post-vacation.

(one from my journal.)

Ahhh… my first true night alone in so very long, I think since I lived in the US. I didn’t realize just how badly I needed it. Even at site, in my own home, I never really feel alone because the walls are just sticks. Wall concepts.

I shopped for basil, garlic, tomatoes and onions at the market this evening and was greeted by several kind folks I’ve met along the way. It almost felt like I was home. A very foreign and makeshift home away from home.

The bread seller I’ve come to joke around with on market days sold me her largest loaf for 100 Ariary less than usual. Maybe I am no longer just another vazaha to her.

I carried everything home in a woven basket made for me by neighbor.

I took a bucket bath using hand-milled lavender soap and shampoo made from a Malagasy tree.

After wrapping a yellow print lamba around me and sipping a glass of wine, I cooked polenta with marinara sauce, and listened to various albums friends have made for me. The homesick melancholy comes in waves.

Watched “The Truth About Cats & Dogs,” totally engrossed in the lavishness of a DVD player, a couch to lie upon and a bowl of popcorn. Aware of how luxurious it feels.

Room and bed: Warm and inviting with scented oils, fan blowing, clean sheets.

Listen to “Let Me In Your Life,” by Bill Withers. It fits where I’m at completely.

Now these journal scribbles, then decadent, alone sleep, after two weeks of non-stop bunk beds and crowded, ceaseless travel.