Snapshot #1 — Monday afternoon. I am in Berlin and sit in a bus and chat for half an hour, in German, with a Russian philosopher (a Kant scholar, unfortunately).

Snapshot #2 — Monday afternoon. A glass of sparkling water in hand, I catch up with a Chinese anthropologist, in English.

Snapshot #3 — Monday evening. I am in Berlin, drinking wine with two Australians, one Canadian, one American and one extremely funny British lady, all scientists in various domains, laughing in the warm evening.

Snapshot #4 — Tuesday morning, too early. I sit in a bus and talk with a linguist from Malta, first in German then in French. We discuss manuscript dating, French texts from the Middle Age written in Hebrew, classical music from the nineteenth century, and European politics.

Snapshot #5 — Tuesday morning. I am in Berlin on a hot, sunny day. A glass of sparkling water in hand, I discuss scientific careers in French with a young Canadian physicist and a French professor who has been teaching microbiology in Germany for twenty years.

Snapshot #6 — Tuesday lunch. I sit with two Australians (a chemist and a geneticist) and a German linguist onboard a boat that cruises the Spree. We chat away in English, with a little bit of German here and there.

Snapshot #7 — Tuesday afternoon. I lay down in the grass by the Spree, beer in hand, with the two aforementioned Australians. We talk about science, feminism, and a lot of other topics. Later, we move to a "beach bar".

Snapshot #8 — Wednesday afternoon. I am on the phone, complaining about the suddenly cold weather and having spent hours and hours in a train making stupid slides about projects I do not know anything about[1]. "Wait," I am cut off, "you spent the best of 12 hours yesterday chattering away on your favorite issues[2] with two Australian guys in bloody Berlin." This is a valid point.

Snapshot #9 — Thursday, early afternoon. I am in the middle of nowhere, Swabian Alps, and check into my hotel room with my Georgian[3] roommate. We speak German with the woman at the front desk and a mix of English and French together.

Snapshot #10 — Thursday evening. I am outside in the cold Swabian night, sitting crossed-legs between two German scientists. The one at my right speaks with a heavy Californian accent, the one at my left has an almost perfect British intonation. A dozen of other scientists, coming from China, Argentina, Spain, Luxembourg, Japan, Northern America, Australia, and, for a minority, Germany, complete the circle. We talk about science and academic careers and America.

Snapshot #11 — Friday afternoon. I am sitting in a bus, talking about French literature with the Georgian roommate, again in a mixture of English and French. Behind us, a colleague says a few words in Greek in his cellphone before leaning towards us and asking in German who it is we are talking about[4].

Snapshot #12 — Monday morning. I am in Paris, boarding a train back to Germany, pestering against rude people made ruder by the abandoned-luggage alert that delayed us. My chest is tight as I remember the lovely weekend spent, somewhat oddly, speaking French with French people in France (well, mostly). If there's anywhere I belong, this could well be it; but I might have attained a state of permanent déracinement[5].

Nevertheless, the above is about 29.7% of why I love my job.

Notes

[1] It indeed turned out that I managed to mix two models in one, and so artfully that only the person whose models it actually was noticed anything. "It is not a gross mistake, it is a new paper!'' I declared, actually mortified.

[2] We spent at least half an hour discussing cricket. Croquet. Cracker? Whichever it is that lasts forever and vaguely resemble baseball except that if you even think about saying that a cute wallaby dies, or something. Oh, and by the way I discovered it reading HHGTTG and actually didn't for a second imagine that it was a real thing. Actually I was also convinced for the longest time that croquet only existed in Alice in Wonderland. So, yeah, cricket. Not my topic of choice. But a fun conversation, still.

[3] The country, not the state. I am tired of repeating it and I've only known her for two years. I cannot imagine how tired she is of it.

[4] It is, of course, Duras, because I am unable to speak for any length of time of French books without mentioning her, my undying love for her, and how bad I find Un Barrage contre le Pacifique.

[5] Sorry, but there is no way "uprooting" is cutting it.