It was the
morning of my last day in Yugoslavia --April 18,
1969. Over my usual breakfast (hot water with
sugar!), I pondered on the tactical moves that were
needed with respect to a gracious exit from here.
After cleaning my apartment as much as I could,
around noon time I went to see my Yugoslavian friend
informing him that after all, my wish got
materialized as I was leaving tonight for Graz to
see over the weekend my distant relative. He was
surprised hearing all this as he said: "How are you
going? We just went yesterday to the Embassy and
they told you that you cannot go!" To this, I
answered simply that he should not worry about this
as I was able to arrange all that was needed with
the Embassy. Ignoring my friend's facial expression
of not believing my story, I went too see my other
friend to bring him the news. He was flabbergasted
by the news insisting that my other friend and I
come that evening for supper. Thanking him very much
for the offer, I asked him if he could arrange for
me to see the Director of the Observatory in the
afternoon. He responded that he would let me know
shortly.
Around 3 o'clock
in the afternoon I was able to see the Director.
Thanking him for the hospitality that I had
received, I continued by saying that I would be
going for three (3) days to see a distant relative
in Graz. Rather amused by my statement he said:
"How
interesting! Some six months ago a Russian
astronomer was here who said exactly the same
thing, word by word. And you know what? --he
never returned!"
"My
goodness!," I responded, "How such a thing was
possible? It is incredible that people could
do such a thing!"
With a subtle
smile, the Director shook my hand wishing me a
good trip. Leaving his office, I was determined to
ignore all facial expressions of disbelief in my
story. I was like a horse wearing blinders seeing
only the road ahead that needed to be traveled.
We had an early
supper around 5 PM. My friends were teasing me
about my supposed 3-day trip, one asking me if I
was taking all my luggage in view that I would be
gone for only three days. Playing my game of not
understanding the question, I was unshakable from
my script! The host friend gave me as a present a
beautiful swiss army knife and a nice pair of
cufflinks. We all went in my host friend's car to
the Station. After a brief goodbye and an embrace
my friends left. It was about 7 o'clock in the
evening. A few minutes later my train pulled into
the station. I looked and looked at this train as
if being mesmerized by its presence.
After receiving
some help in finding my compartment, I entered
into it being the first passenger there. The
compartment was composed of two parallel wooden
benches. My seat was in the coner near the door of
the compartment and faced the direction of motion
of the train. Soon after my arrival the
compartment became filled. All were Yugoslavian
Gypsies. They wore many jewelry and rings with
heavy perfumes and greasy hair. I tried to be
friendly with them and engaged them in small talk
in Russian. I learned that they went almost every
week to Austria to buy small radio-transistors and
sold them back home in Yugoslavia. Asking them if
they knew when the train would reach the border
with Austria, they let me know that that time
would be 7:30 next morning. I asked if they were
positive about the time, and they seemed very
sure. During the evening hours I also had a chance
to inquire from other people, including the ticket
conductor, about the expected time that the train
would arrive at the border. All the answers
pointed to 7:30 AM. That was the time thus that I
had to face my destiny.
Before I left
Romania, I asked my father (a physician) what
nerve calming tablets I could take with me on my
trip to calm me down in a tense situation. He
recommended a Romanian tablet called Carbaxin.
I was told that this Carbaxin when taken
will reach the peak of its performance in 30
minutes.
It was 7 o'clock
in the morning of Saturday April 19, 1969 and I
was preparing myself for the most important and
dramatic hour of my entire life. The emotions
began to engulf me slowly but surely. I took two
tablets of that Romanian Carbaxin and I was hoping
that they would calm me down. In about 20 minutes
I felt considerably better and much more relaxed.
I was sitting on the edge of my seat waiting for
my destiny!
It was 7:35 AM and the train stopped
moving. Looking out the window, I saw that we were
at the border. It was a plain strip of land, not
very wide, and I could see on our side the
Yugoslavian Flag and on the other side the
Austrian Flag. A few minutes later I heard a voice
coming towards me louder and louder: Passport
Check ... Passport Check! Finally a young, skinny
man in uniform in his early twenties approached
our Compartment asking to see our passports. He
took in an orderly fashion the passport of each
Gypsy and placed a stamp with the date of the day:
April 19, 1969. As he was doing this, I
was pondering how close I was to the free world
and now, in a matter of seconds, that I would be
told that I did not have a valid passport to visit
Austria and thus that I would have to return back
to Belgrade. As I was entertaining these thoughts,
it was my turn and I handed him my passport.
He in a most
gentle way took my passport and looked immediately
straight into my eyes. He opened the passport
looked at my picture and then again looked
straight into my eyes. I was expecting any second
now to hear something like this: "Hey you idiot,
you cannot go further as you don't have a valid
passport. Take your suitcase as you need to return
back." But none of this happened. He opened in a
deliberate slow motion the second page of my
passport, which was empty, and then again looked
straight into my eyes. Then he continued with this
routine 24 times!: each time he opened an empty
page of my passport he looked straight into my
eyes. He was now at the last page of my passport:
he again looked as before straight into my eyes,
closed the passport, handed the passport back to
me and as he was looking one final time into my
eyes said "Thank You" and he left. We were still
sitting at the border. About 20 more minutes
passed and I heard a different voice shouting:
Passport Check ... Passport Check! I was convinced
that the young Yugoslavian border official
contacted his supervisor informing him that I had
an invalid passport for traveling to Austria, and
now that supervisor was here to get me.
As I was
entertaining those somber thoughts sitting at the
edge of my seat, here I was again, facing a new
Yugoslavian border immigration official. The new
man was chubby, in his fifties, with a stunning
moustache rolled at the ends in a spectacular way.
He summarily looked at the passports of the
Gypsies before he asked for my passport. As I
handed him my passport, he looked straight into my
eyes. Then in a similar fashion as that of the
young border offical, he opened methodically each
and every page of my passport, each time looking
straight into my eyes. At the end of his passport
examination, he looked one more time straight into
my eyes. Then, he handed over my passport, said
"Thank You" to me and he left. I did not know what
to make of all this much less the fact that
neither of the two border officials had placed any
stamp into my passport. The train was still
sitting without moving on the Yugoslavian side. To
cross the border into Austria, which you could see
from the train window, would probably required no
more than 30 seconds. I was so close and yet so
far from the free world. As I was thinking about
all this, the train began moving but after only 10
seconds the train stopped again! My heart almost
stopped beating as well.
I was now
positive that the train stopped again so that the
Yugoslavian Police could embark the train and
either arrest me or at the very least remove me
from the train. Excruciating minutes followed
while I pondered over my fate. After a few more
minutes of waiting, I heard a man's voice coming
louder and louder from the train's corridor:
Customs inspection!, Customs inspection! When the
customs official entered into our compartment he
checked rather meticulously some of the Gypsies
luggage but, to my surprise, he did not check
mine. When I asked him why he was not checking my
luggage he, with a nice smile on his face, stated
they did not have time to check everyone's luggage
and that these checks were done on a random basis.
After that, to my enormous relief, he left and
went to the next compartment for checking luggage.
Finally the
train was moving and yes, we had crossed the
border. We were now in Austria!!! Shortly
afterwards the train stopped, this being the first
stop on free soil. My plan was now very simple: as
soon as the Austrian immigration official would
enter the train to check for the passport I would
ask for Political Asylum. A young, tall,
red-haired man whistling a song entered our
compartment saying to everyone in a very joyous
voice "Good Morning!, Good Morning! ". He then,
without any sort of examination, took everyone's
passport and rapidly stamped on an open page of
each passport the date of entry which was April
19, 1969. He then quickly left for the next
compartment. 
I was actually
free!, free!, free! What an indescribable feeling!
I was happy beyond anything that I had experienced
in my entire life. Everything was surreal as if I
had been reborn. My first day in freedom had
just begun.
