My suitcase is still somewhere out there, living its best life without me. I imagine it sipping cocktails in an airport lounge, utterly unconcerned by the fact that I, its rightful owner, am down to a very small rotation of clothes and an even smaller sense of patience. No matter. One must adapt. And so, armed with optimism and a debit card, I am off to Hannover for what airlines politely call “essential shopping” and what I call rebuilding a wardrobe from scratch, one pair of socks at a time.

Once the vital items are secured (underwear first, dignity later), I’ll be meeting an old friend — the kind where conversation resumes as if you last spoke yesterday, not several decades ago. And then, inevitably, as sure as missing luggage follows air travel, lunch at the glorious Markthalle Hannover awaits. Because if your suitcase has abandoned you, the least you deserve is good food, bustling stalls, and the comforting knowledge that no matter where your luggage is, you are exactly where you should be: at a table, with a plate, telling stories and laughing about lost things that don’t really matter.