An Icey Welcome Home

13 02 2008

Nothing like a (freezing) cold shower to knock the dreams of tango dancing, sunny days, and wrought-iron balconies from one’s system…

I spent my last day in Buenos Aires doing a little shopping (shocking, I know), checking out the seal show at the zoo, and writing a few final postcards (which I happened, in my end of travel stupor, to have misplaced somewhere between the closed post office and the airport). When I checked in for my flight that evening, it was still about 70 degrees outside.

A mere 11 hours later I stepped off the plane in rainy 40 degree (but feels like 28) New York. At least I missed the blizzard of the day before. Upon waiting for my shuttle home I found myself writing my final travel journal entry, and at a bit of a loss for what to feel. It was a relief to be home, but at the same time felt rather strange. On the one hand I was coming home to a city I love, friends I’ve missed, and a life that doesn’t involve trying to pick out the least dirty thing to wear every day; on the other I had to leave a beautiful (warm) place—and so much there I’ve yet to see—and returning to the daunting task of job hunting. I was excited to return to my apartment, but unsure of what I’d do once there: finally at home, all seemed foreign.

The confused journal entry ended with a list of things that excited me about being home, including, but not limited to following (thrilling) items: the pile of mail that would inevitably be waiting for me, my full closet of (clean!) clothes, and most importantly, a hot shower.

After a somewhat confused shuttle ride, which involved my driver skipping one drop-off and then offering to drop me off at Second Ave. and 34th St., when I live at First Ave. and 10th St. (all for the low, low price of $21.95), I finally stepped into my apartment. I first said hello to some of my belongings, thumbed through the large stack of (mostly junk) mail on my desk, and put in a call to my waiting anxiously for the “I’m-home-call” mother, then headed happily to my bathroom and turned on the shower. Which never got hot.

A call to the super yielded the hasty answer that I would have hot water in an hour. I spent two hours sitting at the kitchen table, because I felt too dirty to sit anywhere else, and watching “Grey’s Anatomy” reruns on Then I tried the water again. Another call to the super ended in his annoyed statement that I was not the only one waiting on the hot water. A very comforting thought.

It is now 2:00 p.m. and the number one item on my “things I’m looking forward to about getting home list” has turned out to be a sponge bath with boiled water. So much for my closet full of clean clothes. I think I need to go back to Argentina; I left some unsent postcards there…



One response

14 02 2008

What makes you think I was anxiously awaiting a phone call? Actually (big surprise) I was delighted and so very relieved to hear your voice. So glad you are home safely. Your dad said he would send hot water to you if he could!

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