I arrived in the city of Kroy one day in october. It was already night when I stepped out of the airport and waved adieu to the plane which had left me on this ground. The plane waved back and flew away, towards east, back towards - what they call it around here - the old continent. I turned towards the city of Kroy and stepped into a taxi. The vietnamete taxidriver called all his friends to know which street he had to go to - I was getting nervous, but finally arrived at my destination: A Yugoslavian man and a chinese young woman opened the door. It smelled like rice, washing powder and old tapistery. I fell asleep right away.