Friday, January 6, 2012

The Adventure Begins


In Iraq there are certain things you come to expect: random power outages, incredible hospitality, people saying “hello” for a greeting and a farewell, etc.  I can now add that every time I need to travel to or from the country, I know I will end up having a random adventure.  My flight doesn’t leave until 4am, probably the most awkward time ever, so I decided to head to Erbil early and spend some time with a friend.  I took my usual shared taxi for 15,000 IQD (about $12) and was crammed into a car with two Turkish guys about my age, a slightly haughty, well-dressed man with a jovial personality, and a driver who had probably never actually learned how to drive.  The well-dressed man proceeded to tell me that he, “speaks Christian,” and since I was unable to communicate with the Turks, I was relegated to communicating in “Christian” with the louder gentleman. 
In between dozing off and waking up to cigarette smoke permeating the car, he managed to tell me that his brother lives in the US.  His brother lives in Detroit which prompted him to say, “America has no money, I make more than my brother.”  I was internally shaking my head and thinking if Detroit is a proxy for American then, yes, we are in trouble.  He continued his discussion about his personal wealth which immediately put me off.  I don’t need to hear about you making $10,000/month whether it is true or not.  Interrupting his pleasant but slightly discomfited statements was a text from my friend that I was going to visit.  
The text read, “Ryan, I’m going to the hospital,” and that was it.  After trying to get hold of her to no avail I had to think quickly because I was almost in Erbil with nowhere to go for the next 10+ hours.  I changed my original destination to the mall because I felt that this would at least provide a comfortable place to sit and relax.  Perhaps sensing some frustration in my voice, the “Christian” speaking man says, “We have coffee or tea, relax, then you go.”  Lacking any other options I decided to tag along. 
I wasn’t worried, knowing the nature of the people, but when he said that Baghdad was better than Duhok I thought he must be at least a little crazy.  We arrived at a relatively unassuming restaurant which looks like a hole in the wall type establishment from the outside.  Inside it turns out to be much bigger and actually has 4 floors.  I sat down for tea and then he tells me that he owns this place along with a hotel and two restaurants, one in Duhok.  Now his claim about making money at least seems partially founded in reality.  Conversation continues and then I say, in Kurdish, that I am hungry; he promptly calls a waiter to the table and gets me exactly what I want, even though it wasn’t on the menu. 
Up until this point it was just the two of us sitting at the table, but after I finished eating other people started to trickle in.  Every new customer came over to our table to sit down and chat with the owner, Same (pronounced like Sammy).  As people came to sit down I was transitioned from being a willing participant in the conversation to a helpless bystander as Same effortlessly switched between Arabic, Kurdish, and some Assyrian language, which I later deduced was what he meant by speaking “Christian.”  People come and go from the table: a brother and sister from Baghdad, an older gentleman from Mosul, and another Arabic couple in which Same described the female as, “Shakira.”  If Shakira was 80 pounds heavier, 20 years older, and Arabic, it would be spot on. 
For four hours I sat there as the steady rotation continued; in that time I was probably able to speak for a total of 20 minutes.  “Shakira” started to sing karaoke, but it was mostly uneventful.  Before I left I got his phone number and he told me that I didn’t have to pay for anything.  Perhaps I will go to his restaurant in Duhok to check it out.  And now here I am at the airport, primed to wait for another 4 hours.  What more randomness can happen before I finally embark on my journey to Sweden?  I did buy a salad and was served mustard as dressing…but I’ll chalk that up as another miscellaneous, “come to expect."

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