It was a winter day in Madrid. I took the express train “Puerta del Sol” to Brussels. At that time, Hendeva was the last station for our trains. The Spanish tracks and the French tracks were not the same width. A little defensive measure taken by Franco’s government. We got out of the train, suitcase in one hand, the other gripping our passport. In the middle of the night we crossed this space, open to the sky, fenced in with barbed wire, ‘tierra de nadie’ (“no man’s land”). On the other side, was waiting for me at least 26 years of another life and I thought that I could already make it out. That day, I was only 26. But before that day, there had been other days, thousands of days, that I can still hear…

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