An oldie, but goody to get the writing bus moving again.

Here is a little something from my traveling past, to celebrate temporary stability, hopefully siz smuggles, in Istanbul.

All aboard……the night train.

2:30 am Nis, Serbia

I briefly say goodbye to my dear friend Nenad and board the night train that had arrived in a timely fashion, an unusual occurrence for this line I’d been told. Foreign travel does not always come easy, and this was one of those moments where a basic knowledge of the language, or in this case, the ability to decipher the local alphabet will insure you arrive in your planned destination. I note this because the cars separate mid trip leaving a misinformed traveler with a potentially detrimental detour.

I climb into the correct car and was instantly overwhelmed with by intense conflicting energies surrounding the various nocturnal persons on board. I realized soon after finding seat that I had entered the smuggling car, as admittedly I had been warned could happen travelling overnight on this line.

After being in a city with 60-70% unemployment the idea of black market trade as a form of survival, brings little shock to my mind. Good people make a living buying and selling what they can with little profit and high risk. Life for many is a dangerous game.

What began as an unnerving stake out by some of the passengers, soon turned into frenzy. Cartons of cigarettes with comical names were ripped apart and stuffed into every last crevice of the train. Panels in the cars compartments were being removed, bags were being packed and re packed again and again. Sleep was not an option on this trip.

Before reaching the border the chaos finally lifted as an air of tension rose. The train came to a halt and the heavy-footed Bulgarian border control stepped on. A waiting game commenced, and as the controller approached our compartment I watched the previously confident, spunky woman seated across from me started to sweat. After a small amount of questioning the pressure had ended and her lighting of a cigarette acted as a sign of relief.

The train’s successful release resulted in a sort of upheaval. All that had been safely stored earlier was recovered including the packages that were forced upon my fellow car mates. In addition the cigarettes were now being sold and older village women and rough workmen alike were purchasing cartons at a premium price. If this was not enough to take in at 6am, unbeknownst to me I was situated in front of what was presumably an illegal drug smuggle. I watched in awe as a lanky, sinister character wedged his way above the aisle between my compartment and the window. Once secure, he pulled out a giant knife, popped open one of the roof panels and quickly cut out of the insulation 10 small carefully wrapped packages, whose content one could only imagine was meant to stay undisclosed. The passenger flow in the aisle was undisturbed, and people passed under this shady character without hesitation. All I can do is, assume this was not a rare occurrence and I was the abnormal passenger.

As we finally pulled into Sofia’s main station I was in a delirious state, digesting my dose of surreal reality. Think I will stick to daytime travel from now on.