Chapter 32: Kurds and Survey - The Way Out

Author standing atop Erbil's Citadel

People would often ask me what the food was like in Northern Iraq, and to answer honestly I had to admit that for me it was pretty terrible. A combination of UN sanctions and lack of restaurants made the search for food, for which I was accustomed, a challenge. The UN club in Erbil produced a limited menu of barely edible greasy food and the sight of the overweight chef on one occasion with sweat dripping from the end of his nose forever dimmed my appetite at that establishment.

The supermarket in Dohuk was always a welcome sight and a cafe in Sulaymaniyah which modelled itself in a small way to a McDonalds only with a Mac instead of a Mc still fell short of producing food for a western palate.

Two weeks before my leave break I was speaking with a colleague when the subject of the limitations of local food came up. “Couldn’t you murder a Big Mac,” he quipped.

I walked away from the encounter holding his parting comment in my mind. I have never been a convert to the fast food revolution and hardly ever eaten Big Macs but the thought of eating one at that time stayed in my mind and festered. I became obsessed. It overcame all my thoughts and reasoning during the final days before my departure. I even thought through my schedule once I was out and tried to calculate where I would encounter the first McDonalds franchise. I knew there was one in Amman but I wouldn’t have time to reach it, but I was sure there was one in the airport at Berlin. There would have to be. I decided I had to wait until then to satisfy my craving. 

The days leading up to my departure were stressful. All travel arrangements during the entire four week break had to be finalised as well as the transport out to Amman. Nothing could be left to chance otherwise it would not happen.

The journey from Erbil to Amman took place in the one day. It was practical so the thought of overnighting in Baghdad was never in anyone’s mind, and in any case by then I just wanted to get out.

A UNDP vehicle transported me the five hour drive to Baghdad and set me down at the GMC depot. There, as planned, a long distance taxi was waiting for me and we were soon heading for the border. It would be another eight to nine hours before we reached Amman - if all went well.

The drive to the border was uneventful in the excellent driving conditions. The sight of Baghdad again and the retracing of my steps from three months ago when I ventured into this country gave my mind an opportunity to come to terms with my location and situation.

In the late afternoon we reached Trebil and I had a glimpse of the arches at the border crossing in the distance. Thoughts of my previous fear-filled experience at these custom offices flooded back into my mind and I approached the dusty buildings with apprehension. This time to my great relief all went routinely and at the completion of a thorough inspection of my bags we were in Jordon.

I noticed straight away the upbeat and vibrant atmosphere at the Jordanian customs. There was more energy, more commotion and I was feeling a great sense of relief at my return. We stopped and had dinner in the dining hall where I had eaten lunch three months ago. Back then I remembered approaching the food with trepidation, this time, however, I embraced it and consumed every morsel.

Once back on the road my feeling of relief and wellbeing soon turned to absolute sheer terror. As night fell the same scenario presented itself as it had on the road into Baghdad but not only were we on a much lesser standard of road (one lane in each direction) we were also contending with the continuous stream of oil trucks plying the route. The driver kept his speed and moved over into the left lane regularly to pass the much slower trucks. To my horror many of the trucks travelled without lights which meant they could not be seen coming in the other direction particularly amongst all the other lights on the road.

I was utterly petrified. There was nothing I could do except prepare for death. To add to the nightmare the traffic slowed at one point to creep around the burnt carcass of a truck which had recently crashed.

Fortunately the night sky was clear and a moon soon bathed the desert surface in a silvery light which made the detection of the rogue trucks a little easier, although the undulating nature of the terrain still obscured trucks on the other side of crests.

I have never been so glad to see the lights of a city as I did when I saw Amman’s that night. When the vehicle slowed inside the city’s limits, I breathed my first normal breath in more than three hours. By now it was after nine in the evening and I was utterly exhausted.    

   

The hotel seemed a different world filled with bright lights, people, bars restaurants and an efficient modern reception desk. The first thing I was asked for was my credit card. My what, I thought? My tired mind had to think for a few moments to determine where I had placed it, so many months ago.

Once I had reacquainted myself with the western protocol of checking in I reached my room and after a blissful shower slumped exhausted onto a crisp, clean bed, but with my alarm set for four the following morning to catch an early flight to Europe, my delicious slumber would unfortunately be only short lived.