The dining cart of the Trans Asia Express
A sharp rap at the door jolts me from a fitful sleep. For a moment I’m disorientated. It takes a few seconds to remember that the gentle rocking sensation and soft clacking noise is from the train that I’m travelling on. I check my phone and see that it’s 4 in the morning. Suddenly the cabin door slides loudly open and bangs against it’s stopper, waking the other 3 men in my cabin with a jump.
As light spills into the cramped sleeper compartment we can make out the shape of two guards. One of them steps forward into the cabin and looks under our beds. I’m not sure what exactly this exercise was designed to elicit, seeing as the space underneath the sleepers is far too small to fit a person and almost too small for luggage.
As the first guard steps back the second comes forward. He has a large black beard and a stern face, and is wearing a light coloured uniform. He also appeared to be carrying a rather large pistol in a holster. In my experience train guards are not usually so well armed. He looks down at a piece of paper in his hand and reads out one name:
“Pavel Farrell”
The name tumbles out so quickly I barely catch it. We all remain silent. All waiting for this unfortunate ‘Pavel’ to be led away to god knows where. But nobody moves. The guard glares at us all in turn, and then reads the name out once more.
It takes a moment but I realise that he’s actually saying my name. I slowly raise my hand and mumble something apologetic. They both stare at me, apparently not amused, and then the one with the list says:
“you come with us.”
The tone of his voice suggested this was probably not a request, and so I scramble out of bed and put some pants on. As I leave the cabin my fellow bunk mates – An Englishman and two Turks – give me a worried look. I’m starting to feel a growing unease at this mysterious twilight rousing.
The guards point me down the corridor towards the dining car of the train. They flank me on either side as we enter.
The cart is surprisingly full for such an early time of the morning. All the train staff are clustered in the far end of the room though. On the other end are more of the light coloured guards like the ones that escorted me there. The train staff in their green uniforms seem uneasy, and occasionally glance nervously at the guards at the other end of the room.
But the focus of much of their unease is directed at the table where I’m gestured to sit at. A large man is leaning casually back in a chair. He’s staring intently at me. He’s wearing the same uniform as the other guards, but appears to be their superior. He has a thick beard that is greying slightly and a large round face. While at first glance he seems overweight, as I walk closer to sit down I realise that he’s little more than bulging muscle.
As I take a seat opposite him his cavernous mouth stretches back into what appears to be a smile. It isn’t a particularly friendly smile though. I place my hands on the table and try to smile back. But I realise that my palms are sweating, and instead rub them along my jeans.
There’s a few more moments of agonising silence. At this point all eyes in the room are on me and the man opposite me. He regards me for a few more seconds and then leans slightly further back in his chair. He brings both his arms out in what appears to be an earnest gesture of confusion and in a low rumbling voice asks me:
“So why do you want to come to Iran?”
At this point I was starting to wonder that myself.
Posted on April 4, 2011
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