& how the rebel fighters get on sleeping on the rooftop of the boat:

After experiencing both, I’ll stick with the rebels. They’re actually quieter.

One thing I heard over & over again from my friends in hospital was that they would gladly die for Misrata. They were not full of hot air or bravado. Many had already paid with their lives and limbs. One man I met with lost both legs. He kissed his fingers & pointed to the sky, “Allahu Akbar. I love Misrata.” I was shown a cell phone video of him just moments after his amputations, still under anesthesia; he moaned “Misrataaa… Misrataaaa… Allah.. Misrata…” Damn, I thought: I could care less about San Francisco. What is it about this Misrata that so many would die for? And not just anyone would die for, but these men, who i have grown to think of some of the kindest people I’ve ever met in my life. Growing up in America I don’t feel that sort of passion about nearly anything. I wanted to get closer to it, to understand it & inshallah maybe even experience it for a moment.

Misratans in hospital told me “Welcome anytime” over & over. I had over a dozen families who would take me in, including some of my favorite patients who had since returned to Misrata after 2 months of recovering in Tunis. Everyday a hospital I grilled Libyans with questions about Misrata. Sure it’s not 100% safe but many assured me that the city center for the most part is, minus the occasional randomly falling rocket. I wanted to hear what I wanted to hear… and, when I dug deeper, the news backed this up.

The frontline is now more than 30 kilometers outside of the city – though the city is surrounded by fronts on three sides. The fourth side is the Mediterranean Sea — the only way to reach Misrata these days is by boat. I met men who made the sea journey “all the time,” they invited me to go with them. It began appearing more and more viable and safe. I reached out to an NGO & made potential arrangements to volunteer in a field hospital to have some some semblance of purpose and safety.

It took a week rather than 24 hours to get here, but after a few taxis, planes and boats, I eventually made it…

I had been told the boat was small, sexy, fast. But friends on the boat told me otherwise. They said it was like one of the boats refugees take to Lampedusa: unsafe, too small. Once they set sail waves were reportedly 7 meters/21 feet high. Water actually began crashing into the boat. Those on the boat were survivors of war and injury, yet many said the boat ride was the scariest experience of their lives. The captain informed them that after 9 hours at sea they would need to turn around or the boat would sink.

They tried to dock in Djerba, but were refused. They could only get permission to dock in Gabes, about 3 hours from Sfax, where they began their journey. Many couldn’t afford the bus fare to Sfax, so they are still on the boat, asking that the next boat — an old, slow, giant, but secure one — stop in Gabes before Sfax. They’re waiting until Thursday with fingers crossed. The dead body was transported back to Tunis, it won’t be going to Misrata.

What can I say about Benghazi? Sadly, my first impressions are more about cost than anything (it’s blood expensive). I only know people in Misrata and Zintan, so not really gelling w/ the city so far. It wasn’t my plan to come here, but i was told I’d have much better luck catching a boat to Misrata from Benghazi. Unfortunately boats aren’t running as often as they were from Benghazi either. I may need to catch a flight to Malta to catch the boat to Misrata. Inshallah i make it to the famed city of heros (my friends), Misrata. It’s all up to the logistics Gods now…

Getting to Lalish was not easy. Mainly because I had to avoid the nearby city of Mosul at all costs. It’s amazing how close one can be to cities that are death traps, yet just a few miles away it feels safe and peaceful. Lalish is a prime example of this. Tucked away in golden hills and farming communities, Lalish attracts thousands of pilgrims to its temple — the Spiritual center of the Yazidi — a religion that can, at times, appear to show signs of Hinduism, Paganism, Christianity, Islam, Zoroastrianism and Judaism.

It is said that all Yazidi should make the pilgrimage to the temples of Lalish once in their lifetime (like the journey to Mecca for Muslims). Considering most of the estimated 500,000 Yazidi left on earth live in northern Iraq, it seems like a realistic request. Long misunderstood, the Yazidi have come under attack by extremists intolerant of their religion (as well as an honor killing that occurred within their own community after a Yazidi was rumored to have fallen in love with a Muslim). Because of these tensions there are a number of check points to get to Lalish. Once you reach the village, you must leave your car and explore not just by foot — but barefoot.

I can’t say that I have even a remotely decent understanding of the Yazidi religion after having spent the day at their temple. I can only point out qualities somewhat similar to Paganism (the Sun as the ultimate embodiment of God, for instance, & the icons of snakes and peacocks). In each shrine in the temple are a number of colorful silk scarves that visitors tie and untie in knots while making a wish. There were no other wishes on my mind other than to hope that the people of Iraq get relief from the terror and suffering taking place on their land.

The old men hunched over with long gray beards and cataract-ed eyes, vibrant colors in silks, and cone-shaped shrines peaking out of lush greenery reminded me of Hindu or Jain temples in southeast Asia. It was a relaxing, and possibly inaccurately peaceful and spiritual feeling to be in Lalish. Kind generous people, ancient misunderstood culture, gaggles of shy giggling children, and fresh country air…. a sweet ending to my Iraq travels.

Because of that there’s also a real lack of hotels that a female would find suitable. Most hotels have no concept of tourism, so when I asked for a room they would simply say: no. Many times what they meant was that they only have rooms with say, 4 beds, so they do not want to rent it to just one person. Never mind that there was no where else to sleep and I was desperate.

One night, after much looking, i found a double room (2 single Flintstone beds) for about US$40. Let’s just put it this way, there were human “remains” in the corner of the bathroom the ‘plumbing’ was just a hole which led to the bathroom floor, the sheets were stained with a kaleidoscope of colors, and the sheets smelled like dead animal. My last day I broke down, went to the new “suburban” Christian part of town & laid down US$100 for a windowless (but clean) walk in closet.

No matter how nasty the rooms in the bazaar may be, or how many inappropriate the come on lines from porn movies i heard, there’s no denying that staying in the ancient market, with the backdrop of the towering citadel, and the giant statue of historian Mubarak Ahmed Shraffaddin turning a million different shades of gold as the sun set, is a memory I will always cherish.

Amna Suraka, which means Red Security in Kurdish, is Iraq’s first war crimes museum. It’s an imposing compound made of reddish concrete which was once one of Saddam Hussein’s most notorious torture centers and prisons. Countless people died and disappeared here, including women and children.

The rooms of the prison are now set up to illustrate what horrific crimes happened to those in captivity. Plaster models in some of the rooms depict exact methods of torture. In some of the cells the graffiti from prisoners is still in tact. In one solitary confinement cell graffiti birds and flowers are still on the wall. In 1991 the Kurdish Pershmega army defeated Hussein’s army liberating the torture center, but for many it was too late.

In another building in the compound, the former offices of Hussein and his security forces have been turned into a Kurdish museum that displays vibrant textiles, rugs and jewelry of the very culture that Hussein tried to annihilate. Another door leads to an unexpected artistically wavy hallway decorated with 182,000 shards of mirror and over 5000 small white lights on the ceiling (video above); a shard of mirror for every person who perished during Hussein’s Anfal campaign, and a light for each village that Hussein destroyed during his rule. Beauty in a place where only misery and death had existed.