This travelogue covers my entry into Iraq on foot, from the Kuwait side of the border in 2012. The next item deals with a trip to Shiraz in Iran in 2008 and the final piece from 2003 details a rail journey from Chennai in south India to Hyderabad. These were all originally posted on the Motley Fool discussion forum (fool.co.uk), which is now defunct.

Iraq (2012)

The following notes were first published on the Motley Fool UK website.

Not that many people here anticipate doing this, but given the dire reports about Safwan elsewhere on the net, I thought I’d flag how different reality can sometimes be. 

FWIW FCO travel advice (not for the faint-hearted) is here:
http://www.fco.gov.uk/en/travel-and-living-abroad/travel-adv...

I used the Safwan crossing because I wanted to get to the southern Iraqi cities from Kuwait and could not get direct flights to Baghdad from Kuwait. I also fancied the road-trip. Since I started I’ve heard that there are now direct flights between Kuwait and Najaf (southern Iraq) but they are very expensive.

I crossed the border as a pedestrian, with a taxi dropping me off on one side and me picking up a taxi on the other side.

Overall the trip took 1 hour to get to Safwan from Kuwait city, another hour or so at the border and a further 4 hours from Safwan to the Iraqi city of Najaf. The drive is through the, mainly featureless, Iraqi desert. There are some, but not many, burnt out vehicles on the way (no military hardware). I recommend having some evocative soundtracks with you. On all legs I had good quality cars, which really helped. There are only motorway services as you come towards Najaf, so best to have some snacks and drinks. We drove at high speed and I did not have the heart to ask the drivers to stop for a picnic. Though, occasionally, there were those circular seats with umbrellas in the middle. In the middle of nowhere. Most weird.

You pass the Rumaila oil-field (in the distance). The only evidence for American presence is a blast barrier with Camp Clear II painted on it (going to Iraq) and one painted with Camp Cedar on the road back to Kuwait.

Going into Iraq, the Kuwaiti taxi dropped me off at their end. I phoned through to my waiting taxi at the Iraq end. The person answering spoke no English or Urdu/Hindi (widely spoken in Gulf countries) and was not very responsive perhaps a wrong number?

I got out anyway and asked the Kuwaiti driver to wait for 30 mins. I went to the first (Kuwaiti) border post and was told that Iraqi side was 4kms away and would need to take a bus to get there. I was worried, in case the Iraq guy wasn't there and the Kuwaiti one went home. The border is in the middle of the desert and does not look like a nice place to stay for very long. I went back to the Kuwaiti driver and asked him to phone the Iraqi driver and see if he could make some sense over the phone.

They talk.

The Kuwaiti driver said it was ok. From here on, I'd remember to just get whoever I was with at the time to phone ahead and speak to the person I need to make contact with.

I get on the Kuwait border bus. I am the only passenger.

Driver and his friend are Indian, ask where I am from etc. They tell me not to tell anyone I am British. This is not the first time that this happens. The colour of my skin is used by all Iraqis to convince themselves that I am not really British. A couple of policemen also pointed to the word "Ireland" on the front cover of the passport and said that I should tell anyone I was Irish. Luckily my name is a sectarian get-out-of-jail-free-card (in southern Iraq anyway).

We get to Kuwaiti immigration and bus driver is worried, says that it takes ages if you arrive in Kuwait by air and leave by land.

It takes 30 seconds. It helps that I am the only pedestrian crossing the border. But there is a steady stream of articulated lorries.

I walk to first Iraqi police post.

I tell them I am on a pilgrimage to Iraq's holy cities. Seems to work. They assign a porter to me. I decline, but they insist, this turns out for the better.

The porter takes me to baggage check place. I get a receipt.

I go to Iraqi immigration. Am told to wait. 10 minutes later I go into a room with an official who speaks some English. He looks at the passport and the visa entry form. Again I have read they don’t issue visas on the border and the trip has been a gamble that the Iraqi travel agent organising the visa who assured me that they do, knows better.

The immigration officer makes phone calls. He writes on the visa entry form. He asks for US$82. Hmm. I only have $100 bills. I offer Iraqi currency, but he refuses. I hand over the US$100.

We go into another room. He gets out ledgers that he diligently fills out. Throughout my stay whenever I come across paperwork to be done, the person doing it inspires some confidence.

He opens a safe and puts my money in. He does the paperwork. Some policemen come in as well as lots of food. They have guns. One starts to question me about who I am and where I am from. He wants to know whether I am a Muslim. I point to the other visas on the passport. This trip will involve lots of questioning by large policemen often sitting on ostentatious sofas in portakabins.

My explanation seems to reassure him.

The visa is now ready and I am told to go outside and have my photo taken.

Once this is done. The guy who made the visa comes back and gives me change for the US$100 bill.

Another boy (porter) comes and takes my bag. I ask the immigration officer to phone through (on his own phone, since mine won't work) to the taxi that I am coming and tell the young boy to take me to that taxi and no one else! I am prepared for lots of touts offering their services and I won't know which taxi has been arranged for me! The immigration officer does all this.

I walk out into Iraq and the taxi is waiting there and everything is ok.

On the way back I go through a similar experience.

Iraqi driver takes me to the border and tells me that he can’t go into the transit area. This will involve paying 10000 dinars (about US$8) to another driver who will ferry me to the different checkpoints. I did all this on foot the last time! Still it will mean someone watching out for me. So I agree.

Can’t seem to get in touch with my Kuwaiti colleague who should have a car ready at the other end. I get the Iraqi driver to phone through and after various attempts this seems to work.

Iraqi immigration officer wishes me “ziarat qabool” (may your pilgrimage prayers be answered).

This time I also notice the trench that is the “border”.

Re-entry into Kuwait is straightforward. Again there are only a handful of people to be processed.

At the car-park in the Kuwait end, there is no car waiting for me and I am accosted by touts. I phone my Kuwaiti contact and get him to talk to the touts. They are reassured that I have someone coming for me and stop bothering me.

Indian bus-driver lets me wait in his air-conditioned bus.
Car arrives and I go back to Kuwait city.