About an hour before we crossed the border from Budapest into Serbia, an officer wearing a bright and flashy uniform decorated with scarlet fabric and gold braiding entered our train car. He politely collected our passports and began asking us several questions. These included where we lived, where we were born, what religion we followed, our professions, and our general social status.
Although the questions were detailed, we answered them patiently and truthfully. Then, shortly before we arrived at Belgrade, the officer returned our passports with respectful and formal compliments, showing the kind of courtesy often seen in official European inspections of the time A Heated Argument in the Palace.
Like Cattle Through the Chute
After getting off the train, we followed the other passengers into a narrow fenced-in path on the station platform. It was similar to a livestock chute, the kind used to guide cattle at stockyards. At the end of the pathway, two more officers were waiting. They once again asked to see our passports and train tickets. After we handed them over and were cleared, we were allowed to proceed into a large room inside the station.
This room had long benches lined up in the middle, and on these benches were the pieces of luggage belonging to all the new arrivals, including ours.
Customs Inspection Quick for Us, Strict for Locals
Our experience with the customs office was quick and easy. The officers gave our bags only a light inspection, lasting no more than a minute. However, the Serbian passengers were not so lucky. Their luggage was thoroughly searched. The inspectors dug through bags and boxes with the determination of someone expecting to find something illegal.
It seemed they were searching for weapons, explosives, banned documents—or more likely, alcohol and tobacco, which were under government control. Regardless, the inspections were detailed and frustrating, especially for the local travelers. Both men and women were forced to unpack their entire belongings onto the benches in a messy and annoying way Customized Daily Ephesus Tours.
The Collar Incident and a Burst of Serbian Rage
One man, who had traveled with us all the way from Budapest, got into a small dispute with the customs officer. He had purchased several new collars and cuffs—perhaps six or more. This drew the attention of the inspector, who counted the items multiple times and eventually took them into a back room. There, the collars were weighed, and the man was asked to pay a small customs fee.
Furious at the petty charge, the man searched his pockets, slammed the coins onto the bench, and shouted a string of angry Serbian curses at the customs inspector. The inspector, however, remained calm and simply moved on to inspect the next traveler’s bags.
Even as the man gathered his things, he continued to grumble loudly. Every few minutes he would pause to shout another insult. Though we never learned his name, it was clear that if he ever found that customs officer alone in a dark alley, the next day’s Serbian newspapers might be reporting a murder.
