The only raised voice I heard in Iraq was a soldier pleading with us to have dinner with him

Last week I was on holiday in Iraq. Nobody arrested me on trumped- up charges, nobody locked me into Saddam Hussein's armaments factories, nobody raked me with machine gun fire. In fact - as I fully expected - nothing in the slightest bit unpleasant happened to me.

Then immediately after my return I learnt the news that 60 tourists had been murdered in Upper Egypt, which rather dented my confidence. Going on holiday to countries which contain people who are angry with your government (or even their own government) can be bad for you after all.

And presumably, if a third world war had broken out during my Iraq holiday, things might have looked less good for me too. "Er, honest, I'm only here for the scenery and the antiquities and the sunshine, the food and the wine, and the people are really friendly and..."

Such pleas might have looked rather trivial with American bombs raining down and Iraqi women and children being smashed to smithereens in defence of Saddam's palaces. My desire to visit ancient Babylon and Gilgamesh's ziggurat might have begun to acquire a decidedly fishy edge. And having entered the country of my own accord, I would not have had much to complain about.

Except that, as I say, nothing did go wrong. I entered the country smoothly and left it smoothly. My copy of Freya Stark's Sketches of Baghdad now has "Iraqi Customs" stamped inside the front cover. I wondered through souqs in Baghdad, climbed minarets in Samarra and waded through mud in ancient Sumeria. Local people were more interested in shaking my hand than in wreaking vengeance for the years of UN-imposed sanctions. In fact, the only voice I heard raised in anger was that of a soldier who absolutely insisted on having the honour of inviting us to supper despite our pleas of tiredness.

Enjoying a holiday in a country where babies are starving and war looks possible? Running the risk of creating international incidents for the sake of my photo album? This kind of tourism might not sound particularly sensible or even tasteful, but I think it is the best kind there is.

Not only did I get to see for myself that the Iraqi people were defenceless and for the most part blameless human beings; but the Iraqi people (or a few of them) got to see for themselves that Westerners did not necessarily have foam and blood dripping from their jaws.

The appointed guide to our small party was a sympathetic, gentle and God-fearing gentleman who had tears in eyes when the day came to see us off. The Iraqis are far from well-informed, but given the poverty and misery in which they live, they do not seem like people who should make superpowers tremble.

Or was I being hoodwinked? Was I a kind of dupe, like Bertrand Russell returning from the USSR in the 1930s to report that all was well in Stalin's empire? Well, it would certainly be nice to imagine that the Iraqis are only pretending to live in misery. But I'm afraid that I can't.

Apparently avowed meat-eaters who visit abattoirs never again feel quite the same enthusiasm for meat. In the same way, travellers feel less inclined to support strategic bombing campaigns of the places they have been to. Maybe Saddam Hussein and certain members of the American military establishment should take a back-packing holiday round the world together, dropping in on each others' countries as they go.

This might seem facile but I've known worse ideas. Adolf Hitler hardly went abroad other than to fight wars. And what mightn't an early vacation in say, Poland, have done for his subsequent political development? Even among our own politicians, it is interesting how a few summers in Tuscany can weaken the resolution of the most die-hard Eurosceptics.

Of course, relatives of the 60 who died in Egypt are unlikely to be impressed by the idea that travel can be good for world peace. After all, if everyone stayed at home with their own people, then incidents like Luxor could never happen. Indeed. But then maybe we would have nastier wars instead.