Day 391: The Invasion of Iraq

26.01.10: I blame Lonely Planet. The nearest town to the border of Iraq according to my guide book is a place called Sirnak, the real closest town is called Silopi. If I had known this in advance, I could have got off my bus in Silopi instead of foolishly staying on it until Sirnak. This meant I had to backtrack somewhat. Yesterday when I asked for a ticket to Sirnak, a Turkish man said to me “why do you want to go there? It's very dangerous... [gestures firing a machine gun] Best you go to Cappadocia.” Cappadocia's fairy-chimney charms aside, this remark annoyed me more than scared me – it's no secret that the Turks aren't particularly enamoured with the Kurdish people that live in the border regions of Turkey, Iraq and Iran. Irritating buggers who have their own fancy language and customs – how dare…

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Day 392: Drunk… with an AK-47

27.01.10: Londa hails from a place called Colorado in a little out-of-the-way country called America not far from Comoros, Sao Tome and Djibouti. She's been living in Iraq now for more than six months and seems to quite like the place. I guess it makes a change from fast food, big fat fatty fat fats and weird ball games that nobody else in the world plays. She's working in the school here in German Village, as (seemingly) are most of the people who live in these apartments. Funnily enough, I'm not Londa's only CouchSurfer; she's also hosting a lovely girl from Amsterdam named Felia, who is interviewing ethnic Kurds for a ‘Uni’ project. Today, I went out for a walk around the town, got my beard trimmed and stuffed my face with kebab (the only food seemingly available round these parts). If I can just make…

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Day 394: Chav and Chav-Nots

29.01.10: You know what though – all these dangerous places I've been to, I haven't seen one gang of horrible teenage lads hanging around on a street corner with their hoods up threatening passers-by for no better reason than they're too stupid to think of anything else to do. (Plus nobody stops them.) When I lived in Orrell Park in Liverpool, I wouldn't let them interfere with my wish to go to the shops at night, but even I had to admit that their presence made me much more anxious (in terms of fearing of injury or death) than my time in Lagos, Kinshasa, Johannesburg, Nairobi and Iraq put together. So next time somebody tells you not to go to such-and-such dangerous place, might I suggest you take them by the arm and go for a stroll to your go see your friendly neighbourhood scallies hanging…

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Day 395: The Silopi Slope

30.01.10: I had checked in to a local hotel in Silopi, sharing a room with a few other guys to get the price down to $10 (which was pretty extortionate if I stopped to think about it). I worried that I had mucked up the time difference between Iraq and Turkey and would find that my bus to Silifke had left half an hour ago, but that didn't entice me to rush and I squeezed every last bit of sleep out of the situation that Chronos would allow. The bus station was just across the road. I wanted a seat on the 8pm bus to Silifke, the town from which I could get the boat to Cyprus and therefore tick off that last remaining country on my list of European Nations. However, the bus was sold out and so I found myself hanging around for a…

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