http://www.turecko2001.webz.cz/film1/1.08A-Kapikule-Turecke%20hranice.JPG
I was in a train traveling from Istanbul-Turkey to Sofia, the capital of Bulgaria. Eva, a Polish girl I met in Istanbul was traveling with me. Her English was quite good, we chattered a lot and laught and enjoyed each other’s company.
This was years ago.
Eva was a blond tall and skinny young woman about my age who just married recently a Syrian guy and was returning to Poland after a trip to Syria where she had paid a visit to her in-laws. Her husband was a marine officer with a contract on a Turkish liner and had just left Istanbul with his ship. She saw him out to sea and decided to return to Poland by train and not by plane, because it was much cheaper and gave her the chance to stop for some short visits of Sofia, Belgrade, Budapest and Prague on her way back home. She had friends in most of the cities; it was her third trip on that route.
For me, that was the first in those parts. I was returning home after 3 months of wandering around ancient Mesopotamia. Traveling by bus, car and train apart from being cheaper offered the chance to see more and stop wherever I pleased on my route to Eastern Europe. My husband was working in Iraq at the time, on a two-year contract. He was a medic providing assistance for the builders of a big Nesblandian construction company with about 2,000 employees.
My head was light with the recent travel marvels and adventures. An old childhood dream of mine was fulfilled – I walked through the gates of Babylon (after seeing the originals in Berlin I saw the copies at their place of origin); I wandered around the ancient site of the city of Ur, wet my feet in the dirty waters of Tigris & Euphratus; saw the unearthed walls and gates of the great city of Nineveh with its Assyrian winged bulls, I enjoyed Baghdad, the ancient city of the Caliphs where the legendary 1001 Arabian Nights “happened”, admired the incredible lacustrine life of the people of Shatt al-Arab with their reads made mosque and a school on floating reeds islands and much more.
At Kapikule at the Turkish-Bulgarian border, the train got stuck for a couple of hours. It was a custom Eva said, for the Turks to hold the train at this point for a very long time because under the excuse they were looking for drug traffickers, they could ransack everyone’s luggage and ask for bribes.
She was anxious. Her husband warned her about it and told her to have some money handy. Her restlessness contaminated me too.
I had nothing in my luggage that could normally draw attention. The few souvenirs I had bought in Turkey were the types one never declares, the legit ones, simple stuff, nothing to pay custom for. My transit visa would expire only at midnight that day, therefore I was in the clear. It was about 6 or 7 in the evening, by the time my visa expired, we would be long gone and passed even Bulgarian customs.
Still, the holding of the train for an unjustifiably long time made me tired, bored, impatient, nervous. In the distance, there were heated arguments going on in some other carriages on the parallel rail. There were some sobs and wailing in different languages on the station/checkpoint grounds. There were a lot of barked orders in Turkish.
All of a sudden the very quiet and withdrawn young man sitting opposite to Eva took his rucksack and left, without saying a word. Eva and I decided that he had something to hide, obviously. Why take off like that? If this was his destination, he should have left at least 2 hours ago.
The group of middle aged Serbian women sharing the compartment with us, shook their heads in disapproval, looked at each other and then examined Eva and me with concern.
Using a mixture of despaired Slavic, Hungarian and Romanian words mixed with some German we managed to ask them why they seemed so concerned. We were explained in the same lingo that the Turks at the border kicked off the train a bunch of young women every time, mainly citizens of East-European countries, accusing them of having forbidden goods in their baggage. The ladies expressed concern that the two of us were traveling without a man to protect us, and were mad at the same time at the quiet Turkish passenger for leaving the compartment. His presence would have made a difference.
They told us how the border patrols kept the unfortunate women’s passports over night. The official line was that they were retained at Kapikule for interviews, until terrified enough, the women could be forcefully coerced into sex acts with the border guards in order to be allowed to continue their travel towards Europe.
The perspective was frightening to Eva and me if true.
Eva had 50 American dollars reserved for the guy that was going to check the passports and advised me to get a sum ready as well. Unfortunately all the only cash I had on me was in Leva, the Bulgarian currency – after all we were traveling to Bulgaria. The Serbian women shook their heads in disapproval. Leva were no good. Western currency only or Turkish Liras. The Turks hated the Bulgarians and did not want their money.
Instead of some good sense fear and concern, a revolt and fury started to build up inside me. I was used to bribery and corruption, I saw it all before but this was beyond it.
It seemed customary to bribe a policeman when he caught you on the road speeding – because you were at fault there and the bribe was always smaller than the fine.
It made sense (a ridiculous one but nevertheless) to bribe a hotel receptionist who insisted he had no room available at 3 in the morning, because it was a small price to pay in order to get a room and rest instead of sitting in the lobby on some uncomfortable chair.
It appeared almost normal to take a short cut bribing a nurse instead of waiting for hours for your turn to come and see a doctor if you were sick.
It almost made sense to bribe the border guards who wanted to confiscate a posh pair of designer shoes or some jewelery from you, in order to keep your shopping to yourself instead of purchasing it twice.
But who the hell did this Turks think they were? There were civil, criminal and international laws being breached here by officials of a country that wanted to be part of the Europe. I was not ready to bribe anyone with my body and soul so that I could just simply pass a border when I did nothing wrong. I wasn’t going to bribe anyone that way even if my life was in danger. No pitiful life is worth that much.
Well, I decided, they would not get a penny from me, the bastards.
I made quickly a plan and I stuck to it.
On the parallel line the train that we found when we arrived at Kapikule was finally allowed to go. God knows how many hours the passengers of that train had spent waiting; but after it left, I noticed a group of 4 women being hoarded reluctantly into the railway station/control point by two armed soldiers. The poor things were dragging a lot of luggage along. One was sobbing loudly.
So, it was true.
The muffled voices and arguments became closer and closer. We realized the guards had entered the opposite end of our carriage. It was well after11 p.m. now and we were stuck there for more than 5 hours, waiting in tension and anxiety.
A soldier slid open our door and barked the words “passport control”. He meant to have ready our travel documents for the team following him. That was the signal to have the money ready as well, the Serbians warned us.
Eva was pale and shaking. I don’t know how I looked myself, but I remember sweating a lot, despite the open window and the cool spring night.
The Serbian women collected amongst themselves some money in a paper bag. Eva put her 50 dollars in an envelope and set it nicely and visibly on her lap.
I did nothing.
Few minutes later, another soldier armed to the teeth appeared. He must have been about 18 years of age. Under his nose was a bit of dark fluff, like the boys who did not start shaving yet have.
I was sitting by the door, the closest to him. He put his rifle to my chest and said “50 dollars”. “Whaat…?!” I said, seeing red in front of my eyes. “No!”
“50 dollars!” he repeated raising his voice a bit, looking quickly up and down the aisle and inspecting urgently the compartment while pushing deep into my ribs with the weapon. “In your dreams” I said in a blind fury “you’ll have to shoot me first!” and pushing aside the gun I jumped at the open window in a long leap before he had time to process what was happening.
An officer was walking on the tarmac and I shouted at him in English from the top of my lungs ”Sir, one of your soldiers is trying to rob me and he is threatening me with his rifle! Help! I want to talk to the commandant and call my Embassy to complain!” The officer stopped, perplexed. I do not think that he spoke English, but the words commandant and embassy had some effect. “’Moment Madam” he said and turned around towards the entry of the carriage.
I turned too, looked towards the door and the soldier was gone. Vanished. Eva and the old women were frozen in their seats not knowing what to think. My hands were shaking in revolt. I felt like grabbing some uniformed neck and squeezing hard. I was all aggression. No danger seemed to be looming around. No risk.
The team controlling the passports must have heard my shout. They probably skipped few compartments and arrived at ours immediately. I was still standing with my back at the window when an officer and two soldiers appeared. They asked for the passports. I handed mine first. The officer looked at it and said in French “Madam, your transit visa had expired.” I showed him my watch. It was almost midnight but not quite. He was unfazed. My watch was 15 minutes behind he said. “You will have to pay a fine. We have to detain you. Please step out of the train.” “No, I said, I will not pay a fine. This train had arrived to this station hours ago. My visa was still valid then. It’s not my fault that the customs held this train here for 6 hours. If you hold it for two days I would still not to be blamed. It’s not my fault. I need to be given access to a phone so I could call my country’s Embassy and tell them what is going on here. One of your soldiers tried to rob me. I want to speak with your superior in command”.
The officer ordered one of the soldiers in Turkish and ordered me to follow the man out of the train. “And take your luggage with you. We have still to check it”. “No”, I said. “I won’t take my luggage with me. The ladies here will keep an eye on my luggage until I’ll come back. This train will not leave without me, so there’s no point on carrying a heavy suitcase with me. You can check it in my presence when I’m coming back, the same way you do with everybody else”. And I walked.
I was escorted into an office. A well-groomed man in a very well pressed uniform was sitting at a desk and a soldier was guarding the door.
I did not make a secret of anything, including the fact that I was outraged. I told him – while he was checking my passport - the whole story: when we arrived; how the quiet Turkish passenger left our compartment; what the middle aged Serbian ladies told Eva and me; how Eva’s husband warned her about the bribery practice; how I spotted the group of women from the other train being escorted into the station after their train left; how the kid-soldier threatened me with his bayonet and asked for 50 American dollars. I ended with the demand of having urgent permission to report all that to my country’s embassy.
The officer asked me for the embassy phone number. He will dial it himself and then put me through, if I insisted, but I will still have to pay the fine. It was after midnight now and my transit visa had expired the day before.
I handed him the phone number.
I guess the whole charade was just a trick to check if I really had that phone number. Once proven that I did, although he pulled the phone on his desk closer to him, he did not dial. Instead, he smiled his friendliest smile perhaps and started to explain how those ladies from the other train were detained because they had no money to pay customs for some Cappadocian carpets they bought in Istanbul; and how they will be released as soon as they will come up with the money. They were allowed to make phone calls to friends and relatives and they will be allowed to leave with the next train the next day.
I did not hide my incredulity while listening to him. I think I grinned in contempt all the way through his rambling. When he finished inventing his story I reminded him about that phone call – I was still waiting. As in regards of those ladies and their carpets, I told him how surprised I was by the procedure. Most custom officers in other countries simply confiscate the goods, which are usually kept a number of days in storage, until the person comes up with the dues. If they do. But I never heard to detain a whole bunch of women for a couple of carpets, Cappadocian or not.
Then I looked at my wristwatch and reminding him how late it was, I made a gesture towards the phone.
He looked again at my passport pensively, turned the pages, patted his well trimmed mustache and said softly “Yes it’s late Madam. I’ll tell you what. Because you are such a sweet little lady and you must be tired by all this waiting, I am willing to let you go without paying that fine. After all, you had a long day. I will personally investigate that extortion attempt and the soldier will be exemplary punished if that was not a prank, as I believe it was. Kids, you know. Sorry about that. Considering the late hour, my personal opinion is that you might not find anyone at your embassy right now – I do not see a point in calling them at midnight. We also cannot keep that train waiting any longer. There was a problem with the engine, but I suppose by now it has been fixed. The entire delay was in the passengers’ best interest and for the sake of your well being and safety.
Here it is your passport, I will turn a blind eye on the visa problem because I like you. Our conversation was very, very agreeable. I am sorry about that soldier incident – I’ll look into it straight away. Enjoy your journey…” – and he walked me to the door. The soldier escorted me back to the carriage.
Back in the compartment I found my companions worried sick. It was a great sigh of relief when I rejoined them. One of the Serbians hugged me and kissed me with tears in her eyes. Like I was her own daughter, she said.
No money was taken from them. Their luggage as well as mine was not checked. Although no passengers were boarding the train and no guards were any longer on board, and although it was almost 1 in the morning, 20 minutes after my return we were still stationary. That made my adrenalin rush turn into a panic. What if something else happens now? I could not wait to see that damn train in motion.
Finally, shortly before 2 a. m. in the morning we heard the locomotive signaling for departure, when Eva, excited beyond belief pointed out through the window. The three ladies from the other train were boarding ours. Two soldiers were carrying their suitcases.
The Serbians were stunned. In their regular shopping escapades to Istanbul they said – they never saw anyone escorted by soldiers from a train to come back, not even once, let alone having their luggage carried by border guards.
We’ll never know who those women were. Were they Bulgarians, Serbians, Hungarians, Romanians, Checks or Polish? Who knows? But even if this was not the case, in order to make my silly battle worth a better cause than my own little self, I preferred to believe that entire night, until we arrived in Sofia, that they were released thanks to my mentioning them to that mustached commandant or whatever he was.
It might have been a simple coincidence.
Perhaps their friends or relatives came from somewhere in the neighborhood and brought some money so they could pay the custom for their Cappadocian treasures. Or maybe they agreed to leave the carpets behind and escape with their dignity untarnished that very night.
I preferred to believe that it was OK to take on the windmills, even if in a very risky manner.
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