Richest Man in the Village
Racha, Georgia
Image from Archive

I can confirm that our journey ran through all the relevant stages: dissolution of the comfort zone; transfer of the internal center of gravity to the outside world; confrontation with, and immersion in, otherness; crossing physical thresholds and personal barriers; loneliness, crises, freedom and adventure; the encounter with the helpful stranger; finally, re-entering the previously familiar. Every stage brought its own hardship and joy. Though it is too early to be sure, I suspect that it has been a life-changing experience.

Being accompanied by you, valued reader, was a comfort at times and a pleasure always; I hope you have enjoyed your virtual journey too. Posting this, for now, final contribution is another chapter closing. I promise that, as soon as we set off on our next overland trip, you will hear from me via this blog.

Before I let this collection of images and words slide into the great filing cabinet in the sky, I would like to share this thought:

Contrary to what most of us seem to think, the positive values of humanity are, by and large, intact; certainly the world, as we have experienced it, is very much a better place than I expected.

In just over a year, we had pitifully few negative encounters: four times moved on, one theft, one arrest, one or two suspected overcharges; it was more than eclipsed by the wealth of kindness extended to us. The further east we moved, the more we found ourselves at the receiving end of spontaneous altruism: welcoming words, gifts of food, hospitality, practical help, signs of affection lavished on our son Ziggy, refusals to charge (yes, even after three times insisting), and, not to forget, endless offers of tea and conversation. All this from ordinary, random people going about their business.

After a time we learned that whatever might befall us – running out of resources, finding ourselves in unexpected danger – wherever on our route, there is a good chance that, upon seeking it, we would be given whatever assistance matched our need, by whomever we asked. It has given new meaning to the idea of travelling light.

We did our best to remain sensible and vigilant throughout, yet at the beginning I fretted a great deal about our safety and well-being.

I needn’t have worried. Now there’s a lesson.

Unpacking
Stoke Gabriel
19th April 2012

So I try to understand what I can’t hold in my hand
And whatever I find, I’ll find my way back to you
Home is wherever we are if there’s love here too
(Jack Johnson: ‘Home’)

Coming home. Maybe be most complex and exciting part of the journey.

The value of home is an insight that, in this case, was acquired on the road.

11th March 2012

The first problem of the returning [wanderer] is to accept as real, after an experience of the soul-satisfying vision of fulfilment, the passing joys and sorrows, banalities and obscenities of life. Why re-enter such a world? … As dreams that were momentous by night may seem simply silly in the light of day, so the poet … can discover [himself] playing the idiot before jury of sober eyes.
(Joseph Campbell: ‘The Hero with a Thousand Faces’ I.III.3: The Crossing of the Return Threshold)

Heathrow Express.

Compared to where we have been, the height of luxury. Wide, comfortable seats, matching, muted colours, a TV. Not a scrap of litter.

It is very quiet. Most of the passengers are staring into space. Nobody talks or looks at anyone else.

In best Middle Eastern fashion, Ziggy says hello to everyone who boards our carriage and good-bye to everyone leaving. Almost everyone ignores him.

On the TV, images of faraway places are being played. According to our original plan, we would right now be in Kashmir, on the road from Manali to Leh. I am gripped by a sense of lack and disorientation.

The same day. First Great Western, Paddington to Penzance.

The carriage is full. I am struggling to find space for our luggage whilst trying to keep an exuberant 2-year old under control. No-one offers to help. A man frowns at us across the top of his paper.

On the way to our seat, we pass a boy of about seven and his dad. Ziggy points at him and excitedly shouts ‘baby!’. The boy looks mortified. ‘He’s not a baby’ his dad murmurs, crossly.

We reach our seat. The elderly woman sitting next to us is reading a novel set in the Middle East. Hoping to strike up a conversation, I tell her we have just spent three months in Iran. ‘Oh’ she says politely and falls silent, returning to her book.

First Flight out
43º49’31″N, 18º20’11″E
4th March 2012

… Then for Odysseus they spread a rug and a linen sheet on the deck of the hollow ship at the stern, that he might sleep soundly; and he too went aboard, and laid him down in silence. Then they sat down on the benches, each in order, and loosed the hawser from the pierced stone. And as soon as they leaned back, and tossed the brine with their oarblades, sweet sleep fell upon his eyelids, an unawakening sleep, most sweet, and most like to death. And as on a plain four yoked stallions spring forward all together beneath the strokes of the lash, and leaping on high swiftly accomplish their way, even so the stern of that ship leapt on high, and in her wake the dark wave of the loud-sounding sea foamed mightily, and she sped safely and surely on her way; not even the circling hawk, the swiftest of winged things, could have kept pace with her…
(Homer: The Odyssey)

All of a sudden, the convoluted, seemingly unending journey is brought around within about a paragraph. He falls asleep, and when he wakes up, Odysseus is on home soil.

Just like that.

My return from Iraq also involves a chance of pace. The pregnancy is advancing, I am uncomfortable in the restricted space of the campervan and, with one or two medical conditions, would like to register with a hospital sooner than the camper could get us back.

More to the point, I have an intense wish to find us a home while I still can; to no longer be a visitor. For now, the open road has lost its allure. The awareness that my new state of mind is hormonally driven makes no difference.

I fly to London with Ziggy via Sarajevo, leaving Simon to drive the camper back.

Just like that.

36º56’46″N, 44º01’31″E
24th February 2012

Having visited a Barzani family from the clan Almntguetna Albarzanyen at their home, I can testify that they are as courteous and hospitable as anyone we have met in this part of the world.

Our hosts confirmed, however, that Barzanis have, throughout history, valued their independence, and that this has landed them in trouble with almost every government in living memory; they were keen to point out that their tribe have always prevailed.

Saddam wanted to wipe them out altogether; after their en-masse deportation, he had the males killed in the ’83: anyone from the age of about ten was targeted, with the number of victims estimated at 8,000. Most families have only recently returned to their villages. Some started off living in tents, now the area is full of newly built houses.

Today, quite a few of Kurdistan Iraq’s political leaders are Barzanis, including the current Prime Minister Nechrvan Barzani: it seems that, proud and resilient as they are, Barzanis are used to shaping their future. There is a palpable sense of optimism here.

35º31'23"N, 44º50'17"E
23rd February 2012

Kurdistan Iraq: a country within a country. After Saddam’s violent oppression of Iraqi Kurds, they stood up in ’91 whilst Saddam’s army was engaged elsewhere, during the first Gulf War.

Today the three Kurdish provinces of Erbil, Duhok and Sulaymaniyeh are a semi-autonomous region within Iraq. Kurds highly value their history and traditions, whilst they country itself feels rather new and in the process of becoming.

Iraqi Kurds, a gregarious, hospitable and extremely lovable people, have much to be proud of.

Kamil
35º10'50"N, 45º59'04"E
22nd February 2012

A plea.

Kamil Weiss survived the infamous 1988 poison gas attack on Halabja – part of Saddam’s genocidal policy against Iraq’s Kurdish population – aged 12, as the sole survivor of his family.

Today he is married with three young kids and still lives in Halabja. Trained as a teacher, and now too unwell to work in the classroom, he continues to work in an administrative job at the local school.

He suffers from the after-effects of the chemical exposure – only about 10% of his lung is functional. Without a lung transplant he will soon die.

A smart, well-educated man, Kamil has his medical records on file and explored all the means available within his own country to obtain such an operation; unfortunately for him, in Kurdistan Iraq there are no facilities to carry out a transplant, or indeed help him to organise or finance it (though there are clinics abroad that could deal with his case).

Kamil was a witness at the trial of ‘Chemical Ali’ Ali Hassan al-Majid and has met with a number of high-profile politicians, including Colin Powell; he says that whilst he has been promised help numerous times, none has so far been forthcoming. I find his story particularly heartbreaking.

I am appealing to you, dear readers, to help me find help for Kamil: from a charity, a fund, a philanthopist. Please give it some thought and please ask around amongst people you know. Write back via the ‘comments’ facility or via the contact page on my website. Any ideas, any long shots, would very much appreciated.

Thank you.

In Chamchamal, Kurdistan Iraq
35º32'17"N, 44º50'36"E
23rd February 2012

Having been nominated for The Versatile Blogger Award by Marina Chetner and Yulia/ In Search of Perfect (thank you both) it is, according to the award rules, my pleasure to nominate my 15 favourite blogs:

The posts in Yowayowa Camera Woman Diary are images of the artist jumping, titled ‘Today’s Levitation’. Excellent work.

I admire these artists’ photography blogs: Archipelago by Chris Littlewood, who is also a curator, features the best photography I have seen – Chris favours cerebral work with visual impact – within a beautifully laid-out blog. Aislin Leggett’s Slightly Lucid is a thoughtful and well-put together digest of contemporary and historic photography; The Dream Being by Jacques Donaldson has an engaging choice of work, rather successfully accompanied by literary quotations.

I enjoy the title, lack of words, and work featured in An Ambitious Project Collapsing. November books is a rare fashion publication site, its imagery eclectic and fun.

It had been my intention to include a link to vasa-transmedia.com, an excellent worldwide platform for bloggers, artists and media bods, but the site is currently undergoing maintenance; a future visit is recommended.

Recently I have enjoyed the tumblr blogs I Haven’t Got a Tumblr to Wear, Sets of 9 and Everything and – I will shamelessly mention that the latter two contain re-blogs of my work.

Kindred spirits. The Iraq vet Michael Xavier Ortiz shares his photography and writing on life and war via Photographic Memory. Make Do Mum by a fellow creative/ pregnant person/ Londoner/ mum makes for a sweet read. I find A Big Life, written by a travelling antipodean who has ended up in Bavaria, in a situation spookily inverse to my own, amusing (‘Why Aren’t Germans Fat?’) and well-observed.

A special mention to the lovable Where the Lounge by an unknown blogger – elusive and touching; with beautiful photography. It looks and feels like a travel blog, though the subject seems to be intentionally left unclear.

And whilst good old TED is not a blog, it still must count as one of the best web resources around.

Which leaves me, according to the rules, to divulge seven facts about myself. Feel free to skip.

I make a mean blackforest gateau. My cameras and portfolio are my most prized possessions. I have a love/ hate relationship with the Canon. My favourite movie is ‘The Wings of Desire’ by Wim Wenders. It is why I became a Circus Aerialist. Both my parents are war-displaced – my mum a refugee, my dad a deportee. Parenthood and travelling have opened my heart.

19th February 2012
36º11'29"N, 44º00'14"E

Whilst one gets used to the sight of machine guns around here, this one is being carried even more nonchalantly then your average Kurdish firearm.

A besuited man has got out of the car and walked into the barber’s shop. I assume that the man with the gun is his guard.

Haji Omaran to Erbil
36º36'08"N, 44º21'47"E
18th February 2012

Having picked up a couple of passengers at the border, we drop one of them off at a remote mountain village.

At the sight of us, a local man throws up his hands in a helpless gesture – ‘it’s great to see you, but what the hell are you doing here, here of all places?’.

Our laughter is borne of relief.

No more fear. All is well.