The most misunderstood assumption people make, is that I adore travelling. Well, I do not. I enthusiastically, absolutely, positively and very radically hate it. O yes, I love to be in cities a bit all over the globe, I love meeting with people from a different culture. I just love discovering other landscapes, monuments, wildlife, sceneries and food. All that is ok, fascinating, educative, and mostly rewarding. It is the getting there that is killing me. The endless monotone thouckthouck of trains, their inability to get you anywhere timely, and the fondness of high speed trains to stagger to a mindboggling crawling across the countryside, and then stop in the middle of nowhere for no apparent reason usually gives me a headache. I spare you the details on the flying. Finding a vacant car park at the airport (knowing well that settling the parking ticket bill will rip me an arm and a leg off). Then there is the random way crucial information on which check-in-line to queue is displayed. The self-important grinning of the airport employee that my luggage is twelve nano grams overweight, involving an extra-charge equaling a staggering half monthly salary, and to be paid at the other side of the airport (but first you need to survive the Olympic queue over there), before you can see the first lady again with prove of payment. Oh, well…. Security checks, where you need to get laptops in and out, and on and off, and where all of the sudden stripping in public, in front of strangers and cameras becomes an art-de-vivre. Standing spread-eagled while an overenthusiastic security lad, with a fondness of garlic, tries to rearrange some vital organs in my Levi’s is not exactly my idea of fun.Then you have the marathon walks to the gate, the dirty toilets, the bad coffee, the marathon walk to the other side of the airport when your gate gets re-assigned (It does. A lot.). The cramming your luggage in an overhead bin, settling down in a cramped airplane seat to discover your neighbor for the ride has a minor sweat problem, lost his deodorant ages ago, and wants to establish the new record for nose-poking. And the onboard entertainment system is broken. It does. A lot. So absolutely: I love being there, but I hate getting there. Beam me up, Scotty!