Little did I knew, when I arrived for the first time to Europe that that year was going to be so tempestous as it was.
I found my self in Frankford's airport, reciving my baggage, thinking about the midatlantic view, in which you can watch day and night, the old and the new continents, just standing there, divided by the sea between Greenland and Iceland (even their names completely antithetic) a rounded-edge-window to a picture that perfectly conjugates Earth, untouchable and harmonious, I was pushed to kiss the cold floor feeling myself as the Pope; the continent at last was going to meet me.
I've landed at the heart of Europe.
And indeed, I was at the neuralgic center of the EU's industry, transportation, comerce and economics (since the bank of Europe is here and in that moment, more related was that this is the second buisiest airport of Europe, second below Charles de Gaule's), watching every nationality came out of tunnels quick walking throught corridors or waiting in the middle of a chair plantation. But before seeing the S-Bahn enter doorway, I looked for a settle moment, just to leave the thoughts come by.
I soon found a place where the the mouvement couldn't bother me, I touch my left mound (feeling very American?, wrong thought, means buttock) where my notebook in my never ending jeans or khakies (not so sure if my liking of khakies started in Europe or just linked to my infance back in Veracruz) is always carried off, took it out and started my first impression of Europe.
As this note was printed I commenced the evergreen attestation of my wandering.
