The border guard's diligence suggested unusual events at our destination. This was not the perfunctory check of travel documents that is the norm on trains making the two-hour journey from Budapest to Bratislava.
Instead, the officer subjected passports to a gamut of electronic tests, demanded travel details and sample signatures from passengers, and finally dismantled the ceiling of the compartment to grope around for prohibited items.
He seemed unconvinced by the documents, the signatures and the scant results of his search, but moved on anyway. After all, there was an entire train to scour before Bratislava, the unlikely venue for yesterday's US-Russia summit, heaved into view.
For one day only, Slovakia's capital was calling itself the safest city on earth, patrolled by 5,500 policemen, 400 soldiers and the fully armed and wired-up security services of President George W Bush and President Vladimir Putin.
Green armoured vehicles and helmeted riot police lurked on the corners of Bratislava's picturesque old town, while above, through the swirling snow, guards in fluorescent jackets patrolled the imposing castle where the two leaders met.
A mobile chemical lab was on hand in case of an unconventional attack on Slovakia's most prestigious diplomatic event, while MiG-29 fighter jets were ready to scramble against any airborne threat that evaded the high-tech SS-300 anti-aircraft missile system deployed near Bratislava for the summit.
Airspace over the city was closed for regular traffic, leaving a lone and apparently aged air force helicopter to circle overhead, its laboured clatter prompting speculation that its gyrations were a thinly-disguised Slovak appeal for more US military aid.
Safety preparations accounted for most of the 300 million crowns (€8 million) that the three-hour summit cost Slovakia, a country of 5.4 million people who earn an average monthly wage of €400.
Only a few small huddles of protesters screamed dissent: some from Greenpeace demanded a change of US policy on climate change; others, from a group calling itself "NeitherPutinNorBush", disputed the democratic credentials of both visitors; a few anarchist and communist activists raged into a blizzard as the motorcades howled past.
"It seems a bit much for just one day," sighed Janos, a student picking a path through the barricades and roadblocks. "But perhaps this will put us on the map; or maybe this is what you have to put up with after you join the EU and NATO."
