As I sit in the Amsterdam airport, I perhaps somewhat pathetically rejoice in my own homecoming with a mid-size latte.
No, I am not home yet – although the dutch seem to be awfully tall, blonde and beautiful, wouldn’t make a bad homeland. Rather another 20 hours of traveling still loom over my tan, tired, and all of a sudden incredibly cold head (I forgot it is winter in the northern hemisphere. I almost when into hypothermic shock as I shivered my way off the plane, through the below freezing walkway, and into the only slightly less cold airport. Mind you I am wearing a tank top and Birkenstocks, surrounded by people in pea-coats and parkas. Luckily I was smart enough to pack my Prague-ean Pashmina, which is currently working overtime)
However my belly is feeling right at home with a jolt of acidic espresso, foamed milk, and chemically engineered non-calorie sweetener. Yum. I love the Western World. Its been 15 months since my last latte folks, and the only thing that would make this moment sweeter is a nutty soy rather than cow milk twist in my cup. That’s still awaiting me in my beloved tofu/granola-ville aka Portland, Oregon.
I first left Chidenguele on Friday, making a trip to Namaacha, to despedir my Mozambican Mother. That visit consisted of a sighting of a woman with breasts literally to her waist, like honestly the nipples were brushing the belly button, and a number of chapa marriage proposals which I quickly declined – boobies and bachelors, two of many things that make me so happy to be coming home.
On Saturday I met Iraque in Maputo, and spent a night in a sketchy hotel– a “romantic send-off” which was slightly curbed by the fact that I am pretty sure we were surrounded by prostitutes. But Iraque wanted to pick out the place and pay for it, which was such a sweet gesture that I just hid my valuables, plugged my nose in the bathroom, wore shoes in the shower, and tried not to complain.
The next morning, Sunday, I disembarked on my 10 hour bus ride from Maputo to Joburg with a strange mixture of emotions. Despite my own excitement to see friends, family, and a break from carting water on my head, my heart sort of wrenched, sending a few confused tears down my cheeks as I left Iraque and the life I have known for 15 months.
“Oh, shut up Caitlin, its not like you’re not coming back.” – Gabe, my travel companion.
True.
Unable to get more than a few winks of sleep on the bus, my ears hurting from ipod use, and being seated directly next to the on-board toilet, I discovered a new form of entertainment… watching people come and go from the WC.
It might not sound very exciting, but you know, in a pinch… Some people must have been drinking African big-gulps, because they made like 7 trips to the lou. One little girl, dressed to kill and a white satin party dress with little pink roses around the waist and white lace-trimmed socks (also my own personal favorite fashion statement as a child) got the back of her little party dress stuck in her yellow panties. So on her way out, and back up the stairs of the double-decker bus to her seat, we got a little girl bum show. Another little boy got locked in the bathroom, which resulted in some tears/screaming and a worried mother. However the bus staff quickly came to the rescue with a lavatory key, releasing the frightened adolescent.
Once in Joburg, South African friends of Gracey (my other travel companion) picked us up at the bus station and offered to give Gabe and I, who were both flying out that night, a ride to the airport.
“Really, if it’s out of the way you don’t have to” – me
“No, you aren’t taking a cab, this is one of the most dangerous areas in all of South Africa.” – Gracey’s friend.
Well in that case, hallelujah, and thanks for the ride.
Once in the airport, Gabe and I grabbed dinner, and hung out until he boarded at 9pm. I however didn’t fly out until 12:45. Whoever plans the flight schedule in Joburg is a crazy person. Its one of the most dangerous cities in the world, and they’re expecting people to come and go throughout the wee hours of the night. I will arrive at 10:30 pm on my return trip. Not sure what I’m going to do. Probably just sleep in airport until it gets light outside.
After Gabe’s departure I roamed the airport a bit, before settling down on a bench at my gate and trying to get some sleep. I was luckily awoken an hour later to a boisterous southern black lady proclaiming that “oh my! The gate has been changed and they didn’t tell us!” Well shoot. Good thing she woke me up just in time to walk to the other gate and get on board.
So after a 10 hour plane ride, which actually felt like luxury with a selection of movies, wine, and foods at my personal disposal (you know you have been living in Mozambique for a while when economy class feels like the royal throne), I have completed the second leg of my journey, and satisfied my 15 month long espresso craving.
Two more legs, to go. Just a warning, by the time I arrive in Portland I will not have showered, changed my clothes, or shaved my armpits in about 3 days, and will have only undertaken a few sans-toothpaste teeth brushings.
Oh shit. It just started to snow.
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