Longing for a free world (part 2)

Note: You might want to start with Part 1, published previously.
Well, I was sick of being stuck in Romania, so I decided to travel anyway and go visit East Germany or as they called the Democratic Republic of Germany. That night I boarded a train bound for Berlin, sharing a compartment with a Polish man who was returning from Turkey with some merchandise for sale in his home country (doing cross-border traffic of cigarettes, jeans or other western articles was part of living in Easter Europe). Polish citizens had more freedom to travel and they were regarded the Balkan merchants. After a whole night of travel, we got to Curtici, the border town in Romania, the place to be "checked" before entering Hungary. I'd been there before, on the way Germany in 1981 and 1985, both times passing through successfully, despite the very strict controls, both in terms of passport/visa control and the physical part, which consisted of a thorough check of the luggage, below the seats, bathrooms, and overhead compartments, as well as some body frisking. This time it was clear that they were up to even tougher controls and almost abusive behavior.

After the physical control, an officer collected all passports and left. After about 20 minutes of harrowing wait, the Polish man was asked to collect his luggage and get off the train. Although nervous, I started relaxing, since I was not asked any questions. Well, I relaxed too soon, because another officer appeared, and told me to follow him, luggage and all. Since my papers were OK, I though it was just some stupid abusive control, and after everything would be OK. On the platform, there were dozens of officers with AK47's watching everybody, and you could see inside the building many travelers waiting to be processed. This was highly unusual, since the train station was in the middle of nowhere, and it was obvious that all these people had been taken off the train. After a short wait, I was called into an office, a small, dirty room, with a dirty window facing the platform, a desk, a simple wooden chair, a freestanding wooden coat hanger, and the omnipresent portrait of Comrade Ceausescu. The officer, it might have been a captain or perhaps higher rank, had a blue uniform, was in his 40s and was "somewhat" well fed; his hat was sitting on the desk, a desk that was eerily empty. The meeting started by him looking through the passport, page after page, asking me all the questions in the world such as my name, age, occupation, height, weight, eye color, hair color, parents' occupation, place of birth, place of employment, what train I had traveled on, boarding station, destination, etc. After he was done with his research, he waited for several minutes, seemingly unsure of what he was going to ask next. All of the sudden you could see light at the end of his tunnel: he proceeded to tell me that my passport has an exit visa for West and East Germany (issued by the Romanian authorities), but it did not show an entry visa for West Germany. I replied that I was not traveling to West Germany therefore no visa would be necessary. The officer said that the stated destination of trip does not match the paper work and I cannot travel any further. I asked them to process my papers and cross out the word West from the visa stamp in the passport, if that was all that was necessary. I emphasized that I was a good friend of Colonel Cazacu, the head of the passport office (which was an exaggeration, because I only knew him incidentally; his daughter was a violinist friend of mine), and that he had told me that the papers were correct. You cannot imagine his rage, swear words, foam at his mouth; it is hard to describe it. He was saying things such as "I'll get you arrested," "You're a defector," "You are a spy." The nicest thing he said was: "get your ass out of here and go back home." Needless to say, there was no arguing. So, I got out trying to figure how I was going to return to Bucharest, an 8-10 hour trip. While waiting outside, I started contemplating the scene. People scared and agitated, children and some adults crying, families separated with some people in the train (one was not allowed to get off the train in the border station, unless requested by the authorities) and their loved ones on the platform awaiting processing. The most shocking scene was the sight of a Hungarian family, all in the train, practically hanging out the window, except the grandmother of the family, who was on the platform, all imploring help with their eyes. She had been taken off the train for possessing an alleged antique vase - basically a 10-dollar vase for which they had a receipt, which the poor woman was shaking in the air (the receipt, not the vase), seemingly to make it more visible. It was unbelievable to see the train starting and these people being separated, and screaming something in Hungarian, probably to the likes of "stop the train, let me get on." I will never forget the eyes of her grand children - the panic, the fear, the sort of "goodbye for ever?" It is hard to forget the woman's tears, shame and humiliation after the train left. I was certainly happy to be alone and be "free" to go back. (to be continued)