Der Zauberberg - Day 1

I'm in Lisbon. When I felt the unique smell of the city, I felt like one of those salmons who can distinguish the taste of the river of their birth, where they come back to reproduce and perish. I've rented a room for six weeks in one of those cheap little places where I used to stay in order to write my books, and I'm planning to do it again. And here I am, on the brink of the continent, trying to imagine how Europe may look like when these six weeks are over. I suppose it will be kind of consolidated, seeing more clearly who belongs where. The salmons will come back to the rivers of their birth. 
Things will start all over again in a new configuration. The broken order will be restored, fitting more closely the nature of each river. And I, a western salmon, follow westwards, leaving all my possessions behind, leaving all my memories behind. 
My husband says he is worried about me. He is worried I might die, because my lungs have always been weak. But perhaps this is not true. My lungs are strong, they only used to have bad memories. Memories of my neglected childhood, chronic catarrh, cold water entering my winter shoes. It was the part of my body where all these memories were accumulated. The place that had never became sane since my childhood. Till perhaps my last trip to Egypt, a sudden panic of asphyxiation, a burden over my chest. Finally I took care of them, paid attention to them, to the accumulated stories my lungs wanted to tell me. And now I start to breath as I never breathed before. In full possession of my lungs.