Crossing the Ibrahim Khalil Border: Turkey to Iraqi Kurdistan

How to cross the Ibrahim Khalil border from Turkey to Iraqi Kurdistan.

I travelled from Cizre to Duhok, crossing the Turkish-Kurdish border at Ibrahim Khalil.

This is the first of many blog posts from Kurdistan. I am hopelessly behind. And I have to apologise for the lack of photos in this particular post.

Kurds or Kurdish people are an Iranic ethnic group native to the mountainous region of Kurdistan in West Asia, which spans southeastern Turkey, northwestern Iran, northern Iraq, and northern Syria.

Iraqi Kurdistan, or Southern Kurdistan, refers to the Kurdish-populated part of northern Iraq.

This is a travel blog. I don’t want to get all political. The website where I obtained my eVisa refers to it as the Kurdistan Region of Iraq. The stamp in my passport says, “Republic of Iraq – Kurdistan Region”.

According to the UN, it’s all part of the Republic of Iraq, another member state, taking me up to 115. Still, on my own list, I have added it, as a territory: ​Republic of Iraq – Kurdistan Region.

It would be like going to Socotra and declaring that you went to Yemen, or Somaliland and saying that you went to Somalia. For me, that just ain’t gonna happen.

Getting the Kurdistan eVisa

Most likely, you will need a visa. Always check for the latest situation before you go.

Officially, citizens of 53 countries can still get a Visa on Arrival, but I didn’t see any VOA office at the Ibrahim Khalil Border. Having an eVisa just makes life so much easier. Print it out as well, before you go.

You need to think for yourself a lot in Kurdistan. That’s why there is no link to the eVisa website. Get some practice in.

Leaving Cizre

My day started in Cizre, where I’d spent a night at the Dicle Hotel, having travelled from Sanliurfa the day before.

Doing things my way:

The only other travel blogs I saw detailed taking a bus from Diyarbakir to Erbil.

I didn’t want to go all the way up to Diyarbakir, adding yet more kilometres to an already long trip, so once in Cizre, it was a question of doing the legwork myself.

The guys in the bus station hadn’t been helpful. After checking into the hotel, I walked around.

It’s strange that Cizre, a town with such a strategic location, didn’t have much in the way of transport. For me, it made perfect sense to stay a night in Cizre before continuing the next day into Kurdistan.

The guys at the hotel kindly called a driver and told me that a dolmus would leave at 9 am from a spot outside the Cizre Nur bus ticket agency, 20 metres away

But in the morning, after a full breakfast and waiting 45 minutes, I asked the girl at the ticket agency, who, after calling a few numbers, typed on her phone: “Unfortunately, not today”.

But then, with the help of Google Translate, she pointed to a spot across the road, where, luckily, there was another minivan leaving in around an hour.

Strange how it all works out.

On my way to the Ibrahim Khalil Border Crossing:

They wanted me to pay right away. I put my bag in the back, then we drove around town picking up people.

By 10 am the van was full, and we were heading out of town.

My travels have caused me a lot of anxiety recently. I questioned whether I still have it in me to deal with the uncertainty of the road less travelled.

But once we were on the way, my mind settled, and I was smiling again.

The ride to the border was short, just 50 km.

Nomadic Backpacker at the Ibrahim Khalil Border Crossing:

We were seven in the van. The trick when you have no idea what you are doing is to befriend your fellow passengers. They will hopefully look after you. Or if not, follow them at a distance. They know the procedure. They are old hands at the borders.

We arrived at the border at 10.30 am.

When you travel on foot, crossing borders takes significantly less time than when you are on a cross-border bus.

You bypass all the trucks and everyone else.

A female passenger took my passport and wrote down all the details, purpose unknown.

Then a short drive to the Kurdistan immigration. Stamped in super easily, as I had the eVisa already.

Until now, there had been no money changers that other blogs had mentioned and no Visa On Arrival office. Had it been discontinued, even if the official website states that it is still available?

I was happy that I had secured mine already.

Then, back in the van out of the border area.

I love the buzz of crossing borders.

From the border to Duhok:

Then it all went a bit wrong. The others were going to Zakho, the first town, and it seemed that the minivan was going there.

The girl who had taken the passport numbers spoke reasonable English, and it seemed there was no option other than to take a personal taxi, at 25 USD. I had no energy left. My enthusiasm deserted me.

I agreed on the taxi, and then we stopped, and a guy, a friend of the taxi driver (?), ushered his wife (?) into my taxi.

This had happened twice before in Jordan. The first time had been from the airport in Amman. A fellow driver, whose car had broken down and needed a lift. The other time was on the way to the port in Aqaba. Suddenly, there was a young chap in the back seat, who was trying to get a ride at my expense, and everyone acted like it was normal.

That time I told him to pay half or get the fuck out.

This time, I remained quiet.

Kurdistan was my last stop on this little adventure. And I was determined to enjoy it. Getting angry changes nothing. When in Rome.

​But I was mentally exhausted.

We cruised along. Kurdistan looked pretty modern in a Middle Eastern type of way. Everyone drove like loonies, seat belts are only worn because the car beeps if you don’t. Everyone is on their phone.

Here is just one photo shortly after the border, shot through the windshield:

I got dropped off at the bazaar in the centre of Duhok and went to the Slemani Palace Hotel, where I secured a room pretty quickly. After dumping my bags, I went for lunch.