Travel is my happy addiction. I am drawn to winter in Saint Petersburg, where snowflakes soften the city into a serene, white quilt. Spring in Paris calls me to savor the first coffee of the season on a sunlit terrace. Summer on the Baltic Sea offers a playful escape, its shores lined with striped strandkorbs. And autumn unfolds in Kyoto’s gardens, where orange leaves weave a ceiling of fleeting beauty. 

Languages are my compass: German (my native tongue), French (my chosen second home), Russian (a gift from my GDR roots), and English (an essential tool for wandering). Each voyage uncovers words and meanings I never knew I needed. I instinctively follow paths that guidebooks ignore. Yes, Venetians still walk their streets—just opposite Piazza San Marco.

Jetlag has never scared me; I have proven that on journeys from Nouméa to Papeete, or twice circling the globe. I find joy in the thoughtful details of luxury hotels: their cuisine, their atmosphere. Like in Ko Samui, where an Alsatian chef blends foie gras with the fragrant zest of Thailand. But beyond the comfort of a 5-star room with a breathtaking sea view, I search for something else: understanding why Kanaks clash with Caldoches, deciphering the symbolism of red and green shirts in Pacific politics, or unraveling the odd mix of Buddhism and communism in Vietnam.

I haven’t been everywhere, but it is on my list. 

Feel free to get in touch.