Feels Like Home To Me...

Sadly the 747 flight to Toronto was not nearly as engaging as the one to Amsterdam, however, they did have an awesome Indian veg option for the in-flight meal. I think my generation won't understand the fixation with poor airline food as our ancestors once did.

I also was in a strange dimension in which time passed slowly. Leaving at 1:45PM and arriving at 3:30PM whilst flying half-awake for eight hours really does wonders for one's sanity. Time lost all meaning, with place and distance being my only measure of linear progress.

Soon, through the clouds I could see familiar-looking hills, roads and even snow-capped peaks! We were over Quebec. Mercifully, we arrived in Toronto and I unmercifully, the carousel took forever to dispense my many pieces of luggage. Again mercifully, the customs officer let me pass with my litre-and-a-half of apeteshie and I was home free, legally.

My parents barely recognized me. My father had to point me out to my mother because she couldn't spot me in the crowd. Hilarious. Our reunion was most joyful.

Under threatening skies, we drove home. Soon I was back on the farm and my dog was going nuts seeing me for the first time in nine whole months.

So there I was: finally home in one piece - sun-baked, malaria-ridden, culture-shocked me. Home. We had dinner together (pasta), I wrecked their immaculately-cleaned living room with all of my junk and showed them all of the things I brought back with me, telling random stories off the top of my head in rapid succession.

Being jet-lagged, it was just the three of us and we kept it low-key for the evening. But damn, it's good to be home.