A couple of years ago, some small charter airlines began direct Cairo-Baghdad flights. I was overjoyed, imagining quick jaunts to Iraq for reporting -- the ability to trade the Nile for the Tigris in practically no time at all.

Of course, it didn't work out that way. "Unreliable" doesn't begin to describe the performances of these start-up airlines. I lost days and days to security, managerial and technical mishaps on previously unknown carriers with names such as Flying Carpet, Tigris Air, Jupiter. Finally, I gave up on the idea of a direct flight and switched back to the old-school Baghdad-via-Amman route on Royal Jordanian.

Nowadays, the only remaining direct Cairo-Baghdad  flight is on Iraqi Airways, the national carrier known for its stark green-and-white logo and an abysmal track record for delivering passengers to their destinations on time, if at all. The fleet was grounded for several years under Saddam Hussein and, when the airline reopened after the U.S. invasion, the aging flight attendants always looked to me as if they had simply blown the dust off their faded green uniforms and reported for work as if scarcely a day had passed.

At first, Iraqi Airways was a novelty. There was a surge of pride when an Arabic-accented voice sounded from the cockpit instead of the distinct dialect of the South African bush pilots who flew other carriers into Baghdad. It was soothing to hear the Iraqi Airways flight attendants, nearly all of them ladies of a certain age who favored bright red hair dye, address passengers as, "my darling," or "my eye." A colleague swears to me that a flight attendant actually lit a cigarette for a passenger during one flight.

But the novelty quickly wore off when you didn't actually get from A to B. Perhaps I was in a sentimental mood this week or maybe I just  didn't want to overnight in Amman, but I decided to give the direct Cairo-Baghdad flight another chance. I went to a Cairo travel agency and asked for the flight. The travel agent said it didn't exist.

Our Baghdad bureau chief told me there was indeed still a direct flight, so I took a cab to downtown Cairo, where the Iraqi Airways "headquarters" is located near the AirFrance storefront. The office is small, shabby and mostly empty. Other countries have tourism posters in their national airline offices, urging customers to see Big Ben or the Eiffel Tower. Iraqi Airways had only maps of the country and a model plane in the window. It'll probably be awhile before "Visit the canals of Basra, the Venice of the Middle East!" shows up on Iraqi promotional posters.

Another major difference is that the airline -- or at least its Cairo office -- accepts no credit cards. Only cash, and only in Egyptian pounds. The fare for a first-class ticket wasn't very much higher than an economy seat, so I decided to book the more expensive reservation in hopes that my luggage would be returned intact and I would have priority for rebooking when the inevitable cancellation occurred. But there were no first-class seats available for days, the ticketing agent told me.

"Just go economy. There's really no difference on our planes, anyway," she said wearily. I plunked down the equivalent of $440 in cash and received a handwritten ticket.

This morning I showed up to Cairo Airport at dawn for my 7 a.m. flight, mentally prepared to spend an entire day in the airport in case the flight was delayed as usual. But, no, we were called for boarding promptly at 6:15 a.m. and rode a bus from the terminal to the runway. My heart sank as the bus deposited us in front of a 737 marked with a Lebanese flag and the words, "Flying Carpet."

No! Where was the green-and-white Iraqi plane like the one in the window of the ticketing office? I felt bamboozled. This was the same old unreliable charter flight of the old days.

Lebanese flight attendants welcomed passengers on board. I suddenly understood the smirk the check-in guy had given me when I asked for a window seat -- there are no assigned seats on Iraqi Airways. It's a dog-eat-dog fight to avoid that awful middle row. There's no in-flight magazine, no pillows or blankets, no soft drinks and the seats don't recline. You get a boxed lunch stamped with "EgyptAir." Apart from me, not a single Westerner was on board, though the Lebanese pilot made his welcoming remarks in Arabic, English and, inexplicably, French.

Thank goodness, the flight went without a hitch. The pilot pointed out the Suez Canal from the left window as we flew over Egypt. Passengers picked at their croissants and triangles of processed cheese, then nodded off to sleep. We touched down at Baghdad International Airport at precisely 10:30 a.m. -- right on time.

A fluke? Progress? Who knows. But there you go -- it is possible to fly Iraqi Airways directly from Cairo to Baghdad, albeit on a Lebanese plane with a French-speaking crew passing out Egyptian boxed lunches.

The convenience was a welcome surprise, but a part of me still missed those red-haired ladies in their green uniforms, fussing over passengers like mother hens, their very presence a balm for the wounds of Iraq.