About a year ago (well, it will be a year on June 15, 2016), I brought my family from Belarus to Wrocław in western Poland. The move was as well-coordinated as anything resembling a flight of refugees from potential Russian aggression might appear. However, we were coming to this city well ahead of any urgent need, as migrants, or at least my wife and kids were. She held a karta polaka, and could confer residency on our kids, while I held onto an American passport in its last year of validity.
I could say we had high expectations, coming to this city. It was a growth center for this country with lots of foreign businesses looking at it for investment. Jobs seemed to be plentiful. The Cultural Capital of Europe baton was on its way here, meaning that my kids would not be stuck with a provincial mental picture misshaping their thoughts and lives. There were things to do, and many people to meet. At least five capitals were a short distance away, should the decision be made to travel to any one of them – all of which were within the so-called Shengen Zone, a border-less collection of different states. There would be no visa hassles to face down.