So there I was, stepping off a plane, sweaty and tired after over ten hours in a cramped metal container. I must have looked ridiculous with three sweatshirts, a couple pairs of pants, and two of my summer dresses. My suitcase had been stuffed full and I had been afraid any bit of fabric would send it over the weight limit.
I probably shouldn't have worried because in reality, my near to bursting bag was only 21 kg or so.
But no matter, there I was, almost dying when I stepped off a plane and onto American soil; or more specifically, onto Texas soil. I wasn't home quite yet. However, Texas was my first taste of America after not being in the "land of the free" for over four months; it was completely overwhelming.
I could now listen in to any conversation I wanted. People put way too many things on my plate that had touched a deep fryer or had been smothered in butter. Voices were loud. Cars were huge. It was just so much.
Throughout the next couple days things would get even stranger. I eventually left Texas, early in the morning, and came to the land of Iowa where the humidity and heat wasn't yet quite overwhelming.
What was strange, however, was how much the city I had once loved had changed. The streets were too wide. Buildings were too close together. The trees didn't have that pretty pattern that spirals around on those trees in aix. And where was all the cigarette smoke? And the funny looking outlets and plugs? And, course I miss those Pain au Chocolates.
I went to a coffee shop and ordered a Chai Latte. That was my favorite drink. I could once drink it in two seconds. Now, I could barely drink half of it. The glass seemed taller than my head. And the black bean burger and fries from my favorite burger place that I had been looking forward to for about four months? It filled me up and made my stomach feel funny.
The next day I made a Salade Nicoise. That was much better. That in itself, seemed to be now, a little taste of what had become my home.