I’m sitting in Spoons where I just took my last malaria pill. Twenty-four hours ago, give or take, I was in Sasolburg, South Africa. In the past three weeks, I’ve seen Milan, South Africa, Botswana, Zambia, Zimbabwe and Mozambique. (I also leaned out of a boat on the Chobe River and smacked my palm on the soil of Namibia.)
It was one of the best trips I’ve ever taken. Saw four of the “Big Five.” Also spent every lunchtime for the past week watching bare-chested young men work out. Celebrated the first night of Hanukah at the feet of a fake statue of Saddam Hussein. Was wildly entertained by two former Marines who also happen to be two of the smartest people I’ve ever met. I realize all of this will require some explanation.
Meanwhile, as my body tries to process its 24-hour turnaround from summer to winter, who else here gets homesick? Is it a physical ache for anyone? Could you imagine, for example, watching a movie on an airline’s entertainment system and bursting into tears when the heroine proclaims “I love you, Baltimore!”?
Um, me neither.