"It was definitely not for the better wages or fancier taps in the bathroom. I really didn't want a system watching over my life and telling me what I can and cannot do."
In 1975, my father took a plane from East Berlin to Budapest, from there he boarded a train to Romania. On 15th July, under the black covers of a new moon, he swam over the Danube, in his swimming trunks 50 West Mark and passport.
43 years later, we revisited what he refers to as his point of no return - "where the disadvantages of staying outweigh the risks of fleeing."
(note: The German title "Fluchtpunkt" means vanishing point. Literally, it translates as "point of flight.")