Throughout this series, I’ve offered songs that I associate with the time of my first trip to Europe, and yes, I know quite well that this little ditty by Starship has come to be regarded as the “worst” pop number ever. But it remains that upon my return to America in 1985, it was ubiquitous for months on end. So it goes (or went).
Previously: Euro Pilgrimage ’85, Ch. 15: Soviet times in Leningrad and the long trek back to Luxembourg.
All transcendent things must come to an end. It was late in the evening on August 8, 1985. In fact, it may have been past midnight, making it the 9th, not the 8th. In short, I was back home again in Indiana, after three glorious months in Europe.
Now what?
It felt more like a death in the family than a triumphant return home, and exhilaration competed mightily with sadness for available head space. Had the Icelandair jet possessed a fogged-up rearview mirror, Luxembourg City would have disappeared far too quickly into it, with the European continent receding into cloud-blanketed expanses of ocean and ether.
More often than not, I’ve allowed my subsequent trips to Europe to conclude with a moment’s melancholy at the westward...
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