Oh, Canada

The marathon 30+hr trip back home is now over and all I can say is... damn did it feel good to crawl into my bed.

Few things in life compare to the sheer awesomeness that washes over you once you lay down in your own bed after being away from it for a long time (like say... 10 months).

I can also say this: as well as providing you with cabins that compare to freezer boxes, airplanes may also offer the experience of malfunctioning heat regulators which turn the inside of the aircraft into a sauna.

Literally. My 20 hour flight from Joburg to Washington was hell. As in, as hot as Hades. I stripped down to a thin tank top and rolled up tights and my skin was still damp with sweat. There I was, packed in a glorified sardine box with 300 people, all of us sweating and breathing heavy and trying to get as naked as possible to fend off heat stroke. How gross is that?!

A few girls had to be escorted to the storage space at the back of the plane because the suffocating temperature of the cabin was making them ill. I also escaped back there once or twice, if only to stock up on the cookies and free boxes of juice :)

Another magical travel trip: do not book connecting international flights a mere 50 minutes apart.

My Joburg-Washington flight landed at 11am. The flight taking me to Chicago was scheduled to board at 11:55am. I had under an hour to shuttle myself to the border control building, make it through U.S customs, pick up my suitcases, re-check them in for my connecting flights, pass through security, run up to the terminal building, figure out my departure gate, and navigate the massive airport to get myself to where I was boarding.

The task was daunting, and that was before I arrived at the Customs office and was met with a view of about oh, 250 Chinese tourists standing in line before me. FML.

As I finally cleared all the security bullshit, I sprinted towards my gate, cursing under my breath at the constant stream of seemingly stupid, rude people who continued to walk against the flow of traffic, making me dodge them frantically as I rushed past.

Then I realized it was me who was on the wrong side. I was dashing forward using the left side instead of the right. Cue embarrassment.

I also made the mistake of asking an American airport attendant where I could find a "trolley". Whoops.

Needless to say, I frantically arrived at my Chicago boarding gate sweaty, sore, and exhausted, with about 90 seconds to spare. I still can't believe I made it.

Once I landed in Chicago, I was dealt a five hour layover and could finally soak in the glory of being back in North America. It really is amazing to be back home. It's like slipping on an old glove that fits each groove of your knuckles perfectly.

It may sound silly, but it's an incredible feeling to be surrounded by familiar food and language. After ten months of being an outsider, it's relieving to finally re-join the "in crowd" where you don't have to repeat yourself three times to order lunch or use hand gestures to explain that you are looking for the washroom.

Since I landed I have been basking in the comfortable ease that comes with returning to your homeland. I almost forgot what it felt like to just "be" and not have to constantly be working to understand and communicate.

Much to my amusement, my time away has left me hypersensitive to a lot of North American-isms. For example:

• White people doing menial labour! Huzzah!
  
  I forgot what it looked like to walk up to a McDonalds counter and see a sea of white faces staring back at me. Or looking out the airplane window and not being faced with a cluster of dark-skinned workers in neon green vests. I'm not trying to be awful by pointing this out, it's just that I've spent nearly a year living as a minority. 8 in 10 people in SA are black. It is taking a while to adjust back to being around so many white folks again. 

• We really do sound like country bumpkins!
  
  I've been cringing all day. Every "r" I hear sounds so harsh and the pronunciation of everyday words comes across over-enunciated and very... well... rural, if you know what I mean. I'm missing the soft cadence of the SA accent already.  

• Land of the cranberry juice and pink lemonade!
  
  I spent so much energy in SA explaining to friends that 1.) these beverages do exist and 2.) trying to hunt them down. And what just so happens to be the first two drinks I see sitting haughtily on a back-lit shelf at an unassuming Washington airport snack store?? You got it. Home sweet home indeed :) 

• How you know you've touched down on North American soil: the sudden and frequent appearance of recycling bins, "half and half" creamer jugs at coffee shops, overhead announcements in French, and one-litre refillable Starbucks cups. 

As my plane mercifully touched down in Winnipeg, I couldn't help but be overwhelmed with relief and nervousness. It felt so good to be home and I couldn't wait to see my family. 

As I walked through the Customs gate, there was Grandma, Ryan, Kayla, and Aunty Judy waiting for me**. They were holding up a "welcome home!" sign and a giant red and white beach towel that had red maple leafs splashed on it. Everyone was jumping up and down and screeching. We caused a bit of a scene but who cares. I was home and proud of it :) 

**You may be thinking, "wait, what about Marie's Mom and Dad? Where were they?". My Dad was waiting to greet me at home as he had a one hour drive from Lac Du Bonnet. 

My mom, well, she was late. To the the surprise of no one. I found her upstairs near the check-in counters, standing in line for coffee at Tim Horton's with my brother. You know you're home when.... ;)