Morning in Düsseldorf had a soft haze about it, as though even the city’s trams tiptoed. Vanessa, ever the early riser, vanished for a moment only to return, arms full of warm brötchen and flaky, cinnamon-dusted pastries that filled the flat with a homely sweetness. Over tea, we let memories bubble up between bites, enjoying the rare quiet that comes after long travels, where recovery is as necessary as the journey itself.

There’s a gentle art in slowing down after cross-continental journeys, letting jetlag settle as just another passenger. For me, this time was shaped by the lure of the Neanderthal Museum, not far from Düsseldorf, an odd pilgrimage for someone who once wrote, perhaps too eagerly, about the pre-human ancestry of neanderthals and their first flirtations with ritual.