The other Iraq

Article by: Cesar Soriano, May 2008

I had just begun a hike up to the hillside village of Aqrah with my friend Chase when a Peshmerga soldier armed with an AK-47 motioned us over. He took one look at our cameras and rucksacks and demanded to know who we were and what we were doing in his village. 'We're Americans. We're tourists,' I said. 'Em geshtiyar in,' Chase repeated in Kurdish. The soldier took us to his boss, Peshmerga Commander Ayoub, who explained the soldiers' shock and curiosity: we were the first tourists they had ever seen, American or otherwise. With a big grin, Commander Ayoub welcomed us with open arms and steaming cups of hot tea, and promptly assigned two of his soldiers to escort us on a sightseeing trip through town. 'Americans good,' Ayoub exclaimed. 'President Bush very good!'

Welcome to Iraqi Kurdistan

An American backpacking in Baghdad would have a life expectancy of about 20 minutes. But in Iraqi Kurdistan, a fledgling tourism industry is emerging. So, on 9 April - the fifth anniversary of the Fall of Baghdad - I crossed the Turkish border into northern Iraq to research the country for the forthcoming Lonely Planet guide to the Middle East. It was the first time Lonely Planet had been able to send an author to Iraq since 1989.

    'The other Iraq' is the regional motto, and it could not be more fitting. This is not the devastated war-torn Iraq most of the world has come to know from the nightly news. On the contrary, the Kurdish region is normally safe, peaceful and welcoming to Westerners. Unlike Baghdad and most of Iraq, it is green and lush, with snow-capped mountains and rivers raging through deep canyons. The semi-autonomous Kurdish Regional Government has its own parliament and military, and its own flag, language and culture. Business and development are booming.

    There have been only two significant terrorist attacks in the region in the past five years: a 2004 attack that killed 40 people in Erbil and a small suicide car bomb in March 2008 outside a hotel in Sulaymaniyah that killed a security guard. Still, that's a better track record than London.

On the road

Throughout Kurdish Iraq, a feeling of optimism prevails. New museums, shopping malls, amusement parks and five-star hotels are sprouting up across the region.

My journey took me from the dusty border town of Zahko to the mountaintop fortress of Amadiyah and on to Sulaymaniyah's cosmopolitan European city vibe. Throughout Kurdish Iraq, a feeling of optimism prevails. New museums, shopping malls, amusement parks and five-star hotels are sprouting up across the region. Erbil, the capital and largest city in Kurdish Iraq, has plans for golf courses, a wildlife safari and a Formula One racetrack. But the real draw of Iraqi Kurdistan is its natural beauty - soaring mountains, desert oasis and dramatic vistas that would leave Ansel Adams awestruck.

    After sightseeing in Aqrah, we head east and connect onto the Hamilton Road, named for New Zealand engineer Archibald Hamilton. The road was built in the early 20th century to connect the British and Persian empires, traversing through some of the Middle East's most inhospitable geography. The scenic portion of the drive begins through Gali Ali Beg, a deep and narrow gorge as dramatic as Arizona's Grand Canyon. There are two options through the gorge. A lower road runs along the base of the twisting canyon and past the famous Gali Ali Beg waterfall that appears on the back of every Iraqi 5,000 dinar note. The upper road is a nail-biting ride of hairpin turns that hugs the canyon rim and passes Bekhal, another waterfall pouring straight out of the side of a mountain.

    The upper Hamilton Road exits onto a high plateau that is home to Pank Resort, a surreal amusement park with a ferris wheel and roller coaster overlooking the former British colonial town of Rawanduz.

    Turning northeast, the scenery becomes even more dramatic as we drive uphill into the massively tall mountain range that separates Iraq and Iran. The winding road runs parallel to a raging river of rapids until reaching the regional market town of Choman. At 2,000-plus metres above sea level, the air here becomes noticeably thinner and cooler. By the time we reach Haji Umaran, the last city before the Iranian border, it's downright cold and blustery.

    The surrounding mountains are covered in snow and I daydream of what it would be like to hike up the summit and ski down the other side into Iran. I'm snapped back to reality when a well-dressed man approaches me later, points to the peaks and in perfect English repeats a common Kurdish saying: 'The mountains are the only friends of the Kurds.' He introduces himself as an English teacher at the local primary school and invites me to stay overnight with his family - one of many offers of food and lodging I receive during my travels in Iraqi Kurdistan.

But the real draw of Iraqi Kurdistan is its natural beauty - soaring mountains, desert oasis and dramatic vistas that would leave Ansel Adams awestruck.

    Continuing on to the border, we pass dozens of Iranian and Iraqi merchants gathered on the side of the road, shouting over each other to buy and sell appliances, flat-screen televisions and other goods from the backs of trucks. My plan to hop across the border and have lunch in Iran quickly evaporates when the border guards refuse me entry so I retrace my steps down to Rawanduz before turning south towards the warmth of Erbil. The road to the capital is not as scenic, but it does pass several worthy destinations including the mountain resort of Shaqlawa, the ruins of Salahaddin's Fortress and the newly remodeled Kanzad Castle.

Friends in high places

One reason Iraqi Kurdistan is so secure may be the sheer number of military and police checkpoints and undercover security officials. As tourists in Iraq are a rare sight, officials are naturally suspicious of foreigners. I'm casually questioned a few times, often concluding with a smile and handshake. But in Rawanduz, we are briefly detained by one heavy-handed official. I whip out my cell phone and call our new best friend in Aqrah, Peshmerga Commander Ayoub. He yells a few choice words to the official, who immediately releases us.

    For the remainder of my journey, Commander Ayoub sends me daily text messages in broken English, inquiring on my whereabouts and safety. Several weeks later, back home in London, I find an e-mail waiting from Ayoub: 'I hope to see you in Kurdistan soon.' Insha'Allah, I tell him. God willing.

For detailed information on Iraq, including the full story on safety, security and no-go areas, see lonelyplanet.com.