As I entered Germany by train, it seemed like a year ago that I began this Europe trip in London when really it had only been two-and-a-half months. The constant moving and reshuffling of living quarters (not to mention flatmates) made it seem more like a series of many trips interconnected rather than a single journey. Each stop was a fresh start with a new city and a different way of life. My transition from my time in Switzerland to that of Alsfeld would be my last, save for the subsequent long voyage home.
When it comes to time travel, they say everybody kills Hitler on their first trip. And why shouldn’t we? That guy ruined a lot of things, to put it simply. But time is a river, and a river always corrects its course. Going back in time to unmake a great wrong only opens up the great paradox of how one could unmake said wrong if said wrong no longer occurred. Events are unchangeable, I once heard in a movie, destined to unfold the way it will no matter how often you feed your DeLorean glowing popsicles. And let’s not create any new dimensional realities; those are messy.