ON THE IRAQ-TURKEY BORDER - The next time you see a tanker delivering your $1.80-a-gallon gasoline, be thankful for one thing: You're not a Turkish oil truck driver.
Thousands of drivers complain they must wait for days to cross this border, which has become the safest way in and out of Iraq if you don't mind the possibility of being blown up in a tanker explosion.
As photojournalist Jamie Francis and I pulled up to the Habur gate crossing the other day, we were astounded by the endless lines of tankers stretching in both directions - tankers waiting to come into Iraq, and thousands more waiting to get out.
"I've been here eight days," said one driver, stuck on the Iraqi side of the border.
"We have no food, no water," another shouted, with only slight exaggeration.
This may be one of the most under-reported stories in Iraq today.
[Times photo: Jamie Francis]
Oozing petroleum from a tanker truck wreck signals the dangers found among the road joining Turkey and Iraq. Susan Taylor Martin: Iraq Diary
The country has the world's second- or third-largest oil reserves (it vies with Canada for the No. 2 spot after Saudi Arabia) but decades of war and economic sanctions have left its oil industry in shambles. More than a year after the U.S.-led invasion, Iraq still lacks the capacity to refine all the oil it needs.
Thus it must import large amounts of gasoline, much of which comes from neighboring Turkey.
In one sense, it has been a boon for Turkish drivers, whose livelihoods dried up early last year when Habur gate closed because of the impending war. The last time we were here, in March 2003, the border was as dead as a rock and all of southeastern Turkey suffered economically.
But after the border reopened, the drivers went back to work, and every truck with a tank and wheels was pressed into service hauling gasoline from ports on Turkey's Mediterranean coast. Some of these rigs are so old, the only thing holding them together is rust.
As we left Dohuk, in northern Iraq, we began noticing dozens of tankers laboring up the mountain toward Turkey. On the downhill side, we came upon the charred wreck of an oil rig, a river of tarlike crude oozing from its mangled tank and blackening everything in its path.
(While some trucks bring in gasoline, others carry out Iraqi crude to be refined in other countries).
The scene turned surreal as we neared the border. The line of tankers was so long it probably could be seen from outer space. And with little to do but wait, the drivers were eager to share their stories.
One driver said it takes him three weeks to make the round trip from western Turkey to Mosul in northern Iraq - a journey that could be done in less than two days by car. Most of that time is spent waiting at the border for inspections and customs clearance.
Another driver, Mohamed Jalan, said no one is willing to go all the way to Baghdad because the city is so dangerous. Even in Mosul, drivers are routinely stoned and shot at.
"Five drivers have been killed," he claimed. "The U.S., it just says, "Go, Go, Go!' without saying what is the risk."
The drivers work for suppliers other than Halliburton, the giant company once headed by Vice President Dick Cheney. Halliburton has been accused of gouging the U.S. government by charging $2.27 for gasoline brought in from Kuwait when gas from Turkey cost only $1.18 a gallon. The company cited the dangers of transporting the fuel as one reason for the high prices.
But the dangers arguably are just as great for drivers coming from Turkey, although they see relatively little of the millions of petro-dollars changing hands every month. For 20 days on the road, they get about $200.
Feeling a bit guilty, we sped past the line of tankers and went straight to the crossing point, a model of pleasant efficiency compared with many in this part of the world. On the Iraqi side, the border is controlled by the PDK, one of two political parties that run Kurdistan, as the Kurds call their part of northern Iraq.
Within minutes, we had a cab driver who offered to take us to Diyarbakir, Turkey, about three hours away, for the reasonable sum of $110. When we got to the Turkish side of the border, the guards were almost apologetic about searching our luggage.
They were also extremely friendly - until I made the mistake of saying we had just come from Kurdistan.
"There is no Kurdistan," one said sternly. "There is only Iraq."
It illustrated yet another of the many problems in this region - the bad blood between Turks and Kurds. Turkey fought a 15-year battle with its own restive Kurds, and it fears the Iraqi Kurds are stoking an independence movement that could further enflame the region.
The guard softened when I corrected myself and said we had come from Iraq. So have hundreds of other journalists and contractors, who are opting to leave via Turkey these days because the highway from Baghdad to Jordan is so often blocked by the fighting in Fallujah.
(You can also fly out of Baghdad, though just getting to the airport has become a headache because of roadside bombs.)
Americans still need a visa to enter Turkey, but again we were pleasantly surprised - the cost has dropped, from $100 when we were here last year, to just $20.
Why?
"Ask your government," a Turkish official replied with a wry smile, then added, "More tourists come if the price is lower."
Visas in hand, we got in the taxi and found ourselves back among the oil tankers. But this time it wasn't a single line neatly parked along the road; it was an ocean of tankers, row upon row, at least 15 or 20 abreast, with barely enough room for a person, let alone a car, to get through. In our little Opel, it was like being a goldfish among a school of whales.
Our driver unleashed a stream of Turkish invective, and a few drivers grudgingly inched their rigs out of the way.
And so it was off to southeastern Turkey, where we encountered yet another reminder of the turmoil plaguing Iraq today.
Soon after we arrived in Iraq in early April, the ballyhooed "Baghdad Expo" trade fair had to be postponed because of the worsening security situation.
Now the "Baghdad" fair has been rescheduled for the end of May - in Diyarbakir, Turkey.
