A Place Other Than Home

I’m still not used to being back in the land of hick accents and atrocious driving - I’m not sure that I’ll ever be used to it, as a matter of fact.  It’s strange how even the most familiar of places can seem so foreign after a long enough absence.  Honestly, I could drive around Springfield with my eyes closed, make it to my destination in pristine condition, and not violate any traffic laws, yet I know that I’m far less at home here that I’m far less at home here than I was in the most alien of places, leading me to suspect that ideology, philosophy, energy, and outlook have everything to do with my happiness and comfort level - a very interesting discovery to be able to vocalize and pin-point.  

The biggest realization of this came about during our wanderings through Washington DC.  The District is a really amazing place, admittedly, but it really did noting for me in the sense of longing to be there for the excess of a week.  We saw the sights, read the history, strolled the museums, yet I couldn’t wait to leave at the end of our stay, and no, I was not wishing that I was back in good old O-town.  If anything, I was wishing to be back in New York, rushing town the streets, sitting near the fountains, watching mild thunderstorms build and subside quickly.  

To a certain extent, most cities are the same.  They all have people; their problems; their perfections; the tragedies, dramas and comedies of humanity, but in the same vein, they are also all completely different.  Whether it be the presence of someone you love, something you love, or the sway of the city in general.  It’s so beautiful how a mass of concrete, metal and people can take on such a life of its own, an allure that is unmatchable by any other place by any other name.  

Maybe I’m just one to fantasize and romanticize, but I’m beginning to think that there may in fact be a place out there - somewhere - where I feel as though I belong.  Maybe not forever, maybe until the day I take my last breath, that remains to be seen. 

Back to the U-S-of-A

You forget how much personality certain cities have, and I suppose you also forget how much affect certain cities have on your personality.  I made it back to the States, safe and sound, and had the most beautiful ‘Love Actually’ airport moment with Melissa in the recorded tomes of history.  It was the most wonderful thing to see a face so familiar after the equivalent of six estranged months and two endless days of travel.  

Of course, it wouldn’t be a Jenny travel day without a story, though.

So I went out with my CIEE ‘firm’ the night before I was scheduled to fly to New York, and everyone decided that I should plow through a bottle of wine, so I, expecting to be up all night anyway, gave it the old college try with great success.  We laughed, we sighed, we danced to awkward ‘80s music with a rap back-beat in a naff little bar in Clapham.  It was a modern-day Dickens beginning if I’d ever seen one.

Around half eleven, I jumped the last tube with Carrie’s brother, Jeff, and we headed back to mine so he could help me with my 4 tons of luggage in the morning.  I dozed off in the twilight, but Jeff made sure that I awoke on time and helped me out to the tube at half five.  He rode with me down to Green Park, where we parted on opposing Picadilly line tubes.  I took that tube all the way out to Heathrow, but not without panic.  You, see, I was coming in from Zone 4 and going out to Zone 5 on the opposite side of the City, so it took a bit.  Two hours to be exact.  Time that I really didn’t have a my disposal ticked by on my watch’s face and there was nothing I could do to slow it or quicken the train, thus I sat on my massive suitcases in a hyperventilating ball until I finally arrived at Terminal stop 123 where I sprinted (as much as it’s humanly possible for me to sprint whilst carrying 200 lbs of luggage) and informed the guy manning the queue that I was scheduled to leave on my flight in less than 20 minutes.  He looked at me scornfully at first, but then turned a sympathetic eye and zoomed me to the nearest open check-in point.  He didn’t even bother to weigh my luggage, which was quite lucky for me since I’m positive that both bags were over the limit, and then escorted me to Security where they jetted me through since I still had a 10 minute hike to the gate - 80 lbs of luggage still in tow.  

Superfluous story short(er), I barely made my flight, but managed to have two seats to myself after the guy next to me moved to sit next to his mates.  Of course, the one time a semi-attractive guy sits next to me on a flight he decides to go sit next to his friends instead.  Typical.  Oh well, I wanted the window anyway, and was completely beat.

I barely got any sleep on the plane and was pretty dehydrated from the night before, but I made it into Chicago without any other obstacles.  My flight was a bit delayed out of Chicago, but I made it into Newark at a decent hour, which is all I could ask since I knew Mel and I would be up for hours talking about anything, everything, and nothing at all.  I’d forgotten how nice it is to have a friend around who knows you well enough to finish your sentences and as a result have kept her up until the wee hours of morning chatting or doing NYT crossword puzzles like a really good friend should.  I’m surprised she hasn’t kicked me out yet.

Saturday she and I went into the city for a stroll, some NY style pizza on Lexington, sushi on Bleeker, and a wonderful surprise of music in the park while a thunderstorm inched flashily closer.  It was just what I needed, and one of the best nights I’ve had in as long as I can remember.  I love New York city with all of my heart, and I love the person I become as I stare at the skyline taking in the summer air around me.  It's the first place in which I've been able to not think about the past or worry about the future and just live in the wonderful moment in which I'm basking.  Breathtaking.  The only other city with that effect is Paris, but it's still not the same.

This coming Saturday I’m heading out to Virginia with my mom - she’s picking me up in DC - and I’ll be back in Springfield the weekend after (so on the 20th?).  I can’t say that I’ve missed Springfield itself, but I miss the faces of my wonderful friends, and it will be so nice to sleep on a bed that can’t double as a coffee table.