I was thirty-seven then, strapped in my seat, as the giant Boeing 747, approaching Hamburg airport, plunged into a thick veil of clouds to land. The cold November rain soaked the earth, giving everything the melancholic atmosphere of a Flemish landscape: the ground staff dressed in raincoats, the flag atop the airport’s lowest building, the giant BMW billboard. Yes… back in Germany again. As soon as the plane landed, soft music began to flow from the ceiling speakers: a sweet orchestral arrangement of the Beatles’ “Norwegian Wood.” That melody always gave me chills, but this time the shiver I felt was stronger than ever. I leaned forward and buried my face in my hands, trying to keep my head from splitting in two. Immediately, a German flight attendant approached and asked if I was feeling all right.
“No,” I replied, “just a little dizzy.” “Are you sure?” “Yes. Thank you.” She smiled and walked away. The music changed to a Billy Joel tune. I straightened my back and looked out the window at the dark clouds hovering over the North Sea, thinking of all I had already lost during my life: seasons forever gone, friends who had died or disappeared, feelings I would never experience again. The plane approached the gate. Passengers began unfastening their seatbelts and taking down their hand luggage, while I had been transported to a meadow. I could smell the grass, feel the wind on my face, hear the voices of birds. Autumn of 1969, I would soon be turning twenty.