Back to where we started

What a bet­ter way to cel­eb­rate a second anniversary in Kraków than by arriv­ing back to the city through the same route that took me before?

Münster-to-Krakow can be done many times, and it has been my pleas­ure to reas­sure that you do not neces­sar­ily need 9 weeks for that. Although to be fair, 9 weeks has a very spe­cial charm on its own.

But this time, it took only two days. This time I hitch-hike, and not alone:

This time was per­haps a bit sim­pler to organ­ise: pol­skibus to Wrocław, an ice-cream at the Italian I dis­covered last year when just com­ing back, then flight to Paris-Beauvais (which trans­lates to Mordor, or to “not-really-in-Paris-but-cheap”). Revisits start.

Maybe it was nev­er pos­ted, but we have surely talked between us about the joy of vis­it­ing twice the same place. On the first one, you already got rid of (most of) the tour­ist­ic stuff. On the second, you bring people with you and you feel like a loc­al tour-guid­ing the city, you tell the loc­als what you already dis­covered, the streets are look­ing famil­i­ar, dir­ec­tions feel more nat­ur­al. You already picked up a cof­fee place, and your route from the Station to the Museum alike. Therefore you fol­low a habit. So it feels like com­ing back home after a long time. As if your home could be anywhere.

This time we were back to, per­haps, two of the most import­ant regions of our voy­ages: Paris, and the Münsterland by no mean releg­at­ing any of the far too many oth­er import­ant regions of our voy­ages to any kind of second place!

Paris was noth­ing but fant­ast­ic. And crazy all along. What a weird team we build when by many chances I gathered our once more lovely hosts Juanjo & Katrin soon to have a little beau­ti­ful Clodoveo my moth­er and her part­ner, my girl­friend, and that prick on the oth­er side of the blog to Leon I’m refer­ring, of course It worked fantastically.

We resolved to stay only for four days in Paris, under the cer­tainty that we will come back many more times, and take a night bus to the Münsterland, passing by Brussels where, shame on my uncle he did­n’t join us on that bus! , arriv­ing to the begin­ning, as early as five in the morn­ing: real­ising there was no chance for a vis­it, ever so in dark­ness, we fol­lowed the next train home. Home.

This one has a very par­tic­u­lar charm on its own. As if I have been there just too many times, I could remem­ber every inch; but I was there just once, more than two years ago. And for two years I wondered without remem­ber­ing, what did I write on his guest­book back then. Never asked, I just waited to come back. To all read­er, go there and sign that spe­cial guest­book yourselves. And to make us feel just more like at home: has any­body here heard of the ancient tra­di­tion of the Frisian Tea Ceremony? You’ll have to vis­it Grandma Leon if not.

Oh, the fea­tured pic­ture of the post, you may ask? Well, up to you to inter­pret what those three are doing there. But please recall where do we come from and what do we stand for.

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