Graz was the very place, where my emigration trial by water and fire started. It was southern-looking fair town with medieval architecture, in strange way reminding me of sunny Bishkek streets. It was love at first sight. Graz struck me as prettiest place I ever knew. However, to reside in historical centre of it under heated, as oven roof, trapped in tiny attic, with deafening, amplified uproar of surrounding restaurants all night long, was hard. In addition, other inhabitants of under-roof space belonged to the African commune rap fans, and from their round-the-clock jovial blare, I was separated only by thin carton wall.