The Smile That Helped Me Cross The Austro-Italian Border Illegally
The magic of a smile
I love to smile, but I hate to be told to smile.
Sometimes, we have no choice in life and must do what we don’t like. Once, I had to force a natural and bright smile, which saved my family and me from big trouble.
That lifesaving smile I gave was to an Austrian border customs officer.
Let me rewind a bit so its importance can be properly presented. It involved a very wild and risky adventure.
Many years ago, when I lived in Paris, I traveled extensively in Europe and intensively whenever I was with my relatives, who hired me to be their chauffeur, business assistant, and interpreter.
Traveling with the Chinese, especially business people, means visiting as many places as possible in a short period.
In the summer of 1997, I was temporarily employed by an uncle and his wife to attend a business meeting with them in Munich and drive them around.
Soon after we arrived in Munich, we were told that the meeting had been postponed to a week later. My aunt then expressed her wish for us to visit Rome with her niece, who was also their secretary.
We could have made the whole trip using the Europasses that the niece had previously bought, but my uncle and aunt thought it would be more convenient and interesting to travel by car, as we could stop whenever and wherever we wanted.
It was a memorable trip. Before arriving in Rome, we visited Milan, Pisa, Genoa, and Florence. I especially loved Milan because the people there were beautiful and fashionable. While walking in downtown Milan in the area of the Dome, it was as if I were walking through a fashion magazine.
The food was great, especially the pizza. The pizza I tasted in Milan was the best I had ever tasted in my whole life.
Rome, however, was less impressive than I had expected. We stayed in Rome for about three days before returning to Munich for the meeting.
Having noticed that I was utterly exhausted from driving so much, my aunt suggested dropping the car in Rome and using our Europasses to return to Munich. I felt greatly relieved and relished that the rest of the trip would be easy driving in Munich, where I had reserved a car at the train station in Milan. Little did I know I was not to have a break from driving like an unstoppable engine!
On our train ride from Rome to Munich, the train stopped at the border of Italy and Austria. It was the middle of nowhere. A group of Austrian policemen came on the train to check our passports.
Since my aunt and her niece had Hong Kong passports and had only a visa that allowed them to visit six European countries that did not include Austria, they were asked to alight the train and take another train to Milan to get a visa to pass through Austria. (My uncle and I had passports that allowed us to visit Austria visa-free.)
I tried to plead our case by saying that we were going to Munich and not getting off in Austria. The Austrian border police were very strict and mean (I don’t call people mean easily, but they were). They made us get off the train in the middle of nowhere.
There was not even a tiny village within sight. Once off the train, the police stamped the passports of my aunt and her niece, indicating that they had tried to enter the country illegally. I was upset. I asked one of the police officers who left us on the platform where I was supposed to go. He said, “Go back to China!” Then, he turned around and left us.
There was nobody on the train platform. We didn’t see anyone. It was around five o’clock in the afternoon. It was impossible and would have been stupid for us to go to Milan to get a visa just to cross the country.
I decided that we would take a train and go to the nearest big city to rent a car to drive through Austria. I believed it should work again since I had already driven through Austria with them when we went to Italy.
According to all my previous experiences driving in Europe, only the driver's passport was checked when a party of two or more passengers went through the border by car. Just a little over a week ago, prior to this frustrating incident, I only had to show my US passport, and we were all allowed to pass.
My uncle and aunt were a little afraid of taking this risk because the stamp on my aunt’s and her niece’s passports implied severe consequences if caught again committing the same offense.
They didn’t have better choices and agreed to do it my way. So, we jumped off onto the train tracks, crossed them with our suitcases to the other side, and climbed up to the platform. There wasn’t even an overpass or underpass to reach the other side.
When the next train arrived from the direction of Austria, the four of us hopped on quickly. On the train, nobody spoke English. I asked someone about the biggest nearby city and was told that the train was going to “Wien.”
I didn’t know that “Wien” was the German word for Vienna until the train stopped in Bolsano. When I saw the word “Wien,” I knew it couldn’t be an Italian city because it didn’t sound Italian. I asked some passengers if Wien meant Vienna, but no one could answer me. They looked lost at what I said. They didn’t know that Wien is called Vienna by other people in the world.
After some attempts not to lose in translation, I finally understood that Wien was in Austria. If I wanted to go to Italy, I had to get off right away because that train made only one stop in Italy, and that was Bolzano.
A minute before the train was to take off again, I told my party to get off the train immediately. They had no clue what it was all about until I explained to them on the train platform of the Bolzano station that the train was heading to the capital of Austria.
It was then between six and seven o’clock in the evening. I asked them to wait for me at the train station while I ran around looking for car rental companies. The first few I visited were out of cars. Fortunately, luck struck at last. I found a company that had only one car left. The only problem was that the car could not be dropped off in Munich. It must be returned to Bolsano. I had no choice but to take it.
From Bolsano, we drove to the border of Austria. Before passing customs, my aunt told me to put on some lipstick and give a big smile to the customs officer when I would be asked to present my passport. I did as told.
The officer was slightly startled to see my big, natural, bright smile. He looked at me for a couple of seconds. He smiled back, returned the passport to me without even opening it, and told me to proceed.
What a relief! My relative and I could finally breathe again.
I drove as fast as I could on the Austrian highway to get out of this rigid and mean country. After an hour of eventless driving, I was suddenly followed by a police car and signaled to stop. I knew that I was driving too fast.
It was good that there was lots of traffic on the road; I drove slower, but our hearts kept racing for another thirty minutes until we lost sight of the police car. I think the police decided to stop chasing me.
After three hours of driving on the Austrian highway, we were stopped again by some police at a small roadside customs control booth.
I was told to park near it and wait while our four passports were taken away. Since Germany and Austria both use German, I had no idea if the police were Austrians or Germans. We were all guessing and waiting nervously in the car.
In my experience, a border normally has two customs offices; the first one belongs to the country where one exits. So, the chance that we were stopped by the Austrian police was very high.
In any event, the tension that was building up was killing me and all of us. I decided to get out of the car and ask them if they were Germans or Austrians. I was supposed to wait in my car.
When the police saw that I got out of my car and walked towards the booth, they were alarmed. I quickly calmed them by yelling that I had only one short question. I asked, “Am I in Austria or Germany?”
To my biggest relief of the day, I was told I was in Germany. I then asked why it took so long to check our passports. “Is there any problem with our passports?” Since I saw that I had gained a little trust from them, I went inside the booth and checked what they were doing with our passports. They were examining them carefully under the machine that gave out purple light. (I guess they were just being Germans who do their jobs seriously.)
I was told to go back and wait in my car. I did as told and broke the happy news to my relatives.
Five or ten more minutes later, the police returned with our passports and let us go.
That evening, I arrived at our Munich hotel slightly after midnight.
The following day, at six o’clock, I drove the rental car back to Bolzano by myself. I drove fast and did it in three hours. Then, I took the train from Bolzano back to Munich.
On the train, I was given trouble by the Austrian train controller because my Europass was valid only if I traveled with another passenger. Since I was alone, I was made to purchase another ticket. I had no cash because I left the hotel in a rush.
Then, the same old scene. I was asked to get off the train and withdraw money to buy a ticket. That would mean taking the next train to Munich.
I have to say I don’t like Austria or the Austrian police. Why can’t they be like the Italians? When my ticket was checked by an Italian controller while the train was in Italy, I was not given any problems at all.
I didn’t want to get off the train, so I asked a passenger to lend me the amount needed to buy a new ticket. As soon as I arrived in Munich, I withdrew money from the ATM and reimbursed the nice passenger who had lent me the money.
Then, the next thing was to pick up the reserved rental car at the Munich train station and drive it to pick up my party. We made it to our meeting on time.
A challenging mission accomplished, mainly thanks to a smile.
This story was originally published on Medium on 20 October 2024.
You and your kids have beautiful smiles!
It would have helped to research both, immigration and train booking requirements before traveling. You could have ended up in deep trouble.