When I was 16, our train from Russia was late arriving in East Berlin, where we would change to a West German train after getting through customs. It was one in the morning. This was during the Brezhnev era, and everyone was warned up the wazoo about what might happen to us if we did anything wrong behind the iron curtain.
We knew wrong included smuggling out papers or smuggling in contraband materials, but we also believed that you might be pulled in for questioning at any moment by the KGB. This was serious. At least for some boys, anyway.
Still, it was late at night. Customs was closed. We hadn’t eaten anything all day and there wasn’t any food in the East German train station.
There was some discussion between our chaperones and the East German security force. I don’t speak German so I don’t know what was going on, but voices were raised and threatening hand gestures. For Chissake, it wasn’t our fault the train was late. Clearly, they had no idea what to do with us.
At that point, one of my classmates broke down and started sobbing. I remember looking at him, and thinking, ‘What are you crying for? We’ll get out all right. There’s another train in the morning.’ I felt so calm and certain, I wondered at myself.
There wasn’t much the security folks could do, so we sat down on benches around us, with our luggage beneath our feet, and tried to sleep in the cold German night. Eventually the sun came up, and customs was opened, and we went through without incident, and caught the next train home. But I was always impressed with myself after that. It was a pretty big deal, and I knew just what we could do, and it happened.
Another time… well, that was last summer and I’ve already told that story.