Every day, I run down the stairs with excitement to unlock my letterbox with great anticipation, awaiting postcards from around the world.
Every day, all I get is another disappointment. I can’t even remember when was the last time that I received a postcard. Probably some time in the last millennium.
So, when I was in Montenegro, I embarked on the most desperate thing that a person can do: to write a postcard to oneself. It was my last day. I had just come back from climbing the fortress in Kotor and visited an exhibition about Jan Karski, when I bought one postcard, wrote a short message to myself, went to the small post office in Kotor and hoped that the girl at the counter wouldn’t notice.
When the postcard arrived at my home in Târgu Mureș in Romania a few days later, I was most excited about the positive and friendly words that I had bestowed upon myself and my journey. Finally, someone had thought of me.
But I didn’t fail to notice that even the gentleman on the stamps seems to wonder: “What is this guy doing?” By the way, you can see from the stamps that Montenegro – like Kosovo – uses the Euro as official currency although it’s not a member state of the European Union or the Eurozone. Maybe Greece can get some advice there.