But now I'm back - home. In the Eastern Cape. Where it takes three days for my refuse to be removed and two hours to make it through traffic because some arsehole in a Honda Civic thought he could take on a yummy mummy too occupied with her i-phone to concentrate on actually driving her Hummer. [Yes, there are people navigating the pothole-ridden streets of Gonubie with HUMMERS while people literally starve in the respective township of Mzamomhle].
Disclaimer: I am thrilled to see my family and friends and boyfriend again. I missed them all, terribly. I especially missed the Seffrican accents they share with me while I was ridiculed by Ozzies and Kiwis across Europe. And the way we click our tongues like black women when we are frustrated. Even though we are white. And how we say "Eishu" and "Hayibo" and "Voetsek" and "Veld" without thinking. I missed THAT! I am also equally excited to see the warm Indian Ocean again (the Mediterranean Sea makes swimming in Camps Bay feel like a bath). It's awesome to be surrounded by a ridiculously mixed bunch of people all the time, speaking at least four different languages and yet still communicating with each other. South Africans engage with one another, we take note of each others' existence. Not so in Europe.
However, I would be lying if I said that 99.9% of me doesn't miss the golden glow that Antibes and Nice gave my skin, the carefree days tanning topless in Barcelona, the freedom of cycling around Holland, the sense of history in Rome, the beautiful architecture in Florence, the quiet of Venice, the exquisite beauty of Switzerland. I have woken up at night several times since I arrived home in a panic, thinking I was about to miss a train or flight or bus to another city, and then laid down, a little sad that I have nowhere to be except where I am.
But most of all, I miss being free. Traveling gives you this sense of being suspended in reality - there is nowhere you actually have to be, nothing you really have to do. You just have to experience. The future disappears and the closest thing you have to worrying about it is thinking about when you are going to siesta, or eat a real Italian pasta, or see a play of a museum or concert. The past and your attachments to it are obliterated by the fun you are having - why stress about problems and issues and people when there is gorgeous food to be eaten, clothes to be bought and stairs to climb. (I climbed a lot of stairs - lighthouses, museums, cities... Europe is full of them - except for Holland, which is flatter than a prepubescent girl's chest).
I miss it so much that my goal in life is to now get a job and a piggy bank and save like a mofo to get back to Europe! Anyway, enough of my #firstworldproblems. Here are a few photos from my adventures in Europe.
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