattered.