(Pictures and Editing to Follow as Bandwidth Allows)

Nothing says "I'm in Iraq" like a Hummer with a turret coming down the road. This one belonged to the Iraqi Army and they were transit somewhere. Anybody sane would rather schedule a convoy through Kurdistan.

Michael Totten and I had a much different, though still badly jet-lagged, journey this time. Instead of creeping in during the middle of the night on a chartered plane from Amman, we arrived on a scheduled flight from Vienna in the middle of the day. The capitol of Austria is an inspired monument to a most uninspiring imperial dynasty. Say what you like about the Hapsburg's...because it's probably true, but they sure knew how to squander funds on impressive stone-cutting and inspire others to do so. If they had a clue on earth about how to govern effectively or respond to change they would probably gotten a good gig as figurehead monarchs hanging out in the lovely palace of Schonnburg. Apparently they weeded the effective governance gene out through selective inbreeding. In order to make up for the lack governmental skill, the national airline has gotten good at competing in developing markets. Because of this behavior, Austrian Airlines is now the official carrier of moderaterisk.net. Take me places nobody else wants to go!

Michael Attempting to Recover from Jet Lag by Fixating on his Coffee. (Not actually a bad plan, this is Vienna and the coffee is really great.)

Compensation for Travel Includes Sights Like This

The gaggle coming in to the aircraft was late and prone to excitement. Young Kurdish women with glowing smiles and daring eyes kept shifting seats, giggling, and talking with all the other Kurds. This is very different from last summer's determined crowd of brave people who came in quiet and controlled. While the security was not lax, it was also not belligerently intensive. At the risk of reducing donation flow, it was much less of a grim showing than last trip. The presence of cute, long-legged blond stewardesses does not lend itself to inspiring war stories.

Also Not Good for War Stories, but My Wife Loves Daffodils. (I found these in Vienna on the way here.)

I landed at Erbil International Airport for the second time in seven months yesterday, but this time I arrived in Kurdistan, not Iraq. Since I left, some tipping point has been passed and the complex of awareness, trust, and money that allows independence has been reached. The Kurds are not pushing for legal separation from the portion of Iraq that wallows in dysfunction, but they are clear now they can manage by themselves. The sense of tentative optimism from the last trip has been replaced by confidence. Last time they were deliberately choosing to hope, this time they are deciding to succeed.

News Crews Much Thicker on the Ground in Kurdistan.

Upon arrival, Michael got the more interesting stamp on his passport telling him to check in with immigration. Showoff. But the policeman's heart really wasn't in it as much, and Michael really had to work at being nervous about the transit this time. We were also quite fascinated by the BBC crew in the line opposite us, one of whom was carrying a camera that cost about as much as my house. Our filming capacity is much smaller, but our ambitions are higher. Today you can get about 80% of the video quality from a camera that costs 10% as much, but if you are the BBC you have to spend the taxpayer's money somehow. We are much nicer and seeking donations for our upcoming web video projects. Of course, if I was an entrenched British media bureaucracy, I might feel differently. I'd probably be more interested in tea and anti-Americanism, for instance.

After picking up our luggage, which was blocked by the mounds of pelican cases the subsidized reporters put their toys in, we made our way out to meet our new fixer. This was a delicate moment, because your fixer is somebody you have to like and trust immediately based on your most shrewed observations. You also have to make this decision while jet-lagged. Our new guy, whose name I am withholding until he gets a chance to read this post, is an alright guy. He is clearly alert and welcoming and interested in the West. Michael and I have met tens of thousands of people over the years, some of whom liked us, some who hated us to their very core, and some in between. Part of the job is the capacity to assess and deal with the people who you depend upon. Within seconds we can tell this is going to work, because if we couldn't we wouldn't be in the international consulting business.

The trip into town is different this time, too. Okay, the traffic still sucks. Seven months of progress is not going to make driving around town any easier and light rails are only a mad gleam in frustrated would-be city planner's eyes. I see two young women jogging in the late afternoon. This would have been unthinkable seven months ago, not because of oppression, but because in the July heat it would have been suicidal. One of the women is wearing a headscarf, but freedom is where you make it. The people here do not need to make their women unhealthy, exercise is good. After we make sure we have a room we set a time to meet our driver in a few hours so we can recover from the flight. Energy management is key, and you always fail when you meet while exhausted or strange.

Found in the Souk, Something for the John Ringo Fans. (Obscure reference, but definitely a BPW.)

Instead of napping or showering, Michael and I decide to go for a walk. Due to a conference soaking up all the available rooms, we are stuck in the same space. This is bad in general because we have to work together, and in particular because I snore...loudly. The walk lets us interact with the world instead of staying cooped up in a small space. The sun is just about to set, but we don't take the cameras. Our walk takes us the mile or so to the Souk. I change some money after finding our way through the labyrinth unerringly. On the way back I see a tripod on the street and we buy it for not much at all. This is important because Michael was not interested in camera shops last time and did not believe that we could find such things. A few feet further down we find a camera shop with all but the very latest recording equipment. I'm in charge of selecting and obtaining gear, Michael doubted me, and now I'm being mean to him about it.

A New Mosque in Kurdistan. (Our fixer showed us lovely video from inside.)

When we meet back up with our new fixer, he is astonished to learn that we have been out and about so quickly. Perhaps some of that is concern that we won't need him, but he shouldn't be worried. There are many things instantly and easily available to locals that we will need along the way. Speaking Kurdish, for instance. We've learned this the hard way and are very clear how to work with our friends. We talk for a long while about the primary job as well as the journalism projects and eventually go to dinner with our fixer. We meet up with some other friends from previous trips. As I thought it would be, the meeting upon return is very nice. There is nothing as sincere as returning to Iraq.

Michael is asking direct questions about Kurdish matters and is getting interesting and new responses. As a consultant, I would have danced towards the issues, but Michael considers himself a journalist foremost. The answers this trip are different in tone, if not official line. The Kurds are not going to split from Iraq until it is absolutely in their interest to do so and not while the American forces are present. While they are not agitating for separation, they are acknowledging now that it is inevitable. The difference to them between the Arab Sunni and Shia is that the Sunni cut your throat and the Shia drill holes in your head. By not responding to the deliberately incendiary violence in Mosul and not wasting their young men on endless rounds of retribution, the Kurds are much more secure and internationally palatable.

Kurdish Gentlemen Talking on the Streetcorner.

Sincerely they do not want the Americans to leave, and if this means that they do not get independence for fifty years, so be it. On the other hand, with fifty years of American security assistance, this place will make most of the Arab world look like a slum. I'm not just saying that because fifty years ago Dubai was a slum. In the near term, the Kurdish Region needs in their control a refinery to convert crude oil and power generation capacity. Those two can be obtained in a lot less than fifty years and will give them the opportunity they need to keep themselves prosperous and free. They weren't saying this seven months ago which leads me to believe that they don't mind people knowing it now.

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