The biggest show on Earth passed me by this week and I did not even realise until it was over. Apparently, some time late on Tuesday, a black dot inched across the Sun and the world stood still in wonderment. In an age where no movie is complete without a few dozen explosions, ear-popping sound effects and stunt people abseiling down walls of fire, that is quite an achievement. It was nothing short of a miracle that children brought up on blip-blip-blip-flash-boom computer games, television shows and advertisements could stand still long enough to watch. Yet I missed it. Come to think of it, I also missed Halley's Comet, the last lunar and solar eclipses, and who knows how many asteroid showers. I cannot wholly blame Hong Kong's less-than-perfect night skies, because if the urge was really there, the star-speckled heavens of any surrounding country is close at hand. But to say that I am not a celestially minded being would be wrong. Like all people of the Star Trek generation, space fascinates me. I may not be able to remember what I was doing when Venus transited the Sun, but watching Neil Armstrong walk on the moon 35 years ago is a vision that will never leave me. That rainy day at a small primary school in rural Australia, surrounded by Grade 2 children clustered open-mouthed around a black and white television set, I watched humankind take its biggest technological leap. There were 'oohs' and 'aahs' as Armstrong descended the steps of the Eagle lunar module, and applause as he stepped on to the moon's surface. His voice still crackles through my mind as clearly as on that July day. Still, such memories do not forgive my sin for not even attempting to leave my desk to pay respects to Venus' existence. After all, if it were not for the solar exploits of the planet named after the Roman goddess of love and beauty, you would not be reading these words. The predicted transit of Venus in 1769 took English lieutenant James Cook, in command of the ship Endeavour, to the remote South Pacific island of Tahiti. That part of the world was uncharted at the time, but astronomy-mad scientists deemed the location was unrivalled to observe what was considered a stellar event. Mission accomplished, Cook opened secret government orders and went off in search of a mystery land mass to the west. He found New Zealand, and then Australia. So if it had not been for Venus, I would not be here. That aside, the existence of Australia has not been especially profound for civilisation. Some would argue the world has gained little from having actress Nicole Kidman and Steve Irwin the Crocodile Hunter. Then again, without Australia, there would be no heart pacemakers, bionic ears or wine casks. Possibly, some unusual barbecue implements and exotic forms of beachwear can be added to the list. For me, therefore, the transit of Venus was more a matter of my own existence than a must-see spectacle. Far more significant, though, was German Chancellor Gerhard Schroeder's appearance on Sunday at celebrations marking the 60th anniversary of the allied landings during the second world war. The eight-nation advance from the beaches of Normandy in France led to the end of Nazi Germany's brutal oppression of Europe. Mr Schroeder was the first German leader to attend the ceremonies. Like the vision of Neil Armstrong bouncing across the lunar surface, the image of him standing among a sea of headstones in a war cemetery will remain with me. The symbolism of a conclusion to a bloody moment in history is awesome. More personally, the wreath Mr Schroeder lay was closure for my German heritage - the relatives who fought in a war that was wrong, but which they could not avoid. For me, that beats a little black dot crossing the face of the Sun any day. Peter Kammerer is the Post's foreign editor
