Crossing the border


This was only about crossing the border – somewhere. It made no difference which one, because what was important was not the destination, the goal, the end, but the almost mystical and transcendent act. Crossing the border.
– Ryszard Kapuściński, Travels with Herodotus

It started when I was 15. I’d been abroad before but that was the first time I actually paid attention, maybe because 18+ hours on the bus from Poland to UK gave me ample time to take things in. Ever since travelling has pretty much become a part of my existence, spanning regular back and forth over the Atlantic with occasional forays into other corners of the world. And it is more than anything about crossing the border, about taming and embracing the differentness of another country, city, place.

A big part of that for me is understanding why things work the way they do, mostly in the spirit of open-minded curiosity punctuated by moments of pure rage. I like imagining what the frame in my viewfinder looked like 50, 100, or 200 years ago. In most cases that gives me a unique perspective on where I am but more often than I’d like it also shows how the more things change the more they stay the same in some dysfunctional way.

If life is a journey, I certainly don’t know the destination. But if you – like me – feel the excitement of crossing border after border of space and time, join the ride.

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