It’s the day we leave Virginia to come back to Bolivia, and I know I haven’t gotten my fill. I wish for another week, maybe a month, maybe forever, of home. I don’t know how I’ll feel coming back to Okinawa –the heat, the poverty, the español, the loud and dusty street we live on- they seem like a downer compared to the ease of life, the manicured landscapes, the ties of family and friendship, the cleanliness of home. But of course we’ll go –our work and our home and our life are there. So we board the plane, stop in Miami for one last Guinness, and land in Santa Cruz in the morning.
Miracle of miracles, it’s windy and cool out. And, though Santa Cruz is one of my least favorite cities in the world (up there with Marmot, WV), we know just how to get around, find what we need, and get out quickly. We are back in Oki by midday, and walking into our home it feels like we’d only been away a night or two. Our pink hut is welcoming and familiar. Friends call and stop by to see that we’ve made it back safely. We hang the hammock and jump back into our Bolivian life.
Now, the distraction of fantasizing about a trip home out of the way, we’ve got our work ahead of us, friends to play with, dust to sweep up, a marathon to train for, and our simple, comfortable life to live. It’s good to be back. And it’s good to know that I have a home in two places.
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