Off The Grid with Luke Coleman - Our man in Iraq Up here in the northern parts of the country we joke that autumn and spring last a day or two, and then it’s into the dull chilliness of winter, or the grinding surface of the sun of summer. Of course those equinoctial seasons do stretch a little further, and while autumn is pleasant weather-wise, it’s the spring that is blooming marvellous. I’ve waxed pillockal about the verdant hills, fiery festivals and briefly rushing rivers before, so all the better to actually get out in the open, and tell you about this weekend’s camping trip, while the campfire lingers in my hair, and the memories remain untarnished. Bundled into a couple of the ubiquitous Toyota Hiluxes, the group set a course north east, for Shanidar Cave, site of one of the oldest discovered ritual burial sites. We parked up with Zagros mountains all around us, a crucible through which a stream coursed the grazing lands. A large herd of goats came through, and the shepherd knew enough English to point us in the direction of the best firewood hauls. Food was grilled, beers were opened, and surprise expressed as nine fairly pissed idiots discovered that it was only eight in the evening, despite our best guesses being nearer midnight. We pushed on through, sleeping under the stars, only too aware that the weeks pass quickly, and our return trip to summer has begun.
