When thinking of borders and divides, one memory is from what she thinks was her first trip abroad when her family went by car to Bulgaria. It must have been 1989, though she is not sure. It was a long drive and their car broke somewhere in Romania, she thinks. Eventually, they reached the Romanian/Bulgarian border on the Danube river, which was to be crossed by the ferry. They had to queue to the ferry for about two days, there was not much to do nor too much to eat or drink. The only thing in shops nearby was a thick peach juice in glass bottles, which, by the way, she just rediscovered during a short visit to Armenia recently. Finally, their turn to enter the ferry came and she recalls vaguely some kind of hassle in the queue, as the border officer noticed a Polish flag or coats of arm stickers on their car. Her parents got a bit nervous about the whole situation. This was the last ferry for the day and if they didn’t get to that one, they would have had to spend another night in the car. Somehow it all ended well, but her parents asked her to lie down in the back of the car and pretend to be sick, just to make sure they are given priority to enter the ferry. She has always been puzzled by this memory, as she thought they were all on the same side of the divide, but there apparently seemed to be some issue with their family being from Poland.