The Real World

After 12 hours of flying, connections, and a very, very cold Serbian woman (long story that involved multiple sweaters, a neck pillow, and a mummified, blanketed sleeping position), I'm home.

Had Mexican food last night and went to bed at 9 pm. No grand cultural observations from this writer just yet. Trying not to extrapolate scenes from the Mexican restaurant and the airport into general platitudes about Americans being louder, fatter, and more obnoxious than I remembered. Trying not to do this is difficult.

In all honesty, it does feel odd to be home and I'm not quite sure how I feel about it yet. If only their was some form of cultural half-way house over the Atlantic where I could acclimate into an American again.