"Anna-Lucia," she introduced herself.
"And I'm Claire, and that sleeping over there is Rachel," the other American girl chirped. "We are watching Ugly Betty in case you are interested. Do you watch?"
"Ha! I am afraid I am not aware of such nuances of your culture"

...After an hour, Rachel wakes up....

"Hi guys"
"Hi Rachel"
"Who is our friend over there?"
"He? He's..." she tries to search in vain for my name, and gives it her best shot, "...Alec."
"Hi Alec."
"Hi, and it's Ali."
"Where's he from?"
"Pakistan"
"What language does he speak?"
"English! and erm...Pakistani"
"You know I am sitting right over here! you can ask me"
"hmf...hi"

"Well, I'm gonna meet friends in Rome, but I study here, so you see..."
The rather pleasant conversation was rudely interrupted by the customary immigration officer. In international trains in Europe, rather than going through immigrations at the station, the officers board the train at the border.
"Can I see your passport?"
"Sure," Stacy said as she handed her passport to the officer.
"You are American," the officer said while at the same time smiling. This was followed by the look. The look is what would normally result in a pepper spray attack by the receiver of the look in most countries, or in Pakistan, a clubbing with hockey sticks by the receiver's brothers at night. In Italy however, the look is how the male members greet members of the opposite sex. Satisfied, the officer moved on to my passport which I duly handed over.
"Pakistano!" The customary exclamation that any Pakistani who travels abroad would be very used to had escaped his lips. Very carefully, he studied my passport. "I can not read this, do you have another card?"
"Another card?"
"I think he wants some other form of identification,"Stacy tried to help.
"I see, I have my student card if it helps." Meanwhile, another officer had joined the previous one thinking about how to deal with the calamitous occasion of a Pakistani crossing the border. They both studied my card and passport carefully for about ten minutes. I could heard the occasional "Edimburgo" in their conversation. After that they disappeared with my documents.

I was waken up again after an hour by a much more respectable immigrations officer, and by the looks of him, much more important one too. "You from Pakistan?" I could just nod. After studying it for another five minutes, he finally handed over the documents to me. The joys of being a Pakistani.

On the train from Berlin to Brussels, I met a German guy who had travelled alone in China for a year. Noticing my backpack, he inquired of me the same thing, that is, if I were travelling alone. A warm smile spread on his face on learning my answer. "It is fun," he said, "you find out who you are." After a month of seeing a whole new world and experiencing things that I never though I would experience, and doing things that I never thought I would, it is hard for me to just settle down finally. Even while writing this, I feel this unease and restlessness gripping me, this feeling increasing every moment I stay still. Doubtless this will go away, but I feel changed, I can tell that. More on that later. This sitting still is not making me happy. I gotta go walk around or something. I almost feel like a Bedouin now. I wonder how long it would be before I look at this part of my life through different eyes and turn the page to another chapter. I can only wait.