So this is what they call culture shock.  Landing yourself in bizarre surroundings, trying to communicate with people who don't seem to speak your language, bearing witness to exotic customs, feeling awed and overwhelmed at the strangeness of it all.  

Welcome home to good ol' California.

Having spent the last two years in some of the poorest, least developed, and most overcrowded countries in the world, I'm feeling a little undsteady on American soil.  Of course it's great to catch up with old friends and take hot showers that don't involve buckets.  But this will take some getting used to.  

First impressions coming back: 1. Revelation: I can speak to ANYONE.  The guy selling Fritos at Walgreen's, the lady next to me on BART, the bum I'm about to trip over on the street.  I can ask them how old they are, how many children they have, and where's the best place for a burger.  English is a miracle.

2. Realization: I can't actually speak.  After two years speaking broken English to the people we met along the way, my fluency has been severely tested.  I keep asking people, "Sorry, can you say that again?" Because I just don't get it.

3. Relief: Public trashcans!  Gone are the days I'd carry a dirty wrapper in my pocket for days instead of throwing it out the bus window like everyone else.  

4. Bewilderment: Why doesn't anybody walk on the streets? Why are the streets so wide? And so clean? Where are all the streetcarts and scooters? Why are the houses so BIG? Why does coffee cost $4 a cup? Where can I get my shoes fixed? (Oh that's right, in the States we don't get our shoes fixed, we just throw 'em out and buy a new pair.)

Next week I head to San Diego to hook up with my grandmother and brother, and then back to the Bay Area to sit on my butt and bum at my boyfriend's mom's place a little while longer (yeah, we'll get jobs *after* we settle in...).  Three cheers for free rent and home cooking.