I was 19, and it was the summer before I would be drafted into the German Army. I was afraid to go, but it seemed to be the easier way - anything else would have meant to leave the path of least resistance that was so neatly laid out for me. But before I´d go, I had to get away for a while. It was not even that I was looking for something specific. What could I have been looking for without knowing anything? I just had to leave for a while.

So my parents bought an Interrail ticket for me - the magic train ride that would go on for a month, all over Europe, no paying extra anywhere. Amsterdam, Hoek van Holland-Calais-London, Edinburgh, Birmingham, London-Calais-Paris, Lyon, Costa Brava, Barcelona, Madrid, Marseille, Nice, Rome, Florence, Vienna - and home. 30 days. In Madrid I had some sort of breakdown of exhaustion. In the night train crossing the alps I shared the cabin, alone, with a stoned Austrian lingerie model. Years later I met a friend of hers in the secluded room where Israeli airport security take you to get you half undressed for a body search.

What has become of all these places? Edinburgh I´ve never seen again, while London became an occasional place to work. As did many of the cities, with cheap air travel becoming ubiquitous and me turning from an insecure white boy into a "media professional" over the years. Lyon I haven´t revisited. Marseille.

Back then I got my taste. Before I had had no idea if i´d even like travelling. It was just that I had to leave for a while. That was all. And now...