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By Root 1996 0

more than plonking myself down on a makeshift table outside one of the thousands of cafés that line that city’s maze of streets and alleys. Partaking in the daily sheesha ritual feels like I am part of the club – an initiated member of the puffing galabeya-clad contingent that sit here pondering the events of the world. As our tobacco smoke is languidly inhaled the soothing soundtrack of bubbles wafts through the air. Upon exhalation, each plume of the sweet-smelling haze is charged with the quiet whispers of political debate and friendly gossip. A small cup of sweetly brewed tea is always within arm’s reach; the diligent staff rarely allow it to stay empty for long. For me this is the best way to experience Cairo – by taking time out of the city’s hectic schedule to sit, rest, converse with friends and watch the world through a lethargic mist of blue tobacco clouds.

Rafael Wlodarski

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For a unique insight into Cairo – its politics, personalities and gossip – pick up a copy of Khalid Al Khamissy’s Tales of Rides, which is a fascinating collection of personal stories from Cairene taxi drivers.

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IRAQ

Backpacking Iraq

It’s not everyday that Iraqi Kurds see American backpackers traipsing through their countryside. In some places, I was simply a curious anomaly. But in rural areas where America is considered to be the Kurdish peoples’ liberator, we Yanks were practically treated to a hero’s welcome.

Late one afternoon, my mate Chase and I – both Americans – arrived in the hillside town of Akre. We had just begun hiking up the steep town to look for a hotel when a Kurdish Peshmerga soldier armed with an AK-47 rifle ran over to us, glanced at our rucksacks and cameras, and demanded to know who we were. ‘We are tourists,’ I said. ‘Em geshtiyar in,’ Chase repeated in Kurdish. The dumbstruck soldier took us to his boss, Peshmerga Commander Ayoub, a round, jovial man with a friendly face, who was even more incredulous. We were the first Western visitors they had ever seen, American or otherwise. With a big grin and outstretched arms, Commander Ayoub welcomed us with steaming cups of hot tea and promptly assigned two of his soldiers to escort us on a sightseeing trip through town. ‘Americans good,’ Ayoub exclaimed with a thumbs-up sign, ‘President Bush VERY good!’

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In 1928, New Zealand engineer Sir AM Hamilton was commissioned to build a road from Erbil to Haji Omaran through some of the most inhospitable terrain in the world. He recounted his successful mission in his 1937 travelogue, Road Through Kurdistan. It remains a timeless, travel-writing classic and a wonderful insight into the psyche of Iraqi Kurdish people.

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The pro-American hospitality would be repeated several times during my journey. In Haji Omaran, a local English teacher insisted I stay overnight with his family as a guest of the village. In Choman, a college student and his grandmother dragged me to their home and fed me a lunch fit for a king. In Gali Ali Beg, a family of Iraqi Kurds whipped out their cell phones and insisted on having their photographs taken with me. And in Shaqlawa, hotel manager Karim kept us up until the wee hours to chat politics over mugs of cold Heineken beer. ‘We may not necessarily agree with American policies,’ he said, ‘but we love American people!’

César Soriano

War Correspondents Invade Iraq

By February 2003 the US-Iraq war seemed like a foregone conclusion. At the time, I was working as an entertainment and celebrity reporter for USA Today. Because I was a US Army veteran I was tasked to be one of 800 civilian journalists who would be ‘embedded’ with military forces for a front seat to war. In early March, I flew to Bahrain and hopped a puddle jumper to USS Constellation, an aircraft carrier with a crew of 5000 that would be my home for the next month. As embedded journalists, we lived, slept, ate and worked alongside young sailors and marines and followed them anywhere they went, even into combat. We floated around the Gulf for several weeks of sheer