Some of my memories of Uli, from 2014 (when she was living here in Tokyo) through later years:

Seeing her go from being a novice at Japanese language to gaining superior proficiency, especially in reading/writing. By the end, she was reading Haruki Murakami and other authors in Japanese. Japanese was one of 10 or so languages she acquired.

The restaurant-going group in Tokyo where I got to know her — a diverse mix of foreigners and Japanese. We first met at an Italian place in Hiroo, she was sitting across from me with her winning smile. Many nights after that were spent visiting other restaurants and bars, with long talks until after the last train, then taxiing home.

Karaoke in Roppongi late one night in a group, with people singing in English, Japanese, German and Mandarin. When it was Uli’s turn, she sang “99 Luftballons” — this, she said, was her go-to song.

Planning films to see together each year at the local EU Film Days Festival and the Tokyo International Film Festival, and going to art shows.

Meeting her at the south exit of Tokyo station each time we boarded the Shinkansen, excited about travel to a new destination: Osaka, Okamoto, Kanazawa, Aomori.

On one of her later visits, hiking Mt. Nantai near Nikko — a strenuous, all-day walk, which she did in sandals, to the dismay of other hikers we met on the trail. The weather had been clear, but on the way down we got caught in a thunderstorm, as night fell. We reached the bottom, I held out my arms to her, she fell into them.

On an earlier trip to Nikko, hiking along Lake Chuzenji in the snow, taking in the crystal-clear air.

Accompanying her on some of her cross-Tokyo walks — it was nothing to her, using guidebooks, to walk 15-20 km across the city.

On her visit last year, traveling with her to a new art site south of Tokyo — Enoura — designed by one of her favorite artists, Hiroshi Sugimoto.

Getting her expert advice on museums and restaurants to visit in cities around Europe and elsewhere, and comparing travels with her. Some of her favorite places: Florence, Siena, the White City of Tel Aviv.

Her tastes in food and drink — tomato pasta she enjoyed cooking at her place, the pizza restaurants here that she loved, chocolates from southern Germany that she liked to bake (looking like bear paws, these might have been the ones that her friend Gisella also mentioned). Champagnes she enjoyed (Louis Roederer Brut Premier, to name one) and bold reds from her beloved Tuscany (Chianti Classico, Brunello di Montalcino).

Her gifts (we often exchanged books as presents): She’d give Penguin anthologies of authors from different countries; when I finished one, she wanted to know which of the authors seemed worth reading.

Discussing books we’d read or wanted to read, sharing discoveries.

Her letters and cards received over the years — at the online remembrance, her friend Soomi recalled how diligent Uli was about remembering people’s birthdays and other occasions. Uli’s cards to me were in a hand that wasn’t the easiest to read, with the imprint of her lipstick.

Sending each other mails/photos over the years on our lives, travels, art and films we’d seen, among other things. I miss hearing from her, every day.

Listening over the years to her talk about her career — ambitious, she tried so hard to overcome obstacles and do good things — and trying to be supportive.

The fantastic parties she gave at her spacious apartment in Tokyo that brought many people together. One of the parties was for Halloween; when she lived here, this holiday was becoming popular. She bought a pumpkin at the local supermarket, and I was ordered to carve on it the grinning face — something she thought Americans would know how to do. I’d never in my life carved a pumpkin, but managed to finish it to her satisfaction.

Weekend mornings spent lying lazily talking about this and that, with sunlight streaming in through her window.

The challenges she faced during her final months, from getting the initial, hopeful prognosis to learning that further treatment was futile. Followed by her drawing on reserves of energy and courage to face things squarely, say goodbye to those she cared for, and complete what she needed to do.