Note: This trip was taken a few years ago during the height of the war against IS. Safety has changed, and Kurdistan is finally a lovely place to visit again.

A journey with security concerns and some obstacles

One has two options to travel to Iraq: Lock yourself in a hotel secured by armed soldiers and leave only sporadically with a local guide and armored car. Or you can immerse yourself in the Kurdish culture, stay with locals and try to minimize the risk, depending on the circumstances.

The security aspect plays a decisive role

Erbil, also known as Arbil, is a city in northern Iraq with one million beating hearts. The fact that the city is the capital of the autonomous region of Kurdistan, a de facto non-existent state, makes it even more explosive. The IS stronghold of Mosul and other embattled cities, such as Kirkuk, lie on Erbil's horizon.

I consulted with several hotels, the State Department, and a travel forum - known for unorthodox destinations - on the Internet. They were the primary factor in my preparation phase for this trip. My intention was to get a feel for the security situation on the ground. The last attacks in Erbil were almost over, and the Kurdish army secured the city limits around Erbil as far as possible.

So I opted for the more daring of my two options. I contacted a local couple on the travel platform Couchsurfing and told them about my travel plans. Anticipating, they agreed to let me use their couch for a few days.

Heading into adventure

In January, the flight route took me from Vienna to Istanbul, on to Ankara, and finally to Erbil. It was well after midnight when we touched down on the runway, and a feeling of excitement and tension flowed through me.

The visibly tired border official flips through my passport, which is well filled with stamps and looks deeply into my eyes. "First time in Iraq," he asks. "Yes, first time," I answer hesitantly but confidently. Unimpressed, he continues to flip through the pages until he finds a blank space in the passport and presses a stamp into it that reads "Republic of Iraq." He gives me back my passport without further questions and mumbles, "Good luck."

My "roommates" sent me their address in advance - with the info that I should take a cab and pay about 10,000 Iraqi Dinars (about 7 US dollars) for the ride. Sounded good, I thought.

After an extensive people and security inspection, I walk out of the arrival terminal and see the few remaining people from the same plane get into various vans and cars and drive off the modestly lit streets.

I turn in circles, trying to spot a potential cab in vain. Then, a disturbing thought occurs: it's almost 4 a.m., I'm in Iraq, there's no cab, and all I have is a supposed address in Arabic script on a piece of paper.

The adventure can start.

My first attempt to make contact with a loitering person fails miserably because of my counterpart's knowledge of English. My Arabic is probably barely good enough to order a cup of tea or exchange some pleasantries. But to describe my situation? My language skills are not even remotely good enough for that.

So I go back to the arrivals hall and try my luck with two grim-faced employees of the money exchange office. They look at me puzzled and don't understand what I want from them. I try again with my hands and feet. "Taxi? City? Call please!" One of the two gestures wildly and points outside. I try to explain to them that I just came from there and that there are no cabs. Our conversation in the empty terminal cannot be overheard, and a colleague joins us with refreshingly good English.

I can actually talk to him. He calls me a cab, and I stroll out again. The relief is enormous. After what feels like an eternity, a black van pulls up, and a teenager in a tracksuit calls out to me, "Yalla! Yalla!" I just assume he's my summoned cab. I assume he's trustworthy, and I assume he knows where I want to go when I show him the address.

Hello "Sin City"

I press the note into his hand and give him to understand that I must go there and know how much it costs. He answers succinctly with "Sin City."Surprised, I ask what he means by "Sin City" and if he knows the address. No answer. He starts the engine and drives along the dodgy street. I look out the window and try to make out something. "Yes, Sin City is a housing development on the outskirts of town. We'll probably drive half an hour."

I sit back and stare out the window. On the one hand, reassured because I've made the first step and have a long day of getting there. On the other hand, tense because I know exactly when you're on your way late at night to a settlement on the outskirts of town called Sin City that the adventure is just beginning. (2016)

To be continued.