Number 5

Autumn 1989. My friend C and I start our travels around Europe. We have no plans other than to get to Paris on an overnight train and from then travel using our Interail ticket. In our luggage a handful of travel cheques, a book guide and some packets of food.

During the previous summer we've been trying to convince our friend D to come with us. His answer is always the same: " Keep me informed". A polite way of telling us he is not interested.

And we do. Once we start our travelling we stablish a daily routine. At the end of the day, before going to bed we write whatever we've done and what's happened to us. 29 days, 29 letters each with a number neatly written on the little blue envelop. Except for letter number five. For some reason that day we didn't write anything.

Letter number five became a game, a myth. We pretended we had written it and that our friend had read the contents, so each following letter contained a veiled reference to that day. Nothing explicit. Just wild brushes that hinted at a colourful experience. One he should have read.

Of all the letters that we sent, of all the 29, by far the best was the one that was never written.

If we hadn't run out of money we would have been in Berlin the day of the fall of the wall. We read the headlines as soon as we got to Spain... Still, it wouldn't have compared to letter number 5....