Okay, it’s Sulaymaniyah….

…or at least that is what my Iraqi Airlines ticket says.  I have just seen it spelled so many different ways as well as Googled it and gotten similarly different results. 

Anyway. 

[Oh, and FYI, I am posting these about a day behind when they are actually happening…I try to write them, go to sleep, then re read and post.  (But actually, this one is a couple days old.  Sorry.  I had a really bad night last night…got sort of wasted after work…more on that later.  Mabye.).  This loose editorial system can also be credited with whatever grammatical/spelling errors present in “the blog.”  But anyway, that is why the days may seem a little inconsistent.] 

Back on task. 

I worked yesterday and now I will work tonight and the next night.  Which is nice because it means I got a full night of sleep last night and am now about to lay down for a nap…after I finish writing and finish this here glass of wine. 

I was able to go for a little walk today after breakfast with one of the other nurses.  I wanted to procure a hooded sweatshirt since somehow I managed to leave the US without one (I think I had planned on wearing one on the plane so I didn’t pack it…then forgot about this clever plan…and I knew that if I tried to get one in Nasiriyah, there was no way I would be allowed to pay for it.  So yeah…).

It was so nice to walk around without the entourage I had become accustomed to!  I do, however, think that I need to be extra vigilant about not getting hit by a car here in Kurdistan (Mom, I promise that I am being VERY careful when I cross the street).

So yeah, found a sharp new hoody, found some beer, and snapped some photos. 

I noticed this when my flight was landing here, but Northern Iraq (i.e., Iraqi Kurdistan) bears a shocking resemblance to eastern Washington.  Landscape-wise at least.  Not architecture or construction for sure, but physical features of the horizon.  The hills in the distance look like the same rolling, tree-less slopes that I grew up with.  It looks like the view from my parent’s back porch. 

Only with densely packed, rectangular buildings between me and that skyline. 

Which is a big surprise.  But also in a way such a comforting relief.    

To quote Kristin Hersh from her recent memoir Rat Girl, “…it is like finding home in a foreign country” (p. 49).