A funny thing happened to me this afternoon during one of two naps that I took. Yes, two. I was in transit for 28.5 hours, during which I slept not nearly enough, and last night I even managed to dream that the turbulence on the plane was an earthquake (remember, I live in Chile), and that I had to run upstairs to the attic to reassure my niece. I think that’s when the confusion started. The rest of the time that I’ve been away, I was always clear on where I was. I have slept in about five different hotels and guesthouses, have fallen asleep on ferries, motorized dugouts, vans and in hammocks, and even just sitting around. And none of those times did I ever wake up confused, thinking, “where am I?” or “what is this?” I was always sure, from that sticky moment between when my brain woke up and my eyes opened about what would be on the other side of my lids.
So back to the funny thing about waking up from my first nap here at my apartment in Santiago. After 28.5 hours of travel, I dumped my bags in the living room, wrote a quick email, took my malaria meds (more on that soon, possibly overkill, definitely expensive), ate a yogurt añejo (aged yogurt, possibly not a good idea) with the few flakes of cereal left in the box of Fitness I found in the kitchen, and went to sleep.
And when I woke up, an hour and a half later, I opened my eyes to look at a reddish wooden dresser and a shiny wooden floor. I could not for the life of me figure out where I was. I spun through possible places I might be, Trinidad, Tobago, Suriname. And I came up blank. And then I figured it out.
I am home.
And it is so good.