The Crossing

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In the late part of last summer I crossed Europe by land (train, bus, car) to get myself to Iraq for a reporting assignment.
I stopped here in Turkey for some rest and took this photo on a boat crossing to the Asia side of Istanbul. This man is pulling up a fishing line, I can't remember what he caught.

I stayed in a little hotel that a friend had directed me to. It was a bad tip as they only had some space for me on the roof, and I would have to displace a family of cats to settle there for the night. It was also a bad tip as my friend failed to mention to me that the reason that particular hotel stood out for him was that the previous year an acquaintance of his had run off with the owner's wife. He doesn't think so, but I am certain that is why I got the roof.



I hardly got to see Istanbul, I was trying to get myself south to Turkish Kurdistan, or simply the southeast as Turks will refer to it, to cross into Iraq.

In the end, it turned out to be a good tip, the hotel. The cook of the guest house restaurant was a Kurdish man, whom everyone referred to as George Clooney, the resemblance was unnerving. When he learned I was a journalist headed south he asked me to stop in Moosh on my way, his home town, and meet with the Egitim Sen, the local teachers union. I couldn't imagine how this could be interesting and he wouldn't tell me why, he just insisted.

So I went downstairs and checked out early. At the reception desk, the young and gregarious attendant looked upset and asked why I was leaving so soon. George Clooney told him I was headed to Moosh, and the attendant looked at me all smiles. He reached into the drawer and gave me back my fare for the rooftop and a hug. They waved me off and I headed to the boats to cross to the Asia side that night with only their approval and confidence for assurance.



In the coming days I will tell you the story of the crossing from Milan to Baghdad. It's a good story. You'll get to see the Italian Alps, a wedding in Diyarbakir and a bumpy mortar-riddled road connecting Mosul to Baghdad. Mostly, it's a story about watching the earth change over distance, time, and borders (the human kind not the state kind). Oh yes, I get sentimental and then I get all existential, and then it always gets political. You'll get used to it and you will like it.

Shall I continue?
It starts at a desk at the United Nations, 32nd floor of the secretariat building in New York City in the spring.