Getting into Iraq - Iraq Project II
This is a reposting of my Iraq Project II. I will post a dispatch-entry Monday thru Friday until the original project is recreated. The real-time journey was posted by The Janesville Gazette in February and March, 2008.
Getting into Iraq
posted February 25, 2008
We headed to the Iraqi border around noon. My driver sped past the miles of waiting supply trucks about sixty-five miles per hour. He stopped for a moment to put a liter soda bottle of gas in his car. He was riding on empty. He threw the bottle in the back and then of course, lite up a cigarette and offered one to me one. I passed and just rolled down the window. Dust flew and dirt covered everything.
The Turkish guards were at lunch. My driver kept going into buildings to bother them and get the correct stamps on our passports. All the time, with a cigarette in his mouth. At some point we picked up a young traveler to also take across. He seemed about 18 years old - maybe a worker. On at least two occasions, irritated officials sent us back to get re-stamped, claiming some glitch - the price of interrupting lunch.
As expected, there was an auto fee that needed to be paid. Another twenty dollars. I waited with bated breath for the next new fee different from last year. I did not have to wait long. The driver pulled into the no-man's-land gas station and I had to fill up his car for 50 Dollars. This year I did not have to stop at the doctor's trailer for a count-the-fingers-and-toes exam. Perhaps he too was at lunch. Last year's exam cost one Dollar. So I saved a Buck this year.
The Turks seemed glad to see me. But of course it has been suggested the American government gave a wink and a nod to their recent invasion of Iraq. On the other side, unlike the happy greeting I got last time, the Iraqi Kurds on the other hand, were cold this year. I had to wait a half hour while their plain cloths police sized me up. The second visit in 18 month worried them as well. They did serve us all tea while we waited.
At some point we lost the young man who had tagged along. He had g otten across - he vanished into the mass of trucks and border buildings. The stern-faced passport cop gave me my passport back and said, "Don't go to Mosul." When I looked up to shake his hand he had already turned and left. A guard outside who had been watching the minor drama of what to do with the only American within miles, inspected my bag apologetically and looked over his shoulder to the office and them shook my hand and said, "Welcome my friend." My driver nodded but did not crack a smile. His job was almost done.
I checked the final entry stamp. Last year they stamped the wrong date which got me detained later in that trip. Fool me once...
A bit into Iraq we stopped at a taxi garage. It will no doubt be one of the most legitimate ones I use on this whole trip. As usual, all the drivers had to weigh in on getting the American on down the road. It was decided a Kurd about 60 years old and in full Kurdish dress and head gear would do the job. He insisted on giving me a round-the-town tour of Zakho. We passed the old stone bridge all the pre-Saddam tour books talk about but no one can find. The five mile ride cost another 10 dollars.
The whole ordeal from Silopi, Turkey to Zakho, Iraq took about an hour and a half. For 140 Dollars I have left for sure, what Americans might call one of the strangest countries on earth. And with that same nominal fee as well, I have in turn entered perhaps, one of the most dangerous countries on earth.
Bob Keith
Zakho, Iraq
Getting into Iraq
posted February 25, 2008
We headed to the Iraqi border around noon. My driver sped past the miles of waiting supply trucks about sixty-five miles per hour. He stopped for a moment to put a liter soda bottle of gas in his car. He was riding on empty. He threw the bottle in the back and then of course, lite up a cigarette and offered one to me one. I passed and just rolled down the window. Dust flew and dirt covered everything.
The Turkish guards were at lunch. My driver kept going into buildings to bother them and get the correct stamps on our passports. All the time, with a cigarette in his mouth. At some point we picked up a young traveler to also take across. He seemed about 18 years old - maybe a worker. On at least two occasions, irritated officials sent us back to get re-stamped, claiming some glitch - the price of interrupting lunch.
As expected, there was an auto fee that needed to be paid. Another twenty dollars. I waited with bated breath for the next new fee different from last year. I did not have to wait long. The driver pulled into the no-man's-land gas station and I had to fill up his car for 50 Dollars. This year I did not have to stop at the doctor's trailer for a count-the-fingers-and-toes exam. Perhaps he too was at lunch. Last year's exam cost one Dollar. So I saved a Buck this year.
The Turks seemed glad to see me. But of course it has been suggested the American government gave a wink and a nod to their recent invasion of Iraq. On the other side, unlike the happy greeting I got last time, the Iraqi Kurds on the other hand, were cold this year. I had to wait a half hour while their plain cloths police sized me up. The second visit in 18 month worried them as well. They did serve us all tea while we waited.
At some point we lost the young man who had tagged along. He had g otten across - he vanished into the mass of trucks and border buildings. The stern-faced passport cop gave me my passport back and said, "Don't go to Mosul." When I looked up to shake his hand he had already turned and left. A guard outside who had been watching the minor drama of what to do with the only American within miles, inspected my bag apologetically and looked over his shoulder to the office and them shook my hand and said, "Welcome my friend." My driver nodded but did not crack a smile. His job was almost done.
I checked the final entry stamp. Last year they stamped the wrong date which got me detained later in that trip. Fool me once...
A bit into Iraq we stopped at a taxi garage. It will no doubt be one of the most legitimate ones I use on this whole trip. As usual, all the drivers had to weigh in on getting the American on down the road. It was decided a Kurd about 60 years old and in full Kurdish dress and head gear would do the job. He insisted on giving me a round-the-town tour of Zakho. We passed the old stone bridge all the pre-Saddam tour books talk about but no one can find. The five mile ride cost another 10 dollars.
The whole ordeal from Silopi, Turkey to Zakho, Iraq took about an hour and a half. For 140 Dollars I have left for sure, what Americans might call one of the strangest countries on earth. And with that same nominal fee as well, I have in turn entered perhaps, one of the most dangerous countries on earth.
Bob Keith
Zakho, Iraq
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