Iraq banks on religious travel

BAGHDAD -- The Iraq Tourism Board isn't exactly a welcoming place.

Located on Haifa Street, once so dangerous it was called Fallujah after the blood-drenched city in Anbar province, its building is hidden behind blast walls. Entrance arcades are bricked up and finished off with menacing shards of glass.

These days, says board chairman Hamoud Al-Yakobi, tourism is a matter of faith. Literally.

"We depend on religious tourism," Al-Yakobi says. "There is no other tourism business here."

Five years after the U.S. invasion of Iraq, nearly all its tourists are Shiite pilgrims from Iran flocking to holy sites in Najaf, Karbala and other southern cities. Last year, more than 500,000 Iranian tourists crossed the border; 160,000 had come by the end of April this year.

A recent tourism conference in Najaf, home to the shrine of the Imam Ali, focused on building hotels and improving services for the devout, who have been less deterred by continuing violence.

In contrast, the Iraq Tourism Board has no offices in the USA and no immediate plans to woo intrepid Westerners. The latest issue of the board's tourism magazine is printed only in Arabic. Past editions also included English.

Al-Yakobi knows that it would take a leap of faith to get Western tourists back to the land between the Tigris and Euphrates. Ancient Mesopotamia may have been the cradle of civilization, but modern-day Iraq remains a basket case.

"We need more time," Al-Yakobi says, "because of the security situation."

American tourists are not permitted to travel independently in Iraq without an escort and must come as part of an organized group, Al-Yakobi says. Several Iraqi companies offer group tours complete with security.

"Tourists need protection against kidnapping," he says.

They also need basic amenities, many of which are lacking here. Nearly a dozen Baghdad hotels, including the Al-Hamra in the Karada district, claim "five-star" ratings. Discerning travelers might quibble, though, because most luxury hotels don't have dripping faucets, clanking air conditioners and a 12-page room-service menu that rarely can deliver enough dishes to fill one.