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30 Cents from Baghdad to Basra
By: Seb Walker and James Brandon
Published date: 17/8/2003
Bombed by US planes, then stripped by looters, Baghdad Central Station is once more the bustling hub of the rejuvenated Iraq Railway Network.
Tracks and platforms were destroyed during the conflict and, in the confusion following the occupation of Baghdad, the central station was stripped of everything moveable.
‘If they had been able to take the trains they would have done so,’ said Talib Jasim, technical director of the Iraqi state railway.
Until 1991 trains used to run regularly to Syria and Turkey with tickets costing as little as $22 to Istanbul –– a service some within the industry say will be restarted soon.
‘We’re hoping to restart international services as quickly as possible.’ said Jasim. ‘We want to become an intersection between East and West, transporting both goods and people between the Gulf, and Europe and Turkey.’
New routes are also being considered.
‘We are considering building a new line between Iraq and Iran and we discussed this with the Iranian government,’ said Mahmud Askar, booking manager at the station. ‘Hopefully this will still be allowed to happen.’
The rail network was extensively targeted in 1991 with bridges and trains destroyed. The comparatively light damage of the present war has meant that within two weeks of the Americans taking Baghdad, full services were restored.
Trains presently run between Baghdad, Mosul and Basra. The 12 hour journey to Basra costs one thousand dinars and is particularly popular with traders who see it as a safer alternative to traveling by road.
Two of our intrepid staff members decided to try it out:
Baghdad to Basra for 1000 dinars –– surely an offer nobody could refuse? So what if the journey takes a little longer? So what if it gets a bit hot in the carriages? 1000 dinars! Half the price of a decent kebab. It had to be done. After cheerfully refusing offers to share a taxi for several thousands more, my traveling companion and I went out for an expensive meal to celebrate our cunning thriftiness.
Everything started well enough the next morning. Our late arrival at Baghdad Central Station turned out to be inconsequential.
“Don’t worry,” said the ticket clerk with a grin, as we breathlessly clamored for seats on the 8:30 a.m train, though it was already a quarter to nine. “You’ve got plenty of time.”
“They always say that,” my companion hissed.
We grabbed the tickets, scrambled for the doorway and made a dash for the platform.
Half an hour later, drenched in sweat, I decided to leave the motionless carriage and head back to the station concourse to buy the provisions we had decided to sacrifice in order to make the train. There was still time to enjoy a leisurely cigarette in the now mid-morning sun before the whistles blew to signal departure. Finally, laden with biscuits, chocolate and gallons of water, we were on our way to Basra.
“Not Iraqi?” said the ticket inspector –– again with a suspicious smile –– before ushering us into a different (empty) carriage. The carriage itself was no different, and any delusions that we were receiving first-class treatment were quashed as more and more people piled in at the numerous stations during the first half-hour. We kept trying to work out why people were treating us –– two western journalists just catching a train –– with a mixture of bemusement and hilarity.
As the journey progressed, the heat became more and more unbearable. Surprisingly, for a line running through stretches of open desert where temperatures can (and did) soar into the sixties, the windows on the Baghdad to Basra train do not open. At first we couldn’t believe it, then we thought it must be because of a heavy-duty air conditioning system, then we gave up all hope of comfort as pools of fetid moisture developed around our bodies.
But there is a certain barrier one reaches, beyond which any further pain seems academic. For myself it was probably as we pulled away from Kut and, with rivulets of warm sweat running down my face and chest, I took a swig from one of the water bottles to find it had gone from ice-cold to tepid less than an hour into the journey.
After our respective breaking points, my companion and I put down our novels and began to engage more earnestly with our surroundings. It turned out there had been no need to stock up on foodstuffs - ice cream, bananas and cold sodas were all available onboard. We were shown how to fashion makeshift fans out of copies of Azzaman newspaper. We also took greater note of the expansive countryside passing (slowly) by our window, like the former territories of the Marsh Arabs. Drained by Saddam Hussein to punish the tribes for their opposition to his regime, these lands are now being re-flooded through international efforts and make for a bizarre landscape.
Once you get used to the sweating, taking the train down to Iraq’s second city can be quite a pleasurable experience. Everyone is in the same predicament and a sense of community pervades. In fact, after the extended family sitting next to us took us under their wing, handing out copious supplies of fruit and homemade salad, we ended up staying at their house in Basra for the next five days.
The reaction to our presence was eventually explained by a quietly-spoken businessman traveling with his young daughter to visit relatives in Basra.
“I have been taking the train from Baghdad several times a week since the line reopened,” he said. “You are certainly the first western journalists that I have come across so far!”
Published date: 17/8/2003
Author: Seb Walker and James Brandon
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