Welcome to my blog. I write about fitting in, sticking out, and missing the motherland as a serial foreigner.

Home time

We got home late last night. WHAT an adjustment. With the scope and duration of this vacation, I hardly spared a thought to home the whole time we were gone. Thus I find myself disoriented in my own home. It's so hot and humid! Everything is in Arabic! We own more clothes than just the three pairs we've been wearing over and over again for the past six weeks, plus a washer in which to clean them, hooray!

The flight home (again on Wizz Air) was bizarrely easy. It took six weeks, but Sterling apparently just figured out how to take a decent nap on the road, while being transferred from backpack to taxi to arms and back again. So he was cheery and content on the flight. The check-in agent gave us priority boarding (which normally costs extra), we think because of Magdalena's arm. Plus, we had some Romanian lei to burn and only the paid in-flight menu on which to spend it. We splurged on ramen noodles, Mars milk, and a candy bar each. It was one of the most decadent things I've ever done.

There is always a post-vacation letdown when we come back from a summer away, but this one might be harder to shake. We don't have suitcases full of American delicacies or fond memories of time spent with family to distract us. The jet lag is almost nonexistent (Bucharest is only an hour behind Dubai). But I suppose that by the time we emerge from this funk, school and work will be starting up again and all will be well.

Could this be (could this be) the most beautiful place in the world?

Fat Tire Bike Tours with kids