Shouldering my backpack, hot sun burning down on my long unkempt hair. Dust floating around my dirty feet in their worn-out sandals. The smell of smoke still fresh in my nose I get up to move on. Travelling the world like this - two feet, two legs and an open mind.

The caravan moves on, tingling, tangling, under the blazing sun, ringing, ranging, with bright and exotic goods, binging, banging, the caravan moves on.

Agromania drives me out of the safety of home; out into the far-stretching woods; makes me embark on ships to travel the never-ending oceans; makes me climb icy mountain peaks; makes me run over the wide grasslands... ... until homesickness befalls me like some thanatomania, making me return home like a doomed and humbled one, keeping quiet about the worlds I saw.