Am I home?

I arrived "home" on Sunday. The first few days here have had a minor element of culture shock, a surprisingly substantial part of my brain saying "Is this home?"

I spent Sunday saying "takk" and "fyrirgefðu" to people in shops and forming sentences of enquiry.. "Ertu með kort á Glasgow?" I spent quite some time wandering around like a tourist in Glasgow Queen Street Station trying to work out how to find which way I was pointing as I spun in circles looking at my choice of exits. I always get lost in Glasgow .. there are no tall landmarks I can see from the street. Perhaps it is also associated with the consistent hangover feeling I have when I am there .. not from alcohol, like many other visitors passing through the town centre after a night on the town. No, this is the effect of sleep deprivation induced by a 4.30am start for a horrible-hour flight and packing until 3.30am. Still, it was worth staying up to enjoy Erik´s delicious little lamb that he forced into the oven and Sylvie´s famous chocolate moose! Meeeh.. jarm, jarm.. eek.. Yummy.

Small things I noticed too. Usually that's what happens when I am a visitor. The greenest of Strathclyde from the air, the arched glass of the roof at the station in Glasgow, the rows and rows of wine and spirits sold in the grocery store, the vast size of the Boots the Chemist (one of the smaller ones), the bird droppings on the platform at Edinburgh, the warmth of the sun on my skin, the birds singing in the gardens as I walked to University this morning (I walked to work!), the drunk man sat at the traffic lights on a patch of grass, the views of Blackford Hill and Arthur´s Seat sprinkled with yellow gorse blossoms, the single black lady walking along the street at 12.20am, the milk van delivering milk as I walked back to my guesthouse and the hand-painted cornice as I lie on my bed and look up... I am reminded now of the home that I grew up in.

It is nice to be here. It is different and familiar. But, is it home?