Apart from the kidnappings, life is much the same in Baghdad

I left Iraq at the end of January for a holiday at home in the US, to reconcile with my girlfriend and to prove to my family that I had not gone crazy.

But because I had every intention of returning, my girlfriend broke up with me and my family remain unconvinced.

I flew to Baghdad from Amman, Jordan. The roads I am used to travelling have become so unsafe that my friend Fayyez in Amman, who usually takes care of such things, would not have found me a driver even if I had asked. 'I'll send you to hell,' he said. 'But I would suggest flying.'

It was the first time I'd ever got on a plane that I knew someone might have a serious interest in shooting down. The flight, on a commuter-size jet, was about half-full, mostly with crusty-looking private security types (mostly South African) and a few Iraqis of indeterminate purpose.

I didn't feel much like talking after shelling out more than US$600 for the 11/2 hour flight, but it was impossible not to look around at the other passengers as the plane descended sharply in a tight, heavy circular turn that nearly put us on our ears.

The manoeuvre, in lieu of a standard, straight approach, is designed to avoid fire from guerillas on the edge of the airport.