Almost. May 2nd, 1986, to be precise. We were driving through a wonderfully sunny and warm north-eastern Poland. We were all at least dimly aware of what had happened in the not so distant Chernobyl only a few days earlier, but the information had not been extensive. We had brought Iodine pills, which we were to take dutifully, one each day. I remember us having a break by the roadside, goofing around and laughing, but we all felt there was a shadow lurking in the oh so bright blue sky.

Our journey took us over the border to Eastern Germany and we took the WWII concrete transit route just north of Berlin. It felt like driving on a railroad with its constant and rhythmical thud. Towards late afternoon we arrived at the West German border, and suddenly our journey stopped. We were not allowed into the country.

Men in white protective clothing, sinister-looking dogs, and geiger counters soon came towards us and they checked ourselves, our bus, and all our luggage. In a very serious manner they asked questions about the aim of our journey and they were rather upset, frankly annoyed, with our recklessness in choosing this route. We were not contaminated, however, but it was dark before we were let into West Germany. I'm not entirely sure how the group leader managed to find lodging for us all — but he did. This was only the beginning of a very strange journey through a Europe not really clear about what had just taken place.