Return Adventure

            In keeping with my previous posts about adventures coming to and fro Iraq, the trip back here was no different.  The flight seemed to be filled with an amicable group of people as I made 3 new acquaintances, one of which would prove incredibly helpful when I needed it.  At Arlanda Airport in Sweden I heard a man on the phone who was speaking Kurdish.  I noticed this and asked him if he was from Kurdistan; he just so happened to be from Erbil.  Oddly enough, he told me that he was in Sweden to see his girlfriend, but lived in Erbil with his family; he also said he had a girlfriend in China and he has to go there for work as he is based in Dubai.  Whether or not his story was true didn’t matter, I was entertained nonetheless by this Kurdish Don Juan.  He was incredibly pleasant, and once we left line and exchanged some friendly nods when we saw each other on the plane I thought that would be the end of it.  

            Then I met a few other people: one was a man studying for his Master’s degree in Finland.   He was originally from Tanzania and was wearing the conversation starting Obama ’08 hat that he got as a present.  He was interesting to talk to and quite friendly.  The woman sitting next to me on the plane was from Baghdad but immigrated to Sweden when things started to really look bleak in 2005.  Aside from an abnormally large amount of babies crying it was a normal flight where everything went smooth; my bag was even one of the first to come out off the conveyor belt.  I thought that my trip back would, for once, go entirely as planned.

            However, as I left the airport I had no texts or calls on my phone.  Everyone I asked for help with a ride or a place to stay may have responded, but evidently Korek phones do not store the messages if your phone is off.  If you don’t have your phone on and get them right then, you won’t get them at all.  So here I was in Erbil at 4am with no place to go.  In swoops Kurdish Don Juan.  He not only offers to help but says that I can stay at his house; just wanting to go home I express my interest in taking a cab.  I had no expectations for a cab to Duhok, a 2.5 hour ride, until at least 6:30am.  However, minutes within getting dropped off at the cab station I was all set to go home.  Although he charged me 5,000 IQD too much, abut $4, it was nearly 7am and I hadn’t slept in over 30 hours; I didn’t care.  After another random adventure, and being saved by Kurdish Don Juan, I was finally back in Duhok, capping an awesome two week European vacation.