I was up early (for me) this morning to head over to the Green Zone and get my media credential renewed.  Usually there’s pretty nasty traffic on Saturday morning, which is the start of the work week here.  There’s a particular bottleneck that you could probably walk in five minutes, but takes 30 minutes when the traffic is snarled.  Today, though, it was clear.

The relatively clear roads upped the hazards of probably the most dangerous and hair-raising part of life in Iraq, which is dealing with the insanity of Iraqi driving.  As far as I can tell there’s no concept of right-of-way.  If you can put your vehicle in a particular spot before the other guy can, you win.  This morning we were slaloming in and out of oncoming traffic, passing cars at probably sixty miles an hour on quiet city streets, and generally driving in ways that would get you thrown in jail in the States.

And I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, because Iraqis don’t wear them.  The idea is that you stand out less if you don’t wear one, and won’t get spotted by kidnappers.  Of course, the risk of getting catapulted through the windshield, sans seatbelt, is probably ten times as high as the chance of falling into the hands of al Qaeda because they notice a shoulder strap.  But there’s a certain mysticism that takes over when it comes to these things.

By the way, I’ve decided that I’m not going to mention the names of, or say much about, Time’s Iraqi staff.  Some of the guys don’t seem to care much if people know they work with an American magazine; some would probably have to flee for their lives if their neighbors found out.  I’m not going to get into making personal judgments about those risks.  So if I don’t seem to be giving those guys their due that’s why.  They’re an amazing group, and if I find out a particular guy wouldn’t mind being on the blog  I’ll be eager to tell his story.