September 8, 2006
Thursday I drove with friends to visit their families in the town of Diana. The drive is a familiar one, but it always makes me marvel at the beauty—and harshness—of this land.
Tire check
Before setting out, we stopped at a small shop which sells oil and other car products. A young boy (approx. age of 5) came out to check the pressure in our tires. While he worked, his father sat and smoked a cigarette. About 10 feet away sat 15 5-gallon jugs of gasoline. (Gas shortages are common enough here that gas stations are closed and instead the roadside business of selling gas has expanded into a full-blown mini-industry.) This short distance between the gas jugs and the cigarette brought to mind the family I visited the night before. Frank’s friend and former chess partner recently married a woman named P, who is now 3 months pregnant. Two weeks ago, P’s 16-year old sister mistakenly poured gasoline (instead of oil) into a water-heating samovar. Upon lighting the samovar, she died a fiery death. It was only after our visit that I understood why my friend went home to change from a pink dress to a black one—out of respect for the mourning period.I could HARDLY wait to get away from that gas “shop”.
“fruit curves”
As the road from Shaqlawa bends down into the valley one passes 9-10 fruit stalls catering to passing holiday drivers. The view from the “fruit curves” (as I like to call them) is a spectacular one: a vast expanse of dry pasture land which covers gently rolling hills. Sheep and goats are everywhere--what exactly are they eating this time of year? There are also smaller areas of cultivation that are, at times, so rocky it looks as if they are GROWING rocks. In the near distance rises a rugged mesa with jagged bone-dry canyons.
“banana switchbacks”
Throughout Kurdistan, young boys sell seasonal produce--and bananas--by the side of the road. Often these boys take advantage of geography and stand in places along the roads where drivers naturally have to slow down—such as on switchbacks. Other, more enterprising individuals actually make bumps in the road so that drivers HAVE to slow down—thus creating an opportunity to sell their wares. As we head up the “banana switchbacks” (it’s always bananas on this section of road for some reason), it strikes me as ironic that in a land with shortages of water, electricity, gas and kerosene, boxes of Chiquita bananas have somehow made it here from Central America to be sold by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.
Driving habits
Those of you who have traveled in other parts of the world know that different places observe vastly different driving customs. Here, it is common for cars to speed down the center of the road (trying to avoid bumps) only to have them swerve to the side when an oncoming car finally gets too close. Drivers here also feel free to pass on blind curves and to come up behind you at 80 miles an hour flashing their high beams (read: get out of my way). And then there are the donkeys, cows and sheep who wander at will onto the road--and the wedding caravans that pass with children hanging out of the windows, horns honking, video camera rolling…
The Village in EdenAfter lunch with friends in Diana and the requisite viewing of not one, but two, sets of wedding pictures, we set out again. On our way back to Salahaddin, we stop for 45 minutes in a tiny village, the home of my friend's ancient grandmother. About 4 feet 6 inches tall and perhaps 90 years old, this wizened woman smokes like a chimney (VERY unusual for Kurdish women) and seems to have a lot of energy. For the first time in a week, it is cool outside, as we are in a deep and well-watered valley. Around the grandmother’s house are abandoned apple, fig, pomegranate, and walnut trees—and grapes. We pick fruit and marvel at the lushness of the vegetation and the cool breezes.
Finally, we head back in the fading light--and into the night. We slow down to accommodate the dark roads and a full moon rises over the mountains.
The three of us end the day back in Salahaddin with my first-ever Kurdish hamburger. What food more appropriate to end a road trip with?
Finally, my favorite picture, which is also from Apollo's Temple. Behind the temple lies this fallen column, a giant of a thing, which reminded me for ALL the world of a giant, giant sausage, cut in thick slices on a cuttingboard. More on Didyma: 
Frank and I arrived in Istanbul two days ago, and we've spent our time so far wandering around this amazing city, sleeping--and, yes, enjoying the company of Labou, the Turkish Rabbit. As some of you are aware, Frank first met Labou two years ago on his way to meet me in Kurdistan. We saw him again last June on our way home to Seattle.
One of the things that strikes me over and over when we go to the Erbil bazaar, which is an ever-winding, twisting, and never-ending series of alley ways and covered halls, is the nearly complete absence of women. All the shops, including the women’s clothing shops, are staffed by men. Yes, there are some women shoppers but the place is about 95% men. I keep wondering: WHERE are the women?
