ROBIN DENSELOW 
"The trouble with this place", said a Kurdish friend who'd been clearly influenced by The Lord of The Rings, "is that it's a magic kingdom with Mordor all around". The north of Iraq is an intriguing, exquisite region, but it's surrounded by neighbours who are wary of their own Kurdish populations, and deeply worried that the Iraq war will leave the Iraqi Kurds 
in a far stronger position. 
As a result, Northern Iraq is hard to reach - and hard to get out of. 
I'd been there for 3 months with a Newsnight team, and now it was time to leave. The route south through Baghdad was not yet clear, so what should we do? Syria was out of the question - our crew had no visas, as they'd come in through Turkey. But the Turks - who are the most worried of all about Kurdish aspirations - would not let them back over the border. 
Next, we tried the Americans. They, after all, had military transport planes flying in and out 
of northern Iraq, and they had gone to enormous efforts to first treat, and then evacuate, our colleague Stuart Hughes when he was wounded by a land mine. They said they'd fly out any American journalists who wanted a lift - but no-one else.
We then learned from the British embassy in Tehran that we had permission to 
leave through Iran. Welcome news. It meant that we could now attend the funeral ceremonies for a good friend, the Iranian cameraman Kaveh Golistan, who had been killed by a land mine when Stuart was injured. 
We set off across the mountains to one of the unofficial border posts with Iran, and after a thorough search we were let through. They knew we were coming, and at the little border town of Marivan we were ushered into a government office and issued with pieces of paper adorned with photographs and stamps that would allow us to drive across to Tehran. It wasn't quite that easy. We were stopped and quizzed for an hour at one roadblock, and later at another, where we were helped by the mysterious arrival of one of those who had questioned us hours earlier. We still didn't have visas or Iranian stamps of any sort in our passports. 

Reaching Tehran, after a nine-hour drive, we assumed that our problems were over. We attended the funeral ceremonies, and got ready to fly home. Only to be told that there were complications.  According to the British consul, we'd been given permission to transit through Iran by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. But before we could go, it now turned out that we had to see the Ministry of Islamic Guidance and Culture, responsible for journalists. They, 
in turn, gave us a letter for the Aliens Police, who could issue an exit visa. "I hope it works", said the woman who handed it over. She didn't look convinced.
 
The Aliens Bureau had a bleak, window-less waiting room, with rows of seats facing counters topped with glass screens, behind which uniformed officials shuffled passports and papers. Occasionally, a neon sign would flash up a number, indicating that someone's problem was being dealt with. At other times it flashed an Islamic slogan, in English: "without the name of 
Khomeini, the Islamic revolution could not be known in anywhere throughout the world".
 
We waited here all day, but were told that only the Colonel in charge could deal with our case, and he wasn't there. We came back the next day, and only at closing time did a helpful Iranian from the Embassy manage to see him. "I'm sorry", he reported, "the Colonel says he won't help anyone from the coalition against Saddam - that means Spain, the USA and Britain". We were effectively stuck, for only this man, it seemed could issue the crucial exit visa, and back at the hotel a series of other Colonels - from the Interior Ministry and then the Foreign Ministry - arrived to ask why we were in Iran with no visa. "You won't be arrested", I was told. Good news. But we still couldn't leave. 
So it continued, for over a week, with the Foreign Ministry insisting there was no problem, and the Aliens Police refusing to budge. The British Foreign Minister Mike O'Brien came through town for discussions, and our dilemma was among the issues raised, along no doubt with the somewhat more pressing matters of how events over the border would effect Iran.
 
Foreign Affairs now sent yet another letter to the Aliens Police, and a couple of days later there was good news at last - our cameraman, who had become seriously ill in Tehran, could go home along with the tape editor. But I had to go to court, with producer Allie Wharf.  Here, there was yet more waiting - but this time we were surrounded by men in prison uniform manacled to their guards. We were shuffled from room to room where extra pieces of 
paper were stamped and added to our bulky files. This was clearly a serious case. Eventually, the judge made his ruling - a fine that amounted to the equivalent of one dollar. I still don't know what I've done wrong, but now, at last, there is an Iranian exit stamp in my passport. 
ENDS