Takin' the High Road

So you think you know Iraq, eh? After years of mass media bombarding us with images of... well... bombs, we have come to recognize Iraq as a country of chaos, death and destruction. But as is usually the case with mass media, the reports couldn't be any further from the truth. Northern Iraq, often called Kurdistan, is a beacon of peace and stability, not only in Iraq, but in the entire region. But beyond dichotomy of war & peace, northern north Iraq offers an Iraqi experience rarely seen by western eyes.

When travelling through Kurdistan, 2 cities which will most assuredly

be on any given route will be the western city of Dohuk and regional capital, Erbil (aka Hewler). To get from A to B, one has 2 main options, the southern desert road or the northern mountain road. For most travellers in the region, the southern route poses few challenges. There are buses and shared taxis leaving all the time in either direction. And at a bargain price of 15,000 IQD/seat, it fits most backpacker budgets. But the way is boring and just plain unattractive. The desert expanse is occasionally broken up by uninspired towns and villages. And to complicate matters, the road passes through the very outer suburbs of Mosul, arguably one of the most dangerous cities on the planet. But for those up for a bit more of a challenge, or with a few extra dollars to burn, the northern road is an experience not soon forgotten.

Leaving Dohuk, the first part of the northern road is a breeze. Shared taxis head to the pictuesue village of Amediyah. Even if you can't find someone to share with, it's only 25,000 IQD for a private taxi. There are hotels and restaurants for those wanting to spend some time. But from there, things get a little complicated. If planning to head to Erbil from here, any local will tell you to backtrack to Dohuk, then take the boring southern route. That's what they do after all. But if you're determined to head east, you either have to be rich, lucky or daring (or a combination of the three).

There were no taxis leaving town and heading in my direction. Even

on the best of days, nobody's heading all the way to Erbil. So i was left with no other choice than to stick out my thumb. I had packed some extra water and munchies expecting longish waits. After all, who in their right mind would pick up a hairy Canadian? I stepped out of my hotel and started walking to a what i thought would be a good waiting point. But before i could even get there, the very first car stopped and offered me a ride. Although not an "official" taxi, a couple boys from Dohuk were paying some guy to drive them to their jobs in the mountains. Turns out the boys were English teacher in the rural schools. I couldn't ask for anything more. They were able to explain to the driver my plans (who chuckled a bit), and they were great for a bit of a chat along the way. But they were only going as far as Sirye, a village about 1/4 of the way to Erbil. As we arrived in town, they tried to negotiate with other taxi drivers to take me the rest of the way. But as no one else was going, i'd have to pay for a private taxi, quoted at $60. Too rich for my blood. So i paid the driver 5,000 IQD to get this far, and he dropped me off at a nearby security checkpoint.

The soldiers were, shall we say, a little surprised to see me. Not only do they see few foriengers up here, but they see even fewer hitchhikers. I did my best to explain my plans (as they all chuckled), they offered me some tea, and pointed out some PKK areas to avoid. Sadly, they wouldn't let me shoot their guns :(

The very next car to pass was a van full of young men, all in their 20s, heading somewhere from somewhere else. And even though their car was full, they squished and rearranged to make room for the crazy Canadian trying to make it to Erbil. Among the 9 of them, they'd struggle for 20 minutes to squeeze out "Where from?" and 20 minutes later manage "How years?" Needless to say, conversation was limited. But we had fun singing along to Kurdish music as the beautiful scenery passed by the window. The boys were heading to the town of Borzon, the home of one of the most powerful families in the country. Once there, they tried to find a taxi to take me the rest of the way, to no avail. I offered them some money, only to be quickly turned down. As they sped away, Kurdish music a-thumping, it began to drizzle.

But before i could even get my jacket out of my bag, i was picked up by the very first car heading in my direction. Again, language was a major stumbling block, but he was only heading about 30 minutes down the road to the tiny village of Bile. Once more, he did his best to negotiate with local drivers to take me the rest of the way to Erbil (about 2 1/2 hours away) but $50 was still too much. Finally we agreed that for 20,000 IQD, one of the drivers would take me over the mountains and through the canyon to the sizeable town of Akre, where it would be much easier to find a shared taxi. I offered my other ride some money, but it was again declined.

This was unquestionably the most beautiful part of the trip. It was a nearly vertical ascent on a switch back road up and up the mountain side. Shear cliffs fully exposed, almost taunting cars to make one small mistake. I hear it's not the fall that kills you, but it's the sudden stop at the bottom. As the road finally crested, the view was nothing short of spectacular. As we descended the mountain sides began to envelop the road. Soon, we were fully enclosed by a stunning canyon complete with raging river. Breathtaking. As we emerged into the open valley, the town of Akre came into sight. As promised there were shared taxis heading to Erbil, for 10,000 a seat. The road became less exciting as it eventually joined the last bit of the southern route before entering Erbil. With the hard part behind me, i fell asleep and waited to be brought home.

One might question if it was worth the hassle. I can unequivocally say, YES. The road is stunning, the people are lovely and there's the added bonus of avoiding the Mosul bypass. Perhaps as a travelling pair, or with deeper pockets, i would have simply paid for a private taxi from Amediyah. But i'm so glad i didn't.

Iraq's B-Side

“Hey Mom, so... I'm going to Iraq!” These few words strung together are most certainly enough to cause every hair on a parents' head to turn grey. For decades now, Iraq has been portrayed as one of the most dangerous places on the planet. Mass media, fuelled by negative imagery, report how many people have died in the most recent attack. But what they fail to point out is that the majority of the country is free from the chaos ensuing from the most recent invasion and occupation. The northern region of Iraq, commonly referred to as Kurdistan, is almost entirely removed from this generalized depiction. And the northern part of Kurdistan is a side of Iraq few would ever imagine.

Driving north from the city of Dohuk, a transformation begins to take place. The arid landscape starts to green up with grasses, then shrubs and eventually full-blown forests. The air becomes crisper with the clarity of it's natural surrounding coupled with the change in altitude. This is a common escape for city dwellers looking for a reprieve from the often unbearable heat of lower altitudes. The road winds above the valley floor, seemingly clinging to the enveloping mountain-sides. The scenery is dramatic and not at all what you'd expect from a country which is only ever shown as a desert expanse. For those that are more goal oriented and might need a specific destination to take in the beauty, just follow the crowds to Amediyah.

The town of Amediyah is easily one of the most picturesque in the entire country. Not only is it set among a beautiful lush green valley and towering mountains, but the entire town sits on it's own rocky pedestal. Although obviously a strategically defensive placement, it all seems for naught as the only invading armies these days are the countless trees rushing up the western slope. But a closer inspection reveals a disappointing truth. I had expected a town of cobble-stoned streets lined with old stone houses with some old hunch over lady hobbling her way to the corner market. Instead the streets were paved, the houses were ordinary and for some strange reason there seemed to be more political headquarters and radio station per capita here than anywhere else. It really was a the forest overshadowing the trees. To complicate matters, there are little to no tourist facilities in the town of Amediyah itself. To rectify the problem, a 750 meter stretch of road, called Sulav, was designated as a tourist mecca. I can't even call the place a village as it seems nobody actually lives there. Instead there are 5 or 6 mediocre restaurants, 4 souvenir shops selling absolute crap and an overpriced hotel, the only one in the region (there are family oriented motels nearby). To make things worse, a man-made waterfall with ridiculous stone animals draw in the crowds as the hordes clamber around to have their picture taken there. Following the path along the stream (aka drainage/rubbish canal) you are led past countless make-shift huts fighting for your patronage as when the summer comes around, countless tables and chairs are set in the stream as a natural A/C. Luckily, i was there in spring, when it wasn't too busy. I can not imagine the place in summer when it's in full swing. If that wasn't bad enough, Sulav is 5km from Amediyah along a very “pedestrian unfriendly” stretch of road.

Getting to Amediyah is a pain in itself. The bare-bones Lonely Planet didn't even mention transport (he had a private driver after all) There aren't any public buses doing the route, meaning the only option is taxi. Shared taxis can be hard to find as it's often groups of people going together, leaving private taxi as the only option. These are a fixed 25,000 IQD for a one way trip. Going east from Amediyah is a whole other matter which is worth it's own blog entry.

It may sound like i hated the place. But even with all these strikes against it, Amediyah offers something difficult to find elsewhere in the country. The spectacular nature can be appreciated if you're willing to hike up into the hills (as none of the local tourists can be bothered). But one can appreciate the locals as well as they are dressed in their “Sunday best”. They celebrate weddings or birthdays or simply today. Singing and roadside dancing are the norm. The journey itself is worth the trip. It is a removal from the sands and soldiers of the south and an eye-opener to a different side of a country you "thought" you knew. Overall, i'm definitely glad i went and, even with it's negitive points, i would still absolutely recommend the place to anyone in the area. Just so long as you packed some realistic expectations in your bag.

Halved Over Ohrid

It is rare for me to be so divided over a place, to both love somewhere and hate it at the same time. But the lakeside town of Ohrid in south-western Macedonia did that to me. On one hand, the lovely setting and quaint alleyways charmed the pants off me (even without buying me a drink) yet the hyper-developed centre had me darn near tossing my cookies.

The words "mass tourism" and "Macedonia" are unlikely to ever be spoken in the same utterance. It was actually a challenge to write them in the same

sentence here. In a country somewhat lacking in tourist attractions, 1 town can claim the undisputed crown. Undiscovered gems don't go undiscovered for long. This is abundantly clear if you visit Ohrid on a weekend, or god forbid a long holiday weekend in summer. The centre of town, right on the lakeside, heaves with regional holiday-makers doing typically annoying tourist-type things. Cafes, restaurants and bars try to draw attention by playing their pop music louder than there neighbour. You're even accosted at the bus station by locals trying to rent out their rooms. The tiny alleyways and footpaths become engulfed by groups following some random sign held by their guide like sheep follow their shepherd. It has all the nasty markers mass tourism brings with it. And is, in general, a pretty crappy place.

But the town is more than just the pedestrian centre and the overcrowded

lakefront. Sprawling to the side of the centre and haphazard toss up the hillside are a spiderweb of interlocking streets, alleyways and hidden corridors. The cobble-stoned paths see little traffic, local or otherwise, and allow for a quiet, leisurely stroll though the pretty residential neighbourhoods. Occasionally stumbling upon an ancient theatre or fortified monastery is half the fun of leaving the map at home. Besides, the lake makes for a pretty good landmark in case you get lost. But there is reasonable signage around to avoid that. Although i didn't find the people overtly friendly, they are at the very least obliging. And pretty much every house has a room to rent, or the entire house itself, allowing a traveller to escape from the havoc often wreaked in the centre below.

But arguably the biggest star of the town is the Church of John Kaneo. Precariously perched on a cliffside, with expansive views over the lake, the tiny church is highly photogenic. But it is only one of many churches, forts or monasteries scattered throughout the large park to the west of the centre. The walk itself is nice, through the trees on well manicured paths. That is when they aren't overrun with tour groups.

Getting here is half the fun. The route from the capital Skopje is a beautiful one. Passing through rolling green hills, littered with tiny villages, it's not a bad 3+ hours. Unfortunately the "bus station" (actually just a vacant lot) has been moved from the centre to about 2/3 KMs out of town. Be sure to buy return tickets as 1. they're cheaper and 2. ticket can sell out quickly in the summer or weekends.

The centre is hell, but the side streets are a touch of heaven. Such is my feeling of Ohrid. While i may not use words like spectacular or breathtaking, pretty and lovely would humbly describe the town and lake. This was my second trip to Ohrid (the first being in 2004). And although i would easily say more positive than negative about the town, i don't have a need to return.

FYROM Skopje, Without Love

Some places are worth going back to. Although my goal is to continuously explore the unknown, there are times when either by design or accident i end up visiting the same place again and again. In 2004, i found myself wandering through the Balkan states, as i was moving from one contract to another. Part of this trip had me travelling through the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia (FYROM). And by some bizarre combination of circumstances, 7 years later fate had me do a revisit.

Like many countries around the world, the capital city acts like a hub transport ushering in travellers and dispersing them about the rest of the territory.

Macedonia is no different with the city of Skopje playing the role of capital. When i visited 7 years ago, i came across a city rich in history with varied religions and full of possibilities. Fresh off the dissolution of the Yugoslavia and with ethnic tensions high in the region (including full scale war) Macedonia was still trying to find it's feet. Skopje was very rough around the edges, but some might have called it a diamond in the rough. A few decent tourist attractions in the form of a hilltop fort and centuries old stone bridge could have become anchors for a small, but reliable tourism industry. At least, that was my impression 7 years ago.

The city hasn't seemed to have progressed at all. Money appears to

be funnelled into mega-consturction project designed for ego, while basic infrastructure like water and transportation are allowed to rot. Skopje is a dirty city with a distinct aroma of urine. The few attractions are in a perpetual state of reconstruction. With most of the projects occurring around the Stone Bridge, the whole area is an unattractive site. And the old fort on the hill is closed until further notice while they excavate some old sites. The main squares, supposedly meant to socialize while enjoying a coffee are unattractive fenced off disaster areas. The museums are ordinary at best. And the one-time exotic Turkish Quarter has been nearly entirely sterilized into a Disney-version of it's old self. And to top it off, the hotels are very overpriced, and horrible value for money.

But adding insult to injury, is the respect shown to the city's most

famous child. Mother Teresa was born in Skopje. Although she was the humblest of women, the tribute to her life in the city is a shame. Her statue stands along side several others, one of a woman in a mini-skirt talking on her mobile and another of a boy shining shoes. There seems to be no difference in appreciation between them. And while her childhood home was destroyed many years ago, the memorial house they erected in it's place is an atrocity. I am not a religious man, but i somehow found it personally offensive. While some kiss the statues, others just sit and have a smoke in the covered area. The whole thing is just distasteful and shows utter irreverence for a woman that clearly deserves much better. Shame a shame, an absolute pity.

It is entirely possible that Skopje might yet live up to some sort of potential. Perhaps given another 7 years to mature, it might be palatable. But i, for one, will not be going back to find out.

Pristina Reborn

Pristina flashback. My first experience with Kosovo came back in the summer of love, 2004 (i'm not actually sure when the summer of love was). I had just finished a contract in Croatia and was overlanding it through the Balkans to my new job in Turkey. These were troubled times. While most of the conflicts had subsided, the bullet holes were still fresh. I had managed, with only mild difficulties, to make my way to Podgorica, the capital of Montenegro. But the main goal was to find transport into Macedonia and leave the one horse town (i've heard they've since upgraded to 2 horses and a chipmunk). But this route involved transiting the, then, still tumultuous area of Kosovo. But i was not deterred.

At the bus station, i broke into rudimentary Russian to ask for a bus going in my direction. But was suddenly thrown into the depths of despair as i was informed there was nothing direct and i'd have to go all the hell the way back up to Belgrade to find a bus i needed. My impromptu temper tantrum was made all the more dramatic as some sort of "Go For Gold" Athens Olympic anthem was playing on the TV. I was approached by a dark figure. "I know" was all i was able to discern with my non-vodka enhanced Russian abilities. It seemed this tax driver was aware of some alternative arrangement. So disregarding the disapproving looks from the less than helpful ticket guy, i agree to meet the taxi guy at 8pm for some sort of something that would occur somewhere at sometime.

I was fairly sure the 5 Euro agreed price wasn't for a private taxi all the way to Skopje. However the driver seemed disconcertingly confident as we drove away in his Yugo into the darkness to places unknown. Once we arrived at some predetermined distance away from civilization, Goran (named changed to protect the innocent) pulled a u-turn, put the car in park, cracked the window and sparked up a cigarette. What the hell? Was i about to be raped? Or murdered? Or raped then murdered? Or murdered THEN raped? The situation was made all the more uncomfortable as Goran would sit forward, squinting awkwardly, at each set of passing headlights that pierced the darkness, only to settle back down and take another puff of his cigarette. Was he checking to see if we had been followed before preparing for some sort of act of necrophilia? It was the summer of love after all.

Suddenly, one set of headlights caught Goran's attention. "Let's go!!" he said as he started the car and burned whatever rubber was left on the antiquated tired as we sped down the winding mountain road in hot pursuit. I had no idea what was going on, but couldn't get the Dukes of Hazard theme out of my head. Whatever, if you're going to die, do it with a Dukes of Hazard theme. Honking and flashing his headlight (notice the singular) Goran finally pulled out to pass the bus we were following (need i remind you, winding mountain road... Yugo... one headlight...) In some final manoeuvre worthy of Gilles Villeneuve (google it) we cut off the bus. As the driver got out prepared for an altercation of gladiator proportions, Goran explianed the situation. Apparently, what he had been looking for was a licence plate from Macedonia on a bus, knowing that's where it would be heading. The bus had an extra seat. I paid Goran 10 Euro (not the agreed 5) gave him a big hug (perhaps inappropriate) and got on the bus to a lot of rather icy stares. The bus was only going as far as Pristina, but at least i didn't have to go to Belgrade. I arrived in Kosovo late at night, found a hotel, then got the first bus out in the morning.

I had "been there..." but hadn't really "...done that". While i don't usually include stories like this in my blog, i really don't have much to say about most recent visit to Pristina. The

capital of the newly half-recognized Republic of Kosovo is like countless others post-war areas. The influx of NGO and charity aid has created a sort of economic bubble around the city. While there are no sustainable jobs or development, locals seem to believe there are. At least things are better than they were 10 years ago in the Kosovo War. The youth of the city are more preoccupied with fashion and flirting with their leather jackets, pointy shoes and hair styles which take an hour to look like they don't care what their hair looks like. And that's just the boys.

Reminders of the war are everywhere, from the amputees begging

on the street, to the public education on land mines to make-shift memorials for those still missing. And while the big yellow NEWBORN sign is a symbol of independence, i couldn't see any sort of national identity. You are far more likely to see Albanian flags flying than Kosovar ones. (A majority of the population is ethnic Albanian after all.) And that doesn't even mention the disturbing amount of American iconography throughout the city there's the American Hot Dog stand, American University in Kosovo, George Bush street, Bill Clinton boulevard and a replica Statue of Liberty on the Victory Hotel (at least i think it was a replica)

There aren't any real attractions of note for the average traveller. There

are a few churches and a couple mosques and a busted up hammam or two. The streets are often congested. The buildings are somewhere between soviet-chique and just plain run-down. The restaurants and cafes are either very ordinary or priced for the overpaid UN and NGO crowd. And while the city is surrounded by hills, they fail to impress. The people are generally pleasant, but not overtly friendly or hospitable. And to make matters worse, i only saw the sun for a total of 23 minutes in the couple days i was in town transiting to and from the airport. Luckily, Pristina does not define Kosovo. There are other, far more interesting, places to visit like Peja or Prizren. Although it is likely an inevitable evil that you'll have to pass through Pristina at some point or another to, at the very least, change buses.

The Pristina airport is about 20-30 minutes outside the city (with good traffic) Drivers will try for 25 or 30 Euros, but 10 is fair (15 if you can't bargain well) There was a bus, but nobody seemed willing to give any information about it. As for onward travel, the bus station is functional, buy the ticket on the bus. The free In Your Pocket guide has decent and farily up-to-date information (at least more up to date than the LP)

I'm not a pampered princess. I don't need marble floors, silk sheets or gold faucets. I've actually spent the majority of my adult life living and travelling in places far less developed and poorer to Pristina. So my dislike for the place doesn't come from it not being "nice" enough. I just don't like it. Is it the worst place in the world? Of course not. Far from it. But it is not a poster child for the Balkans and it's totally worth skipping.

Primpin' Prizren

Quite often, it is the stigma of war, not so much the conflict itself, that can have devastating effects far surpassing those of bombs. It is the fear of fighting that scares away investors, developers and tourists. Kosovo is no stranger to both war and the reputation that comes along with it. For now things are calm. The situation is at times tense, but secure. But one city in the south-west of the country, Prizren, is a ticking time bomb of a different kind.

Prizren did not suffer as much as other parts of the region during the Kosovo War of 1998-1999. Instead, it is an explosion of another kind i speak of. Prizren is a powder keg of tourism ready to erupt. With it's combination of old world charm and lovely setting at the base of the Sar Mountains, it's easy to see why regional tourists flock here on long weekends and holidays.

In a region fraught with ethnic tension, i was shocked at the heterogeneous nature of Prizren. I should have seen it coming with the chat i had with my front desk guy at the hotel.

"So what local food should i try while i'm here" i asked, hoping for a bit of an inside scoop.

"Definitely try the Turkish Kebab or the Kofte" he answered without pause.

What? Come to Kosovo for Turkish food? But Turks are just one of

the ethnic groups making up the tapestry of town. There are even a few Serbs left (although they're in secure compounds). Wandering the new looking old town, the influence of the Ottoman empire was more than apparent. Plenty of Turkish-styled mosque are scattered about town. There are even old hammam (Turkish baths). But the main landmark in the city is likely the 16th century Old Stone Bridge, crossing the rather tame River Bistrica leading to the old town. What's more, there are several Mevlana Tekkes. These are the "whirling dervishes" from Turkey. But right next the the mosques and tekkes are churches, orthodox and non-orthodox, all working symbiotically and in relative harmony. It is clear evidence that the tension in Kosovo is not all what the media (and paranoia) what have us believe.

Possibly the highlight is the old fort on the hill overlooking the city. The path is clearly marked out of he town centre. But it's not the fort itself that is the attraction (it's actually kind of crap) instead it's the view over town. Just as good is to follow the path behind the fort with some beautiful views over the surrounding valley.

However, these monuments face a different kind of threat. Overdevelopment

is seeing old building torn down (or mysteriously catch on fire) in order for new, brand name shops to arise from their ashes. I've seen it all before. While travellers hope for the old and traditional, locals strive for the new and shiny. And while Kosovo will never be a major tourist destination for those in the west, once the few do start showing up, prices will skyrocket and development will go into hyper-drive. On the flip side, piles of rubbish, throw out in irrelevantly orderly manner, soil the streets. All that's needed are a few trash bins. I always hope for the best for any local population, but there has to be a happy middle ground between the past and the future.

Prizren is well connected with other places in the region. Buses go to Peja, Pristina and further afield to Macedonia, Albania and even Bulgaria and Turkey. The In Your Pocket guide is quite up to date with such info. The central Hotel Centrum is a great mid-range place to stay, even if their website sucks.

Even with it's issues of development, Prizren is likely the main attraction of the unofficial country. Any trip here should be planned to avoid holidays or summer weekends as the crowds can make it a little claustrophobic. But all-in-all, the city is definitely worth a stop if in the region, and verges on a destination in and of itself.