We arrived at our hotel in Vienna.  It was fine.  Very different from our hotels in Iraq.  Not that much better . . . just very different.  Sort of a culture shock.  Of course, I wasn’t thinking ahead.  I checked my bags through to JFK so I ended up in Vienna without a toothbrush or a change of clothes.  Would you believe that this whole city is closed by 8 p.m. on a Monday night except for the cafes?  Oh well, at least dinner was amazing.  Andrew, Carole and I ventured out to a wonderful sidewalk cafe.  We had melon with prosciutto, I had grilled swordfish served over grilled peppers, tomatoes and zucchini.  I also had a wonderful wine called Frescobaldi–very fun because there was a great Italian composer of the Baroque period named Frescobaldi.

After breakfast this morning, we’ll head back to the airport and get on our flights.  Andrew is staying in Vienna for a few days, Miss Carole is flying into Chicago, Rick and Michael flying into Washington DC and I, of course, am going back to JFK in New York.  I’m dreading the wrestling of bags (an extra bag due to the oud, so that makes 3 checked bags, a carry-on and my camera bag).  It was so difficult to leave Iraq, so difficult to leave everyone there, but now that I’m on my way home, I just want to get there . . . and now!

As I was saying goodbye to John yesterday, he said to be sure and not make any plans for the whole summer next year.  He said it looks like a tour of Egypt, Lebanon and Iraq.  Lebanon?  That’s new.  Whatever . . . I’ll gladly go!

I’m imagining that I will probably write one more blog entry when I get home and have a chance to rest and reflect a bit.  I’ve had a wonderful time writing this online journal.  I’ve loved all the comments you’ve made because it’s kept me from feeling homesick.  I know that I may be halfway around the world from the people I love, but they’re still very much with me.

After the Theater and Dance concert tonight, Shelon, Awder, Zana, Abdul-Qadir, Bashdar and I went back to 2b2 Fast Food and Coffee for a last supper together. They gave me a wonderful present. They took two pictures from last night’s concert (one of the whole orchestra and one of the cello quartet and me), had them blown up and framed. How they could get that done that quickly, I have no clue. It was the perfect gift–a lovely way to remember them. Saying goodbye was very difficult–very tearful. Zana rode in a taxi with me (again, they won’t ever let me ride in a taxi alone at night), while Awder, Shelon, Qadir and Bashdar took another taxi back to the dorms. While Zana and I were riding, his phone rang. He handed it to me and said, ‘it’s for you.’ It was Bashdar who just wanted to say goodbye one more time.

Tomorrow I fly from Erbil to Vienna and spend the night in Vienna. Then on Tuesday, I fly from Vienna to New York, New York to Cincinnati, Cincinnati to St. Louis, arriving in St. Louis a bit after 9 p.m.

I’ll have a lot of time on airplanes to reflect on this experience, but I think I’ll be reflecting for months.

I feel like I’m part of two worlds. I’m amazed at how deeply I can care for people in such a short amount of time. I’m sure the fact that we’re starting with the bond of music has a lot to do with it. But there’s more–much more. I wish so badly you could all meet these terrific new friends of mine. Like Jabar, the concertmaster of one of the orchestras, who is also a general in the Kurdish army. He’s one of the kindest, most gentle, most humble people I’ve ever met. Or Boran, the 17 year old wonder who, in addition to often translating for me, became one of my favorite people to just sit and chat with. She’s brilliant! Or Alan, who, in a heartbreaking moment after the concert, looked at me with glassy eyes, touched my chest then touched his and said “you are my heart!” Or the 16 year old pianist who’s name I can’t pronounce, let alone spell, but every time he sees me, he throws his arms around me and says, “I love you, Mr. James.” This is only the tip of the iceberg. So many wonderful people!!!

Tonight was our final concert. It really couldn’t have gone much better. A quartet of very fine violinists gave a great performance of a Telemann Concerto for four violins. The cello quartet did an outstanding job with their two Apocalyptica pieces. Both orchestras played their very best. I was so proud of everyone! It was exactly the kind of final concert you want to have. Everyone felt good about the work they accomplished.

It’s 1:10 a.m. and I’m exhausted. Good night!

Another big event yesterday was my purchase of an oud.  I’m very excited.  It was hand made here in Iraq (many of the ouds available here are factory made instruments sent in from Iran and Turkey).  The label inside has a picture of the man who made it.  It’s a lovely instrument.  It was actually purchased by the wonderful Harem.  He’s a great worker we have here at the academy and in addition to being a fine cellist, he is also an expert oud player.  Harem went to get the oud for me (being an American would have raised the price) and he gave me some beginner books.  I’m very excited about learning to play it.  I have an understanding of the principles of the quarter tones they use in their scales here, but whether or not I’ll actually be able to apply the knowledge may prove to be another issue.  I’m a bit concerned about getting it home.  There’s just no way it’s going to fit in the overhead.  I’ll have to hope that it can survive the airplane.

Tomorrow is concert day for music.  Instead of the marathon concert we did in Slemani, we split the evenings with music on Saturday night and theater and dance on Sunday night.  The program will include four violinists playing a Telemann Concerto for 4 violins, a cello quartet playing two Apocalyptica works (Bittersweet and Hope), two orchestras and a number of jazz ensembles.  We have dress rehearsals in the morning and the concert is at 7.  In between, Bashdar is taking me to the bazaar so I can pick up a few things.  I don’t really want to try and go without someone who can translate for me.  Bashdar’s English isn’t perfect, but it’s pretty darned good.  And I’ll be assured of laughing the afternoon away–he’s quite a comedian.

John’s making plans for a project in Eqypt next summer that would precede the Academy in Iraq.  Of course I want to go!  I’ll gladly come back here anytime and teach these fantastic students!  And I’ve always had a hankering to check out a pyramid . . . .

Our conversations ranged from quite serious to quite silly.  Bashdar is a clown!  He’s just hysterically funny and kept us all laughing, but he’s also very intelligent and very thoughtful.  We discussed religion.  I learned that the varying degrees to which women cover themselves, is their own choice–not really an edict of the faith.  I also learned that they are very embarrassed that there are extremists out there damaging the world image of the Muslim faith.  I tried to explain to them that we have similar problems in America with people who spew hatred in the name of Christianity.  They were very surprised to know this.  They were also surprised that we have problems with racism in the US.  They taught me more about Kurdish history and culture.  And they taught me a few more Kurdish words.  We also discussed music and how they deal with their lack of resources.  Bashdar told us the story of how he broke the re string (d-string) once.  He didn’t have a full-size string, so he took a 3/4 string and tied on a piece of the broken string below the bridge.  He played with that string for a long time before he was able to get a full-size d-string to replace it.  As terrible as I feel for them, there’s a part of me that thinks this kind of adversity is what makes them so strong.  They have to work so hard for every little achievement in music–it keeps them from getting lazy and taking things for granted.  There’s another part of me, though that wants so badly to find a way to give them everything they need–everything they deserve.  I want each of them to be able to wake up one morning and not have to wish they had a new a-string that wasn’t unraveling or not have to wish they had some simple piece of sheet music they’d like to play.  Most of all, I’d like them to wake up one morning and not have to wish they had someone to teach them the technical skills that would enable them to express all the music that is bursting from their hearts.

I’ve been learning bits and pieces about Kurdish culture.  Sahand provided me with what I think is the most unusual piece of information I’ve received about Kurds so far.  He made a passing comment about a stranger on the street being an Arab, not a Kurd.  I asked how he could tell by looking.  He explained that there is a traditional Kurdish baby bed.  For the first 6 or 8 months of the baby’s life, they sleep in this bed.  The way the bed is made causes the baby’s skull to flatten in the back.  I was astonished to realize that most everyone around me had a skull that was flat in the back.  You rarely see an Iraqi flag here in Erbil or in Slemani.  Most everyone flies the flag of Kurdistan (even though there isn’t really a “Kurdistan”).  There are Kurds here in Iraq, and also in Iran, Turkey and Syria.  There are 4 dialects of the Kurdish language.  Just because you speak one dialect does not automatically mean you can understand someone who speaks a different dialect.  Kurdish music is beautiful.  But you also hear Persian music and Turkish music quite a bit here.  Life for the Kurds under Saddam was miserable.  He made a serious attempts at ethnic cleansing with torture, the use of chemical weapons and mass executions.  For this reason, the Kurds seem genuinely fond of Americans.  While it’s always dangerous to make broad generalizations about a society of people, I can easily say that my interactions with Kurdish people have shown them to be kind, warm-hearted, extremely generous, possessing beautiful, formal manners, and full of gratitude for even the smallest gestures.

Today I taught a cello lesson to a man who explained to me that graduated from the Institute of Fine Arts with a degree in cello (I’m not certain what exactly that means) but in the four years that he attended there, he never had a cello teacher.  I feel like a broken record, continuing to talk about what these musicians lack in resources, but I’m constantly amazed at what they achieve when they have so little.  It is, to me, not only a powerful statement about the human spirit, but also about how necessary music is for some people.  You don’t go to these extremes because you ‘want’ music.  You do this because you ‘need’ music.

Miss Carol and I went shopping tonight.  I didn’t bring many ‘nice’ clothes aside from a black suit for performances.  I’m doing another television show tomorrow night, so I went to get something to wear.  I found a pair of pants and a shirt.  I thought I could shop like a pro, but I pale in comparison to Miss Carol.  The shop where I bought the shirt was anxious to tell me that the shirt I selected was from Italy, and they were the Iraqi headquarters for this Italian brand.  The man working there had such pride in his shop and his products.  It was great to see.  While we were shopping, I saw a young Kurdish boy (maybe 8 years old?) in a Harry Potter tee-shirt.  I couldn’t help but smile when I saw Harry Potter and the kid looked at me and gave me a big grin and waved.  Then I came across a group of teenage girls, all in veils.  Their eyes danced when they saw me.  While I’ve run into a few Americans here, for the most part we’re seen as something very exotic.  And young Kurds, who are influenced by American culture, seem particularly interested in us.

Yesterday we went to get our visas (finally!!).  We were accompanied by the daughter of the Minister of Culture.  She was extremely kind and sweet.  It was quite obvious that this went more smoothly with her than it would have without her.  We were patted down when we walked in and 50 feet later patted down again.  There’s a lot of patting down here.  It happens at the Ministry of Culture where we teach each day, too.  I suppose in some way it adds to the feeling of safety.  I really haven’t felt unsafe in any way.  We’ve been warned about taking taxis late at night.  Evidently foreigners have been abducted, taken to Mosul or Kirkuk and held for ransom.

It’s late, I’m tired and I have a long day tomorrow, so I’ll say goodnight.

Marc and I decided if we were going to see any of the city, today would probably have to be the day.  We set out on foot from the hotel and found, of all things, a mall.  It was fun to look around and see what sort of things they had there.  We ate some lunch at a restaurant across from the hotel, went back to the hotel, picked up Andrew and grabbed a taxi to go the New City Supermarket.  It’s an odd place.  It’s quite large with everything from food to jewelry to clothes.  I got cookies!  CHOCOLATE cookies!  I got about 6 packages to keep in my hotel room.  We took everything back to the hotel and headed for the bazaar.  I didn’t find it as interesting as the bazaaar in Slemani.  In fact, this city has a very different feel from Slemani.  There, if you walked down the street, passed a total stranger and smiled, the smile would be returned and you’d probably also get a wave.  Here, people don’t even acknowledge you when you smile at them.  It was a fun day. You have no idea how exhausting it is, though, to walk around in 117 degree weather.

Our first day of the academy was somewhat slow.  Marc and I spent most of it listening to the 80+ string players, trying to place them into the three orchestras.  Many of the students here are at very beginning stages of the music studies.  There are many students from Bazra.  A city name you probably know from news reports.  In Bazra, students don’t begin learning to play until they are 18 years old.  The other issue with the Bazra students is that they don’t speak Kurdish, of course.  So now our translators have to take everything we say and translate it into Kurdish, then translate it again into Arabic.  Even the most simple direction I give in a orchestra rehearsal takes quite some time to communicate.  We brought some students with us from Suli.  It’s nice to have them here.  It keeps this place from seeming to new and strange when you see familiar faces.  I brought Awder and Shelon.  These two young ladies are wonderful players and a great deal of fun.  I’m so glad to have them here.  I wish I could have brought more.

Today marks the end of day two of the second academy and I lived to tell about it . . . but just barely.  From 9-11 I taught private lessons, 11-1 was a rehearsal for one of the orchestras, 2-3, another orchestra-3-4, another orchestra, 4-5 cello class, 5-6 teacher training.  After changing clothes, John, Marc, Andrew, Michael and I went to a television station, along with Serwan, an Iraqi violinist that’s been living in the US, and we taped a number of musical performances for future broadcast.  In addition to playing continuo for Serwan and Marc’s performance of the Bach Double, John and I played The Swan.  Hopefully I’ll get a dvd of the recording.

After changing and eating a little bit, I headed to the hall about 5:15.  We knew this was going to be an incredibly long concert.  It really should have been over two nights, and will be in Erbil.  It was to begin at 6:00 with theater and dance, then around 7:30, jazz, then about 8:30, the orchestras and band would begin (starting with our little ones).  There was a last minute change that would put jazz first and then theater and dance, but it didn’t really affect the orchestras.  Tons of people were already lined up at the doors.  Everyone was patted down upon entry (I’m getting used to this . . . happens in a lot of places).  The place was packed.  By concert time, not only were all the seats filled (1500 or so?) but every inch of aisle was taken with standing bodies.  Then . . . and I really couldn’t believe this . . . they locked everyone in the theater, not letting anyone in or out.  I guess they were doing this for security purposes, but in America, we would just view it as a major fire hazard.  Realizing that there was no way I could get to the stage from the back of the hall, I found an interpreter and asked one of the Peshmerga guys if he could help me get to the stage when the time came.  He said it was no problem, I just needed to let him know when I was ready.  In the meanwhile, as Marc and I are corralling kids and trying to get them tuned, in walks American military.  We met Steve, from Special Forces who, along with a couple of others, was guarding some dignitaries from the US Embassy that drove down from Erbil for the concert.
The concert went pretty well.  There were, of course, things that I wish had gone better, but all-in-all, not a bad performance.  After the concert, there were a lot of tears.  Many of the students were very sad to see the end of the workshop, and to see us go.  My goodbyes with Hunar were a little heartbreaking.  He hugged me, with tears in his eyes, and said, “My English so bad.  The only word I know for this is sad, but that isn’t enough.”  After the concert, Marc and I went out with some of the members of the Kurdish String Orchestra.  We went to this amazing place that was like a huge garden with many outdoor restaurants.  We had kabobs, listened to music and talked until about 2 a.m.  It was a nice way to end the concert.

Wednesday July 16, 2008
I woke up this morning feeling horrible.  Head, stomach . . . you name it, it hurt.  I had to be on our bus by 9:00.  It was a terrible bus ride to Erbil today.  Driving through the desert, on bumpy roads, with no air conditioning and a high of 114!  The fact that I already didn’t feel well didn’t help.

We arrived at the Ministry of Culture, where we will be teaching for the next 10 days.  It’s a beautiful place—very modern.  Jwan!  It will be a nice place to teach, I think.

We got checked into the hotel.  It’s a good deal nicer than the last hotel, though the outlets are different, so I’m not sure how I’m going to re-charge cameras and laptop.  That could be a challenge.

On the other end of the spectrum, I went cello shopping with Hunar and his father yesterday.  His father is an incredibly nice man.  We went to a shop–the only shop where they sell cellos–in the bazaar.  They had three cellos, all Chinese-made, and all of rather poor quality.  We picked the best of the three and Hunar now has a new cello.  I often go instrument shopping with my students in the US, but this was a very different experience.  The strings that came on this cello are horrendous.  I’m sure they are made with the same machine they use to make guitar strings, because that’s what they feel like under your fingers.  The shop owner had a set of strings in the shop (not great, but slightly better than these) and I abused him for several minutes in an effort to get him to throw in a set of strings with the cello.  No luck!  I guess when you know you’re the only person in Slemani that sells cellos and cello strings, you can make your own deals.  It’s hard to quibble with the price, though.  The cello was $350 USD.  I don’t think you could touch even this cello in the States for that price.  While we were there, I was very tempted to purchase an oud.  It’s a traditional Iraqi instrument.  It’s very similar to the lute, it has a beautiful tone and is tuned much like a cello.  Again, getting things home is the issue.  If I thought i could get that in the overhead of the plane, I’d bring one home.

I thoroughly enjoy teaching everyone’s lesson here.  I make suggestions and these students immediately make changes.  So far, I’ve found ways of helping most everyone with the issues with which they wanted help, and each time something works, there is a litany of “spass, spass, zor spass” (thanks, thanks, many thanks) afterwards.  They are so grateful for any help and any attention they get.  They come to each others lessons and listen to the information.  As a teacher, I really can’t think of anything more gratifying than to see students who are so anxious and grateful for knowledge.  I am confident that these students will continue to work on the concepts I’m teaching them long after I’m gone.  I only wish I could cram enough in 10 days to last them a lifetime, but at the rate these very bright, very motivated students learn, I think that will be impossible.

Our concert is tomorrow evening.  It will be attended by the First Lady of Iraq and will be broadcast nation-wide on television.  I can’t say it will be the most finely-tuned performance I’ve ever been a part of, but I think it will really represent 10 days of serious learning and the coming together of many disparate talents to join forces in showing their love of music.  That’s what I’m always impressed by–how much they love music.  Another power-outage yesterday with the adult orchestra.  After a few moments someone launched into some beautiful Kurdish folk music.  Right away, 20 others joined in, playing along, others began singing.  There were 20 or 30 people in the audience, watching us rehearse, and they began clapping with the music.  I was sorry when the lights came back.  I enjoyed this concert so much.  Just as I know I will enjoy tomorrow night’s concert–though they are very different things.

I would love to post more often, but it seems like every time I have time to write, the internet is down here at the hotel.  It’s supposed to be more reliable in Erbil, but for now, I’m going to have to do fewer and longer posts.

Day Four
Most of the teaching aspects of day 4 were like day three.  We’ve settled into a routine, so things are running fairly smoothly.  I continue to be amazed by what is accomplished here, in the musical sense, with so few resources.

I took Hunar up on his offer to show me around in my space time.  Instead of trying to make one big block of time, we decided to use the 2 hour lunch break over several days to see the sights.  He took me to the Slemani Museum.  It’s a very unpretentious building which houses artifacts from 8000 B.C.  to about 2000 B. C.  There is pottery, hunting weapons, tools, coins and even some very early armor.  We were the only people in the entire museum.  No one runs lights or air in their establishments if there are no patrons, so after letting us in, they went around and turned on all the lights and started the air-conditioning.  One of the curators came out and, in very good English, guided us through the collection explaining everything that I was looking at.  It would have been a great adventure except that it was marred by a minor catastrophe.  I lost my glasses.  I was wearing my sunglasses and had my regular glasses in a case in my pants pocket.  It must have slipped out in the taxi on the way to the museum, because when we got there, and I reached into my pocket to change glasses, they were gone.  I’m not too sure how I’m going to deal with this.

I haven’t been feeling too well, so I went to bed early (11:00) to try and get a good night’s sleep.

Day Five
A good night’s sleep does wonders!  I felt much better today and had a great deal more energy.

During my rehearsal with the little kids, the lights went out, as usual.  They sat quietly and waited for the lights to come back on.  It was one of the longest blackouts I’ve experienced.  It’s especially bad when we’re in the theater, because there are no windows, so it’s pitch black.  After a bit, one of the kids started playing a Kurdish song on his violin and within a few measures, everyone had joined in.  I was so delighted to hear these small children playing very complex rhythms and quarter-tone melodies.  They were amazing!

Another sight-seeing expedition with Hunar today.  This time we went to the city center—the bazaar.  It was beautiful chaos—block after block of shops.  They had cell phones, cameras jewelry, fabric, clothing, carpets, foods and even live chickens.  There were three different shops where they make glasses, so we’re going back on Saturday to try and get me glasses and to look for Hunar a new cello.  That’s right . . . they even sell cellos there.  In the midst of all this was this amazing little art gallery called Zamwa Gallery.  Hunar took me there because it’s where his father sells his art.  There were some really amazing pieces.  The owner of the gallery,  Namiq Hama, does these amazing pieces from the burnt out back ends of missels or rockets (sorry, I know more about art than ammunition).  He creates paintings on them.  How brilliant to take that object of destruction and turn it into something so beautiful.  He was working on a new installation in the courtyard of the gallery while we were there.  He was kind enough to uncover it and show it to us (I think that it helped that I was with the son of one of the artists he exhibits).  It stands about 15 feet.  At the top, seemingly suspended in mid-air, is one of these beautifully painted missile bases.  From it’s opening cascades hundreds of apples all the way to the ground.

At the end of the KSO (Kurdish String Orchestra) rehearsal, Zana, one of my cello students, grabbed Alan to translate and told me that he and 5 or 6 other members of the orchestra wanted to skip orchestra rehearsal on Friday night in order to take me on a picnic.  I explained to them that we couldn’t take a fourth of the orchestra and leave Marc with the rest to rehearse.  Zana was not going to take no for an answer.  Every Friday night thousands of people from Slemani drive up into the mountains to picnic.  Zana felt like I needed to have this experience before I left.  We ended up canceling the rehearsal with the plan that a large group would trek up the mountain for a picnic.

Day Six

A very good day with very good students!  Everyone works very hard here, and most of them learn very quickly.  You’re probably tired of reading this, but I can’t help but wonder what these students could do with consistent instruction.  Briar had a lesson today.  He wanted to learn Paganini’s Variations on One String.  Not an easy piece.  He had been learning part of it but skipped the hard parts.  We tackled one of the hard parts in his lesson.  When I showed him a good fingering and bowing, after three tries he was able to play it.  A very quick learner.  As are many of the students here.  And they all want lessons everyday.  I wish I had that much time.

After teaching, we piled into several cars and headed up the mountain.  You could feel the air cooling the higher you went.  It was a wonderful feeling–to be cool.  We found this gloriously beautiful spot and stopped.  Looking down the mountain over Sule was amazing.  The guys started pulling coolers out of the trunks of their cars.  They started filling bowls with beautiful plums and apricots and passing them around.  Next out of the cooler came things for a salad.  They chopped cucumbers and tomatoes and squeezed lemons over the top–so simple, but it tasted so good!  In another cooler was raw meat.  Zana pulled out a small, low to the ground grill and started a fire.  On skewers he placed beautiful chunks of lamb which he roasted on the grill.  Then he would take these wonderful smoky tasting flat breads and wrap around the skewer and pull the meat off, making a sort of roasted lamb sandwich.  They made tons of food.  Way more than we could eat.  After round and round of lamb, they began roasting liver and kidney (sorry, I couldn’t).  Another Zana, a violinist who is actually a neurologist (and incredibly brilliant) was teasing me, asking me why I wouldn’t eat the kidney, because I seemed to enjoy the goat testicles I had just eaten.  Very funny!  He also told me that last year their orchestra was invited to perform at a festival in Turkey.  They drove 13 hours only to be turned away at the Turkish border because the Turkish government was not allowing Kurds in the country that day.