Ibrahim Khalil Border,
Kurdistan to Turkey
June 26,2023
There are travelers who visit Kurdistan from Turkey but rarely do they go the other way from Iraq to Turkey. I was to find out firsthand why they wisely fly instead. The departure from Erbil was at 6 pm and I arrived at the garage well in time.
6:10 pm the bus left, filled barely halfway. All the better, I thought and spread out over 2 seats. I am the only foreigner aboard. The rest are either Turkish or Iraqi men. The route bypassed the main highways, heading toward Zakho over secondary roads. We passed the checkpoints but stopped at none, simply slowed down and sped up again. Better and better, I thought. There had been little or no traffic and with good roads, we sped through.
9:15 pm we arrived at a kind of way stop near the Iraqi border. All around are parked buses, cars, some taxis and people milling around. The driver and conductor get off and are soon ensconced in a café with dinner spread out before them. Some people have started a game of dominoes, others are sitting at tables covered with empty bottles of water and other beverages. Given the number of empty bottles, I should have gauged how long they had waited. There are no discernable signs but the drivers seem to know just when to line up to get to the actual border.
Fatih, a Turkish fellow passenger explains that the process is slow because there are many smugglers and every inch of baggage is examined. At half the price in Iraq, smuggled cigarettes reign supreme, closely followed by phones, electronics, thermoses and assorted paraphernalia. But this border is open 24/7 I thought. Really, how long can it take? Famous last thoughts.
All through the night the bus drives 5 meters and stops. An hour or so later, it drives another 4 meters and stops again. This continues ad nauseum. We are following the train of cars, buses, minivans inching toward the immigration post. The AC has been switched off and the windows do not open in these modern buses. It is beyond stifling inside. Most passengers troop in and out, walking outside to see the endless line of vehicles ahead.
We had taken on what seemed like a “helper” at the previous stop. He spent the night furtively taking packets of cigarettes and alcohol out of boxes, re-inserting them in plastic bags marked “duty-free” and having hushed conversations with other passengers.
5:45 am We are still a long way from the post when the conductor alerts us with “passport, passport”. We troop out and walk between the vehicles to the immigration post.
There are seven cubicles but only three are manned as I wait my turn. And it is here that I hit a snag. A look at my Iraqi visa has the officer turn to his colleague. They have a conversation and then hand me back my passport and point toward the last officer. I go up to that window and am told that I have a problem; I have overstayed my visa. What? But my visa is for 60 days and I am on day 34.
“No, it is for 30 days. You must exit within 30 days” the officer says.
Travelers coming from Turkey have 30 days in Kurdistan and cannot go into Federal Iraq. I knew this and said that I had 60 days because I got my visa in Baghdad. But to no avail.
“Where does it say 60 days?” the officer asks.
It is true that there is nothing on the visa that says 60 days – at least not the English scribbles that I could read. Maybe it said so in the Arabic scribbles. I had no idea. But I knew it was 60 days, having confirmed it on arrival and many times at checkpoints while traveling in Iraq. I said as much and added that maybe he could call Baghdad or check the website. He tried to check the website and apparently didn’t find it.
“I can show you the website but have no wifi” I said. To which he handed his phone to me and I just hoped I could find it. A couple of tries and yes! There it was – 60 days in bolded letters! Whew! I mentally wiped my forehead.
The officer’s response was “Kurdistan and Iraq are not the same”.
Really? This is immigrations and they do not know their own rules? Wow, I thought, wisely refraining from comment. In all my years of travel, this is the first I have had to argue with an immigration officer. It is not a role I relish. But he stamped the passport and I was free to go.
The line has not moved during this little saga. Some of the cargo doors are open and I learn why. There are bus staff stretched out sleeping inside. Had I known, I might have asked to do the same. We continue our stop-and-go mode as the sun comes up and the bus turns into an oven. For reasons best known to them, the driver does not turn on the AC. All the drivers seem to know each other and sit in the open cargo doors and chat.
10:15 am We have crawled up to the Kurdish customs and have to collect our bags. Everything has to go through the x-ray with bag searches done separately for men and women. Back on the bus again, we commence the stop-and-go. The long line of vehicles stretches across the no man’s land, across a bridge to the Turkish border.
It is 45°C (113°F) outside and an oven inside.
The “helper” is now openly asking all passengers to carry some cigarettes for him. He has 10 cartons and says he needs just three of us to carry our personal allowed limits of 3 cartons. I decline but no doubt he will strike a deal with some others.
16:00 pm Now we arrive at the Turkish border and haul our bags out again. The bus itself will be searched too and will meet us beyond customs. We cluster up to the immigration windows. With barely a glance at the e-visa on my phone, I get stamped in. Through the gate is another set of x-ray machines. On the other side, I get smiles and a “welcome to Turkey”, waving aside any need to open my backpacks. My grungy look and probably the ripe aroma prompts one to say “You are on a journey”. We chat a bit and they smile when I say this is my fourth visit to Turkey.
The three officers are sitting in a room, inspecting the many bags and suitcases. The floor is invisible under the hundreds of confiscated cartons of cigarettes, easily piled a couple of feet deep.
17:15 pm All the passengers have been accounted for, the helper has collected his cartons from assorted passengers, deals are struck and we get moving. But soon stop at an eatery and everyone troops out. While we had plentiful water given us in the bus, this is the first access to food in 24 hours. Replete, we get back on the bus and are soon speeding through the fields and farms of southern Turkey.
20:15 pm I arrive at the bus station in Mardin and get a taxi to the hotel. More than 26 hours after I left Erbil, I get to Mardin. This border crossings beats all other sagas! And one I sincerely hope I will not surpass.
ITCHY FEET TRAVELS 