Ficly

Not The Ritz

He held a piece of cardboard with Mr. Talman written on it, and introduced himself as Abdullah. “Mr. Wright” had sent him to meet me and bring me to my hotel. He was short, about 150cm and had dark hair that was long on top and hung down to his eyes. Skinny, about 70 kilos, and he had the look typical of so many people across the world hustling for a buck.

The Al-Mansour hotel was just outside the green zone in Baghdad. It had mixed reviews when I checked it on yahoo. Four am wake up calls by suicide bombers dispatching themselves to allah. Supposedly it had a beautiful pool and mortar impacts are “rare”. I just hoped that it would get more than the four hours of electricity a day that was usual for Baghdad. I seemed to disappoint Abdullah that I wasn’t interested in meeting his “sister” for a good time or getting a tour of night life that this city has to offer.

The hotel was a dust brown colored building, 14 floors and Peshmerga guards. They were there to make sure that no trouble came to this place.

View this story's 5 comments.