I don’’t get travelling. It’’s a bit like saying, while gasping for air, that I don’’t get breathing because, although I don’’t travel less frequently than I used to, I tend to cover shorter distances. No more six-week journeys to Siberia or Mongolia for me. All I know is that I have to travel – only to come back every time. Obviously, these words are not mine, I’’m quoting the Marquis from the The Lay of the Love and Death of Cornet Christopher Rilke. Except that I do come back, whereas the Marquis didn’t. And once you come back, you […]