BELGRADE OR BUST
BELGRADE, YUGOSLAVIA— The plane landed in Belgrade at noon, Yugoslavian time. What I saw when we landed stunned me. It looked like Toronto! Everyone disembarked for the customs and immigration check. The woman who was inspecting was wearing the Yugo military uniform, her blonde hair pulled tightly into a bun on the top of her head.
LENE LOVICH'S Eastern European Express
BELGRADE OR BUST
Mark J. Norton
BELGRADE, YUGOSLAVIA— The plane landed in Belgrade at noon, Yugoslavian time. What I saw when we landed stunned me. It looked like Toronto! Everyone disembarked for the customs and immigration check. The woman who was inspecting was wearing the Yugo military uniform, her blonde hair pulled tightly into a bun on the top of her head. She looked vaguely familiar.. .ILSA, SHE-WOLF OF THES.S!
I stepped up to the counter and handed her my passport. She studied it for a moment, then said quite coldly, “No visa, step over to the side.” And I nearly fainted. Ugly images from Midnight Express popped into my head. What will it be? Ten years of hard labor? Solitary confinement? An iron maiden, perhaps?
Fifteen minutes passed and a Yugoslavian customs officer, machine gun strapped to his back, approached this trembling scribe. He handed back the passport, with visa stamped inside, and directed me downstairs.
Downstairs, at\ the baggage carousel, a dozen soldiers with machine guns kept careful watch over the proceedings. I collected my luggage and got in line for a thorough baggage check. »