Trafika Europe 11 - Swiss Delights
A Wider Sea
guessed their secret, yet also instinctively sensed their relativity. Borders are there to be crossed. We often drove to Ljubljana to visit my father ’s sister. One hundred and twenty kilometers on bumpy, winding roads. The journey began with two border crossings. And ended the same way, usually at night. That is probably why I had the feeling we had traveled far. We overcame obstacles. Borders were like the crest of a wave where everything stopped, becomes peaked, and broke. Even time. After the culmination, there was a release, but something had changed. There were deserted areas. Karstland, rocky and barren. I can’t remember any gas stations. Only intact, unspoiled wilderness. One night we ran over a hare. My father put it in the trunk and offered it to a farmer. These trips all blend together in my mind, there were so many. I can still see the headlights groping in the darkness. No white lines along the edge of the road, no center line. Only darkness and potholes. Occasionally we would bang into one. We had to change tires, too. Uncomfortable stops in no-man’s land. When it wasn’t clear if we would be able to continue on our way. (Which of us three trusted in God?) Driving was better than stopping, I understood this motto early on.
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