Home

June 25, 2007

Home…I made it.

Duarte and I woke up early on Friday morning to drive from Chaves to Porto where I would depart for the United States at 6:00am. I leaned into Jenna’s crib where she was sleeping soundly and kissed her soft brown curls whispering goodbye for the next 12 days. Geninha emerged sleepily from her room to give me a hug. I tried to speak, but I couldn’t make the words form on my lips. There was just too much to say. We carried Marcos from his bed to the car. He said “I am so happy that I get to go to the airport with you.” I kissed him and he quickly fell asleep in his car seat.

Just as we had done on every other road trip around Portugal, Duarte and I eased into easy conversation. We passed the hour and a half drive to Porto remembering the last six months – laughing, questioning and seeking a greater meaning from it all. I was surprised when we arrived to the airport…I suddenly really understood that this time we would not be heading for Sagres or Alentejo or Lisbon or any other place in Portugal. The end of my stay had finally come for me. I was overwhelmed.

I said goodbye to Duarte and held him tight. We had grown as a couple during our stay in Portugal. It was hard to let go. Marcos was confused by my tears. He hugged me and kissed me and promised to be a good boy. I turned and walked away to begin my journey home.

From the airplane window I gazed down upon the beautiful land. It felt good to be so familiar with the country as to recognize places while we were flying over…remembering all the while. The flight was short and easy to Germany. There I would have a 3-hour layover. It was in Germany when culture shock first hit. All around me were stores and restaurants and tons of people from all over the world. I was taken aback by all of the hustle and bustle and I felt a compulsion to buy something…but I didn’t need anything. I ordered an espresso as I did 2 or 3 times a day in Portugal and the girl didn’t really know what to make of my order – she gave me half and half to accompany my espresso which was served in a paper cup??!! I felt as if I had traveled through time 100 years from where I had been living for the last 6 months.

The 7 1/2 hours from Germany to the US were difficult to endure. I sat next to a group of teenagers who had been traveling through Europe with some sort of program. Their comments were amusing… “I can’t wait to get back to French fries.” “I miss Face Book.” “I’ve missed so much…2 girls from my school got tattoos while I was away.” “Toilets in Europe are disgusting.” And on and on.

When I arrived, my ride was late. She had had car trouble on the way. I was so tired. It had been 32 hours since I had last slept. Finally, she did arrive and we talked about life in Europe through the duration of the 4-hour trip home. She too had lived abroad for a few months. We stopped at a highway rest stop along the way that had a few restaurants inside of it. I perused the greasy options and found that I just could not bring myself to eat fried chicken, french fries or any of the other chemically enhanced options available. Welcome back to America, I thought.
At midnight, we made it home. It bothered me how familiar everything felt. I didn’t want to ease back in to life here so quickly. I wanted to hold onto Portugal. I wanted it to stay fresh in my memory. At last I fell into my unmade bed and struggled with sleep for hours – waking for the day at 3:30am.

The first day home was the hardest. I called Quinta da Mata as soon as I awoke that first morning since it would have been 8:30am there with the time difference. As soon as I heard Geninha’s voice, I found that once again I was unable to speak as I choked on my tears. She hung up the phone thinking no one was there. I called back and tried again…only that time I managed to croak out my name. While she went to find Duarte, I listened to the sounds that had been the background noise of my life for the last 6 months. I could hear Dona Orlanda talking to Jenna. Jenna was talking her mysterious baby language. I heard the clank of silverware, Filinto’s happy, scratchy voice, the buzzer from the front door rang. My tears were overflowing then. I could see it all so clearly and yearned with every part of my being to be sitting there at the round kitchen table oblivious to what I would someday miss.

After the phone call, I went downstairs to explore our house. Friends had graciously left food and drinks for me in the kitchen. I laughed to myself as I was eating chips and salsa for breakfast thinking about what I would have be eating if I were in Portugal.

I somehow managed to get through the day – but it was hard. The re-entry to life was not so enjoyable without my family. I think if I had been with them, this would have been a lot easier.

Since then I have reintegrated myself into American culture by doing some things that I hadn’t, couldn’t or wouldn’t do while living abroad. I have mercilessly cleaned and reorganized our house, spent time with friends, gone for a nice long run, taken a spin on a mountain bike, shopped at Target, secured a cell phone, and declared war on the mice who have since moved in. My adjustment is slow, but I am doing okay. The time change still has me up each morning at 3:30am – which makes for some long days. I still can’t bring myself to look at pictures from my trip or remember any of it just yet…it is too raw.

Though I miss my family terribly, in a way it feels good that they are still there because it makes me feel that I am still there. I am still rooted there in an abstract way. I want Portugal to be a part of their soul and I want them to continue to know and love such a beautiful culture, such a beautiful family.

Tomorrow I return to work which feels like the ultimate jump back into real life. I will be glad for distraction but sad for the ending. And so, life is…