Baltrum is one of those strange little places you find on Germany’s islands, where nothing much ever happens except for the twice-daily ferry that brings in and carries away the tourists. I have a peculiar fascination with villages like this. They feel like a theatre production where most of life revolves around serving tourism, but the actors and crew can’t leave the stage when the season ends and no one is left to watch the show.
Being back at the sea did something to me. The sounds, the sights, I love it all. Every summer of my childhood, I spent all six weeks of the holidays by the sea. No internet, barely any infrastructure, just me, my boredom, crabs, seagulls, and the ever-changing tides. Come to think of it, it might be my favourite childhood memory.
My journal entry from two years ago (just a classic text-based journal) ended with me promising myself I wouldn’t spend my birthday alone the following year. And I didn’t.
Last year, I invited my friends over on the evening of my birthday, and it was wonderful. Now many of them have babies, so this year I invited them over on Sunday afternoon for coffee and cake instead. It was great.
I went to bed blissful and full of gratitude.
London’s parks are on another level. Ted Lasso didn’t lie about Richmond’s beauty, and Anna surprised me with a Sofar Sounds concert in an old chapel.
Our second to last day in Barcelona.
