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| Balkan dawn | |||
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1978. I board the train in Trieste, Italy. We approach the border with Tito's Yugoslavia - the Iron Curtain - in the dead of night. The train whines to a halt in no-man's land.
One ragged peasant is suddenly transformed in a smart grey uniform; his bearing newly authoritative, he enters the small compartment and points to me. Two colourful women open my rucksack and stuff numerous pairs of denim jeans inside. The other passengers look away. The uniformed man signals me to keep silent, indicating the alternative by drawing a finger across his throat. Some time later, the border police approach along the corridor. I feign sleep but my heart must be rattling the window. The first passenger is slow to open his bag and gets a slap across the face. As the police examine each one's papers, he must open his luggage for them. |
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| Later the women retrieve the jeans from my bag and the train stops with a screech in the middle of nowhere. In the half-light figures carrying enormous sacks race across the fields, police in pursuit. | |||
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