Perhaps it was the tiredness from the day before, but I somehow lost track of time and thought it was Sunday already. I hurried to get the newsletter finished and published before meeting Anna, only to then find out that it was, in fact, Saturday. Oh well.
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.
A proper birthday butt slapping.
