‘Train stations. Tombstones, borders between the living and the dead, between infinitude and the hermetic world of the city, city gates, cities unto themselves. When identities vanish train stations sprout. If every border had a train station of its own, what marvelous confusion would ensue, what a crush, what mockery.’ Dasa Drndik. Trieste

‘The man who loves his fatherland, his nation above all else has cancelled any commitment he might have to European solidarity. To love means to esteem - even perhaps to overestimate - the object of love. To love with open eyes, critically, is something only very few people are capable of doing. Most people’s love is blind. Not only are they incapable of seeing the faults of their nation, their country, they are even inclined to see its faults as instances of human virtue.’ Joseph Roth. Die Wahrheit, December 1934

In the early 90's I spent a month interrailing in Europe. Ever since, whenever I think of Europe I think of trains. Railways are its skeleton, holding it all together. In 1994, not long after the Maastricht Treaty had cemented the EU in legislation, the Channel Tunnel opened connecting the railways of Britain with those on the continent. The UK's marriage to Europe seemed celebrated then. It has now been annulled.
In 2017 I moved to Belgium.