Nine Years to Freedom
Teal M. Gaylord
2022 Travel Story Finalist
©
Copyright 2022 by Teal M. Gaylord
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Photo by Etienne Girardet on Unsplash
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The
American birthright based on “liberty and justice for all,”
is unique in this world. As an American my appreciation of this
birthright began with an experience I had as a teenager when I
experienced what life looked like under Soviet occupied Eastern
Europe. In 1979 and 1980 I lived in Sweden as a Rotary
exchange
student. I decided that in the Spring of 1980, before my return to
America, I would spend a month traveling Europe on an Interrail pass.
Interrail passes were only available to residents of Europe. This
pass granted me access to Eastern-bloc countries, which most
Americans at that time would have had difficulty entering. This story
is about a small part of that journey that changed me forever.
It
was May of 1980 when I passed behind the political boundary
separating Eastern and Western Europe known as the “Iron
Curtain.” This barb-wire boundary was guarded to keep people
from the East in and influences from the West out. Most Americans
born after 1989 do not understand the menace and mystique associated
with this man-made divide. I was seventeen and traveling from Munich
to Athens on the Hellas Express. The train takes about 40 hours and
crosses Hungry and the former Yugoslavia on its way to
Greece. As
a seventeen-year-old from a small town in upstate New York I was
unacquainted with the realities of the world I was about to encounter
on this journey across Eastern Europe. As we headed East from Munich
through the Austrian Alps and across Hungary along the
Czechoslovakian boarder, I was unable to see outside my window since
it was dark. It was not until the following day after we left
Budapest that I was able to explore this new world.
I
was awake early that first morning and at once glued myself to the
window; I wanted to see this part of the world that I had only read
about in history books. I recall that I soon felt like I was in a
time warp as the train passed small rural villages filled with stone
cottages with handmade wooden shingles. From pictures I had seen in
my textbooks of Eastern Europe during World War II I believed these
buildings had not changed at all in forty years. As we continued
through the countryside and entered the former Yugoslavia heading
toward Belgrade, I began to see people going about their daily
activities including farmers moving over filled wagons of loosely
piled hay, people on bicycles and old women pushing what looked to be
crude heavy wooden carts loaded with vegetables and other supplies.
Again, I thought to myself that these people dressed just as they
would have a hundred years ago. As we traveled nearer to Belgrade,
the muddy wagon-rutted roads of the country turned into busier muddy
roads entering the city. I recall that most people I saw from my
window seemed to be wearing clothes that appeared very heavy given it
was early May. The fashion in the countryside was quite drab and it
wasn’t until we reached the station at Belgrade that I began to
see people who looked like they belonged to 1980.
From
the comfort of my train, I was grateful to be a voyeur into a world
that looked so different than mine and I was fast becoming educated
on life in this part of the world. I did realize these people were
extremely poor compared to Western standards and isolated from the
rest of the world. Although the poverty was unlike anything I had
ever seen the simple life of wagons pulled by horses and carts pushed
by old women appeared charming. I must admit the muddy roads
endlessly winding across the countryside and practically touching the
edge of the city were a surprise and I still vividly remember them
today.
Heading
out of Belgrade toward Athens the Hellas Express traveled further
into the former Yugoslavia, hundreds of miles behind the Iron
Curtain. The deeper we traveled into the country the more stops we
made. At these stops the routine was typical, passengers disembarked,
and others joined us on board. However, at each stop before the doors
closed and we were allowed to continue the police boarded the train
and all passengers had to produce identification. Of course, for me
this meant surrendering my American passport.
We
were a multinational group of passengers aboard the Hellas Express;
there were travelers from around Europe, including Finland, Belgium,
and Germany as well as locals. However, during the frequent
inspections the police (complete with Russian Kalashnikovs) were most
interested in my passport. I believe most of the police officers had
never met an American before; they seemed to be quite curious about a
17-year-old American girl on a train in their town. At every stop the
police took my passport and sometimes did not return with it for what
felt like an hour or more. Fortunately, my passport was always
returned; how it was returned varied from the train conductor who
said nothing to a more friendly visit from a police officer who
smiled and said one word “American.” Not all encounters
were amenable, occasionally the police would question me as to why I
was in their country, and once the floor in front of where I was
standing was spit on.
I
was never afraid even when it was obvious the police officers did not
like me because I was an American. I had been forewarned by a Czech
named Nikko sitting next to me the first morning that the police
would scrutinize my passport and they would not be as excited to meet
an American as he was. I remember surrendering my passport countless
times and being fascinated by the experience; naively feeling a bit
special at having so much attention focused on me.
Our
train stopped in Belgrade on May 4, 1980. I am sure this date is
meaningless to most people. However, this date holds significant
importance in history; it is the day that Josip Broz Tito died. Tito
was the leader of the former Yugoslavia for over 40 years and had a
precarious relationship with Moscow. Remarkably he had kept the
country together and the Russians out during his entire tenure. I
recall that there was speculation and fears throughout the Western
world that upon Tito’s death the Soviets would invade. It was
not until I reached Athens on the 5th of May and
saw the
headlines announcing Tito’s death the previous day, when I was
in Belgrade, that the enormity of where I had been hit me. Although I
was only a teen, I had enough knowledge of the geopolitical situation
in former Yugoslavia to know that I had happened into the country at
a most inopportune time. I also realized I was fortunate that the
worst did not happen for me or the people of the former Yugoslavia.
On
my journey I was lightly interrogated, strongly intimidated and
shocked as I watched a man being removed from the train by the
police. Looking back at my experience I now realize that being inside
of country in 1980 as it is invaded by the Soviets; it’s quite
possible that I may have never returned to Sweden or ultimately the
United States. Unless you have experienced what everyday life
was like for those who lived under Soviet control it is difficult to
imagine – it is a memory that I have carried with me and that
has made me appreciate the freedom that so many Americans never think
about.
When
the Berlin Wall came down in late 1989 it became one of the most
meaningful days of my life. I watched the news reports and wept for
the countries of the Eastern-bloc. My thoughts went to Nikko, and I
knew that the end of Communism was close for him and the others I met
on that train nine years before.
I
am a Human Resource Director for a manufacture in Corning New York. I
enjoy writing non-fiction essays about topics that interest me. I write
to have a voice and share my thoughts. When I can make others feel
the way I did when I was capturing my thoughts on paper it makes me
feel like I may have some talent. I have no professional writing
experience.
(Unless
you
type
the
author's name
in
the subject
line
of the message
we
won't know where to send it.)
Another story by Teal
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