Thom Westcott

Rov in g Repor ter

Travel is never easy when your destination is Iraq

THERE IS a special brand of aviation humiliation for those living in countries deemed to be in a state of war, post-war, enduring terrorism or with just generally lapsed safety standards: the EU flight ban. Whilst doubtless justified in many instances, in the case of oil-rich countries, this is often the result of disorganisation and neglect in the area of documentation and traceable paper trails. The irony of this is that many such oil-rich countries have some of the newest Airbus or Boeing aircraft kicking around international airspace.

Iraq’s state airline Iraqi Airways was banned from flying in EU airspace in 2015 after Sweden raised safety concerns. Although Iraqi Airways is the second oldest airline in the Middle East, with a recent history of endless wars, sanctions and terrorism, the country has been mostly absent from the international flight scene (especially its changing regulations and updated safety standards) for decades and has really let things slip, especially those all-important paper trails.

While Iraq battles to get the EU flight ban lifted, working with all the aviation agencies and authorities, it is still serving a handful of European destinations with its own aircraft but under an agreement with a Turkish airline which provides most flight crew.

Although shunned by most westerner passengers, Iraqi Airways offers the only direct flight between London and Baghdad, so I’m a fan. The return journey, however, has to stop in a third country for added security checks before landing in London. Over time, I had grown accustomed to the regular security stop in Stockholm, occasionally made entertaining by snow or the mad crush of Iraqis trying to fit into the shoe-box-sized smoking booth, even though this additional stop basically makes what should be a direct flight an indirect one, adding some three hours onto the journey time.

But the Stockholm stop is no more. Iraqi Airways is now making its enforced extra security stop in Bulgaria’s capital Sophia. Bulgaria has made headlines in recent years for its anti-migrant policies, not least by building a 50 mile-long razor wire fence to prevent migrant border incursions from neighbouring Turkey.

Sparking outcries from human rights organisations, in 2016 the British government donated 40 Land Rovers to the Balkan state which, according to the Guardian, were apparently intended to capture and return migrants and refugees to the country’s borders with Turkey and Serbia. The move came after David Cameron visited Bulgaria’s border region and apparently praised the government’s hardline tactics – again, according to the Guardian.

“The gift comprises 40 Defender Tithonus Land Rovers totalling £443,000 including transportation by the civilian contractor. The cost will be borne by the Conflict Stability and Security Fund,” said then Defence Secretary, Michael Fallon.

The Land Rovers were delivered to the Bulgarian Border Police Force in May 2016, with a UK government statement released at the time saying: “The Land Rovers are ex-ministry of Defence vehicles that would normally be sold to private individuals”. So, in reality, the Land Rovers were just a bit of old army surplus we didn’t know what to do with.

Back at Sophia Airport, the arrival of a plane-load of Iraqis (almost all of whom have British passports) and one solitary westerner, generates such alarm that our airport bus, ferrying us from plane to terminal, requires a police escort. I suppose this is to ensure no-one leaps out of the moving bus (the doors of which cannot be opened from the inside anyway) to try and blow themselves up on the runway or make off towards Bulgaria’s snow-capped mountains. It’s another reminder that, for many, despite its current state of peace, Iraq remains a synonym for war, unrest and terrorism.

And our escort is a handsome Bulgarian Police Land Rover – dark green and emblazoned with flashing lights and large-print Slavic script, spelling out the words ‘Border Police’. The Land Rover weaves around the bus, driving first behind us, then alongside, then in front, then behind us again. It could even be one of those 40 British Army cast-offs. It certainly looks in topnotch condition, and the sort of vehicle any government would be delighted to receive as a present. The Land Rover escorts us to the terminal and lurks alongside our bus until all the passengers are safely inside the facility.

We are carefully shepherded through our additional security checks, carrying brightly-coloured laminated transit cards, overseen by a range of ogre-like security personnel. Bulgaria seems to have deployed its tallest, scariest and least-able-to-crack-a-smile security forces for this evidently suspicious flight from Iraq.

This is now the sixth or seventh bag scan of the journey which, by anyone’s standards, must seem excessive. In the case of flights from Baghdad, it is verging on the ridiculous. Civilian vehicles can’t even get within a five-mile radius of the city’s airport and I’ve never been through an airport with so many security checks, which include two sniffer dog inspections and at least five bag scans, all of which measures are carried out by British security company G4S, which has the (undoubtedly lucrative) contract for Bagdad airport’s security.

Having been fully security-checked, we are ushered back onto the airport bus, handing back our laminated transit cards as we leave the terminal.

Now officially assessed as not posing any security risk, our trip back to the plane sadly no longer requires the Land Rover escort. We head up into the skies and turn our noses towards Blighty, home to both myself and the Land Rover.

“It’s another reminder that despite its state of peace, Iraq remains a synonym for war”

Thom Westcott is a British freelance journalist who has written for the Times and Guardian, and now mostly spends her time reporting from Libya.