After a rainy, windy trip to London Stadium, I'm hungry and eager to get somewhere warm. Luckily, Mercato Metropolitano isn't far from my hostel – I go there for a big hot Sri Lankan bowl. Slowly, as the autumn air stiffness eases off, I slip into transit mode. Tomorrow, I'll be back on rail tracks – riding the a second time. Leaving all these places behind the canal – relying on my memories always being with me.

Thanks to the time shift I have to "give the hour" back on the return trip– my journey from King's Cross to Berlin Hauptbahnhof will ultimately be nearly eleven hours long. Obviously, I'm tired. However, I don't see it as a slog – more like steady stream taking me back to life as I left it.

It's the final evening of the final day – and as much as my body is ready for comfort and convenience, the simple, standard normalcy of every day – I can feel my soul already longing for a grander sense of fulfillment extruding from the past 14 days.

The stimulation of sights, cities, sounds, places and people proved to be enriching and exciting. Admittedly, I've felt very alive these past days. I've met a number of memorable people – I'm (already) starting to look back fondly on some of those encounters.

And yes, I'm (already) looking forward to telling my friends and neighbors about the whole experience, looking forward to reunions and tales told. Of course.

But the everyday is a protracted wave of management exercises, debates, discussions, deliberations, and interpersonal politics that often lacks the existential immediacy of these vacation days. I know now that I'll miss feeling alive that way.

Listening to a playlist one of my friends made for the occasion, I find myself on a very smooth way back home. The Eurostar speeds on with palpable velocity. During the first hour my ears keep clogging from the pressure – as outside the window British pasture dissolves into solid lines of various tones of green.

Tugged in this warm speedy capsule, matte paintings on the walls, headed to Berlin (my home town) … I can't help but feeling anything other than comfortable.

And suddenly, with the flick of a switch pitch black curtains are drawn. Entering the channel, we sit in complete darkness. Engineering wonders, I have to concede, will always mostly present themselves unceremoniously like that.

Accordingly, I make my way for a cup of coffee just then. I order in solid French. Through the pane the croissants do look surprisingly good – still, I restrain myself. I already planned a sentimental pastry indulgence for the first day back in Berlin. You gotta choose your moments right.

While I'm sipping my coffee, I find myself chatting to a man with what I would simplistically deem "an Indian accent." We talk tech – he's a content creator and using a gimbal for this journey. While I resolve to buy one of those, outside French pastures replace the pitch black of the tunnel insides. Lille substitutes for London. We're on the other side.

When I enter the apartment, I'm greeted with a smell that is both vaguely familiar and staid. With every breath of air I take here, I'm also getting to know myself all over again.

Through the door, I meet the man who sent me on this trip in the first place – who made it all possible, who prepared and fixed every single detail. All for me to return into his home. Passing the clean dishes protruding from the washer, eyeing dried clothes on the line down the hall, I feel welcomed back home. I register the spotless bathroom, the dusted and mopped floors.