Transition

It’s Monday, October 22, 3:50 am. Both Steve and I are wide awake. I am ready for breakfast and my brain is so active that there is no use in trying to keep sleeping.

If I had had a chance to update my facebook over the last 36 hours, based on my usual judgement (“oh, this is interesting/funny/semi-profound, I should post it!”), there would be 10 new updates an hour. I don't think that that will change too much in the next few weeks. So here I am, middle of the night, brain full of accumulated updates, and starting to write what I hope will be a nice, readable blog, something to keep people somewhat up to date on my life. It’s either that or help Steve with the New York Times crossword, and as a non-native speaker, I am typically not a great help.

The updates would have started with the last chorizo and eggs at the Tucson airport, taking in the blinding sunrise over the Rincons. There would have been one on the flight to Dallas, with its familiar views - this time with close-ups of the Cochise Stronghold, the Chiricahuas and Pearce ghosttown, the future site of an open-pit silver mine that is escaping people’s attention in favor of saving the scenic Santa Ritas. Maybe next time I fly over it, there will be no more Pearce? There was my last BBQ pork sandwich at Dallas airport, during which I made a vow to myself that I will learn how to make this stuff. It’s too good and too unknown of an American food to not expose friends and family to it at some point. There would have been a big smiling one about our spectacularly good luck boarding the transatlantic flight and finding ourselves in a 5-seat middle section with two empty seats. I have never felt this rested after a transatlantic flight before. There would have been one on the first, immediate signs of cultural difference, the “Welcome to Europe”-moments: The lack of sweet air freshener in the airport buildings. The diversity of languages (not only do I hear people speak stuff other than English and Spanish, I hear them speak languages I don’t even recognize!). The inexplicably much slower airport security (Is it the line management? Is it the fact that the staff, instead of the travellers, put things into those plastic boxes? Is the average European air traveller less prepared? Has anyone done a study on this??). The “fanciness” of the terminal itself, duty free and luxury stores (all empty), one stationery and one café (both packed), no food courts. The first currency shock: € 2,50 for 0.5 liters of bottled water (Yes, I caved. There were no drinking fountains and the water out of the restroom faucets was hot.).

Walking through the long hallways of Heathrow airport, I felt like I was floating in free space, nothing to tether me to anything. No house keys, no job, no communication device, left the States but not immigrated anywhere else yet, a European with an American home that I will not return to. And walking next to me, holding my hand, with me in this free open space between two lives, was Steve. I cannot express how glad I am to have him by my side.

On the last half hour of the London-Vienna trip, I had the first big “coming home” moment. After one hour of flying over the expansive irregular patchwork of small fields and towns of France and Germany, and another hour over low clouds, I peeked out a window on the right side of the plane, and there they were. The Alps. A dark, massive barrier as far as the eye could see, floating over the gleaming white sea of clouds, with white patches of glaciers on the highest peaks. I was exhilarated, laughing and waving, as if they were good friends welcoming me home. I was happy to see them without snow. My chances of a hike this weekend (to say “hello” to them properly) are greatly improved.

Arriving at Vienna, the country greeted us with a mural showing the string score of Strauß’ “Fledermaus”. You don’t see a viola part printed on a wall every day! It was right above the luggage trolleys, which I promptly showed two “fellow” Americans to operate with the proper brute force. It was the beginning of how I would feel the entire rest of the day: a very peculiar mix of being very new to a place, but at the same time navigating it with the blind expertise of a local. We walked trough “customs”, a short area entirely devoid of anyone other than passengers (should have bought that new macbook, darnit!) and the door opened to a happy, laughing, hugging, chatting “welcome” by my parents, my brother and my friend Julia. They immediately cracked up over my Cowboy boots. So worth it!!

At this point, I am running out of battery on my laptop. No plug adapter, no cell phone, no internet, still dark outside and too early for breakfast. Time to make another attempt at sleeping.