After a powerful couple of weeks in Southern Iraq, I headed north to see another side of this fascinating country. Northern Iraq is mostly Kurdistan, a semi-autonomous region with its own government, language, and identity—and it certainly felt quite different. Instead of desert heat, I found cooler mountain air. Even in the driest season, green patches clung to the hillsides. The culture also felt more open. Christians and Muslims live side by side, and while people still dress modestly, it was common to see women without head coverings.

What struck me most was the hospitality. Iraqis everywhere are known for their warmth, but in Kurdistan it felt like another level. I set out alone, but at every turn I was welcomed in by strangers. There were many invitations for tea, cab drivers who refused payment, shared meals, and people inviting me to stay in their homes. I was repeatedly told that I was not a guest but a brother. The stories I’ll share here point to some noteworthy instances in a trip showered with kindness and love.

It’s also worth noting that tourism is still new in Iraq after decades of war and isolation so a foreign face naturally draws curiosity. Going through Iraq after the recent history provided a lot of contrast to learn from. Life here isn’t easy or enviable, but the people carry a selflessness and determination that is hard to find elsewhere.

I learned that government workers in Kurdistan haven’t been paid in months, but still carried on. Much of this region was taken over by ISIS less than 10 years ago and still a lot remains of the hardship that lingers in the background.

Mosul

Mosul stands at the edge of Federal Iraq before entering Kurdistan. It’s a city with a message of resilience. Wandering its streets, I found bustling markets alive with energy. I met Moomen, a local who insisted on showing me around his city.

Just beyond the market stood the ruined Old Town—a haunting reminder of the war against ISIS. Entire neighbourhoods were reduced to rubble when ISIS made the city its stronghold. Walking through these ruins, it struck me that everyone living here had been at the forefront of that invasion.

Moomen opened up about life under ISIS. Internet was cut, supplies were restricted, and public executions were carried out in the streets. It was a dark time that people here still carry with them. And yet, the city buzzes with life once again. Mosul is proof that even after devastation, people can find a way forward. At the same time, the scars of those years remain, woven quietly into the lives of its people.

Baghdida

Just outside Mosul lies Baghdida, the largest Christian community in Iraq. I went with Jamie, an Australian traveller I met along the way. We planned on a quick visit, but ended up spending the whole day when we were taken in by some locals.

At a shisha bar, we met Nassim, a Baghdida local turned Canadian citizen. This was his first return since fleeing in 2014, and he welcomed us in as if we were family. After a quick call to his mom, he insisted we join his family for lunch.

Soon, we were sitting in his home, sharing a small feast his mom whipped up for us. We had lasagna, shawarma, quinoa, and a fresh garden salad. Jamie and I agreed it was the best meal we’d had in weeks.

Nassim took us around to the different sites and churches. Each one had been destroyed by ISIS and rebuilt since. A single fallen pillar remains in one church as a reminder of both the destruction and the community’s determination to rise above it.

We also had a chance to attend a Sunday evening mass at one of the catholic churches. After, we were shown a wedding hall where a 700 person wedding would take place the next day. It turns out the weddings here are a big deal.

Hitchhiking Kurdistan

Public transport is limited within Kurdistan, so I decided to hitchhike and couch surf most of the way.

After leaving Mosul, I caught a shared taxi to Duhok in Kurdistan—and the drive turned out to be an adventure of its own. The border crossing was absolute chaos, easily the wildest I’ve ever experienced. Beyond the multiple checkpoints, the place was so jammed that cars that many (mine included) veered off the road entirely, bumping across the open desert to skip the endless line of traffic.

Kurds are famously welcoming, and I quickly found that to be true. The longest I ever waited for a ride was about ten minutes. Each driver gave more than just a lift—many insisted on buying food or inviting us into their homes.

Travelling this way also revealed the region’s beauty. Hitchhiking meant we were often dropped off in small towns that we wandered through before looking for another ride. The cooler climate make Kurdistan surprisingly green when compared to the south. While hitchhiking isn’t for everyone, it’s been a great way to travel a bit more slowly, meet locals, and have unexpected adventures along the way!

Lalish

Not far from Duhok lies Lalish, the holiest site of the Yezidi faith. The Yezidis are a small and peaceful religious community, about a million strong worldwide. Their wisdom is carried through oral tradition rather than written scripture.

A Yezidi family welcomed us as soon as we arrived, inviting us to lunch and guiding us through their sacred spaces. I learned that visitors walk barefoot within the holy valley and always step over—never on—the thresholds of doorways. Their devotion centers around Melek Taus, the Peacock Angel which is a symbol of light and redemption.

I knew that many here carried stories of loss, yet what they offered was warmth and quiet dignity.

When ISIS swept through the region in 2014, the Yezidis became one of the most persecuted groups. Branded “devil worshippers,” they were massacred, enslaved, and driven from their homes. Thousands of men were executed; women and girls were sold into slavery; entire families fled to the mountains of Sinjar. Even today, mass graves are still being uncovered, and many survivors remain in refugee camps.

These aren’t easy histories to hold, but I believe they’re important to share. They remind us of both the cruelty and the resilience woven into the human story.

Guharze

Later, I partnered with Mariam, another Canadian, as we hitchhiked deeper into the mountains. One evening we stopped in the quiet village of Guharze, where the streets were lined with fig, apple, and pomegranate trees. Alan, a shopkeeper, welcomed us immediately and invited us to stay with his family.

What was meant to be one night stretched into two. We toured their small farm, joining in the daily milking of goats. In the evenings we played football at a nearby pitch, enjoyed cards, and talked late into the night. The Game of Fern that I carry with me was a hit and they asked when I’d send them a copy (If you’re heading to Iraq and want to bring them a copy let me know).

In general, life felt ordinary in the best way.

If you’d like to check out the internationally famous card game FERN, you can find it here. Each purchase helps me pay forward kindness to others as I travel.

Still, differences were clear. Women took on most of the domestic duties, while men worked outside the home. Alan also shared a story of a tense encounter with the Turkish military just a week earlier. Forty men from the village had been detained for hours after a border misunderstanding. It was a reminder of the political instability of these areas, and how quickly circumstances can change.

Our hitchhiking continued eastward. One trick we learned here is using the military checkpoints as places to hitch from. The guards were friendly and would always help us find a ride from oncoming traffic.

Pictures of the checkpoints aren’t legal so I couldn’t capture this part.

Soran and Sulaymaniyah

In Soran, Dilshad invited us to stay with his family and insisted on giving us the best of everything. Every meal was a feast, and he made sure to get home from work early to take us around his city.

In Sulaymaniyah and on return to Baghdad, I was able to make use of the Couchsurfing platform to find hosts to take me in. A pattern, I noticed, is that many people want to host travellers to hear about their experiences around the world. It’s unfortunately difficult to travel with an Iraqi passport (the government fears people won’t return). So, the next best option is to host travellers for cultural exchange.

Closing

Looking back, I can say Iraq is one of my favourite countries I’ve visited—mainly for the perspective shift it provided and the endless kindness of its people. There’s a cultural mindset here that leans toward generosity, where the default is to look out for one another. Being in that environment opened my heart in ways I’ll be carrying forward.

My time in Iraq challenged the narratives we’re fed about other places and people. Without realizing it, we often simplify a complex world into neat stories, missing the depth, nuance, and beauty of our shared humanity. Had I listened to the warnings of others—including my government—I would never have experienced the outpouring of love that I did there.

These experiences have shown me that when we let fear shape our worldview, the world feels vast, cold, and distant. But when we approach it with openness and curiosity, every place can feel like home, and we begin to see beyond superficial differences to a deeper place of love.

Now, I’m writing from the small village of Deouri in the Himalayan foothills of India. It’s been one year since I’ve set out on this journey, and feel called to shift gears again. This next chapter will be quieter—focused on meditation, reflection, and integrating all that has unfolded over the past year.

With Love, 

-Adam

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