It’s hard to believe I’m in Iraq as I float in an infinity pool high on Korek Mountain in the Kurdistan Region. Forty-odd miles away through the haze is Iraq’s tri-point with Turkey and Iran. The pool, a bowling alley, arcade and wood‑paneled bar belong to the new Radisson Blu Resort & Spa Korek Mountain, reached by the sleek Korek Teleferic. During my stay, the only other guests are Iraqi families enjoying cooler mountain air.
Telling people I was traveling to the Kurdistan Region often prompted alarm. Friends warned it was dangerous; some asked if I had a kidnapping plan. My parents, seasoned travelers, found it thrilling. As questions grew, I stopped telling strangers. But Visit Kurdistan’s Sozan Mirawdaly, a Kurdish-Canadian former journalist, insists they’re “in the business of myth‑busting.” She wants outsiders to see Kurdistan’s hospitality and beauty as well as its painful history.
There are many reasons to visit: dramatic scenery, extensive hiking, ancient and modern religious sites, direct flights from cities such as Dubai and Istanbul, visa on arrival for citizens of more than 50 countries, and welcoming residents. Kurdistan maintains its own president, government, borders and security forces and is a relatively calm pocket in a volatile region.
I arrive after a three‑hour flight from Dubai. Erbil—Hawler in Kurdish—is one of the world’s longest continuously inhabited cities and a place of rapid change. Cranes and glossy developments now punctuate the skyline. At its heart, the Citadel, a UNESCO World Heritage Site inhabited for more than 6,000 years, is undergoing lengthy restoration.
At the Citadel’s base, Qaysari Bazaar hums with life: carts piled with white mulberries, watermelon and sunflower seeds roasted over blowtorches; families taking photos by the fountain; children nagging for ice cream. Elderly men in baggy sherwal pants walk with prayer beads made from terebinth seeds. I buy dried fruit rolls, fragrant honey and salty, herbed goat cheese cured in skin, then try crunchy falafel topped with sour mango sauce at the popular Cocktail café. Later, after truffle ravioli at an Italian restaurant, fashion designer Lara Dizeyee leads a midnight dress‑up session in her studio. Her modern takes on traditional Kurdish silhouettes use unexpected fabrics—skulls, camouflage, Japanese florals—melding memory with reinvention. Lara’s family history—fleeing at night across the Iranian border on horseback—reminds me that Kurdistan looks forward while carrying deep scars.
A sneak peek inside the Citadel introduces me to Lolan Mustafa at the Kurdish Textile Museum, housed in a restored 1930 merchant’s home. Mustafa’s collection of nearly 1,500 kilims and carpets preserves a craft endangered after Saddam Hussein’s Anfal campaign in the late 1980s decimated Kurdish nomadic life and cultural traditions. Dyed with pomegranate, safflower and beetroot, the textiles bear symbols of gazelles, falcons and the eight‑pointed star of Ishtar. Mustafa sees preservation as a national duty.
My guide, Mohammed “Hama” Alqaderi, explains the Citadel’s hill is actually a tell—layers of successive civilizations built atop one another. Hama’s family lived in the Citadel for generations; in 2023 he launched Gerrok, a travel company named for the wanderer.
Leaving the city, we follow pickup trucks packed with goats through plains where Alexander the Great fought Persians. The road trip soundtrack switches between Stealers Wheel and Nirvana as we pass stork nests balanced on pylons and stalls with sun-dried apricots and fresh chickpeas eaten straight from the pods. Small groceries sell dolma‑flavored crisps and lemon‑mint Sprite amid local oddities.
In Akre, Tariq Aqrawi, a former Iraqi ambassador to Austria, has restored a ruined village house filled with samovars, instruments and a gramophone. In March, Akre hosts Newroz, when torch‑bearing crowds climb the hillside to celebrate the New Year. On a quieter day we climb the same path, stepping on centuries‑old pottery and exploring ruins before descending into a cave shaped like a bird’s head. Sunset arrives with the adhan echoing off rocky slopes. Xanedan restaurant rewards our hike with a rooftop feast of dolma, served by owners whose teenage daughter learned English on YouTube.
Shush is the starting point of the Zagros Mountain Trail, a 130‑mile route launched in 2023 that links ancient pilgrimage paths, shepherd routes and trails used by Kurdish Peshmerga fighters. It connects religious, archaeological and cultural sites and offers work for about 30 communities. We do a short hillside hike from mayor Nader Tahir Mustafa’s home—fried eggs, rich butter and thin bread dipped in tahini and honey fortify us. The air bristles with crickets; goat bells tinkle. We peer at hilltop ruins and retreat to a clear spring shaded by pink oleanders. Nearby, the newly restored 700‑year‑old Ezekiel synagogue recalls a once‑diverse community of Jews, Christians and Muslims.
Rawandiz, a canyon‑side town, feels cinematic: cattle grazing near dizzying drops, visitors posing against cliff backdrops. A group from London visiting family tells me the region is “misinterpreted”—an oasis of scenery, food and safety they wish more people knew about. On this trip they’re the only other tourists I encounter.
My final stop is Slemani (Sulaymaniyah), a city of poets and artists. Arazu Hassan Mohammed, who founded Kurdistan Outdoor in 2013 to promote eco‑tourism and community hikes, guides me through bustling stalls. She moves confidently in Kurdish dress, navigating clouds of kebab smoke and piles of ice topped with bright soda cans. Over a tray of kaymak, cheese, dibs and tahini at Chay Khanay Aqari, I feel revived before visiting Amna Suraka National Museum.
Amna Suraka, a former prison pockmarked by bullet holes, with captured tanks and a toppled Saddam statue outside, documents the horrors inflicted on the Kurds: genocide, resistance and the Anfal campaign. It’s harrowing and necessary. Nearby, the Kurd’s Heritage Museum offers respite—stained‑glass windows, wooden balconies and a courtyard where backgammon pieces click and tea glasses clink. A bright room of carpets and cushions gives a lighter counterpoint to the prison’s weight.
Across Kurdistan, the past is an insistent presence—ghosts of suffering, deportation and loss—but residents are actively creating new narratives of resilience, pride and possibility. People like Hama, Lara, Arazu and Mustafa balance remembrance with reinvention: preserving crafts, building trails, reviving tourism and celebrating a culture that is at once ancient and evolving. Kurdistan remains a place with urgent stories to tell—of survival, hospitality, food, art and landscape—inviting visitors to see beyond myths and understand a region rewriting its own story.
