I once followed in the footsteps of Adam Mickiewicz - to Lithuania and Belarus. At the age of seventeen, late in the autumn of 1996, with friends from school. Adam Mickiewicz did not matter to me. Neither did the places he visited and supposedly described. I was interested in completely different things.

We had a guide with us, carrying a bag of vodka bottles, who solved many problems along the way with that vodka. One of the problems turned out to be me. At the Belarusian border, a guard noticed that I had long hair in my passport, but in reality, it was already short. He pulled me out of the bus, aimed a rifle at me, and ordered me to wait while his colleagues investigated the matter. After a while, the guide also got off the bus with the bag. At the guard's gesture made with the barrel of the rifle, the guide entered the building and disappeared there for a long time.

I stood opposite the guard with the rifle and was happy. I was filled with joy and pride, my Nation.