The price of Gasoline

I am just now emerging from the murky depths of jet-lag, but am still finding myself confronted with a strangely comfortable discomfort each day. I remember experiencing this three years ago, when I arrived in Madrid for my summer studies, and find it interesting, yet awful, at the same time. Being in Winston-Salem, for the first time in a year, is rather strange.

Before leaving Spain, my parents came to visit me in Logrono. We made swift travels around the north and middle of the country in our rented Peugot 207. Within the short span of 6 days, we hit Logroño, Burgos, Bilbao, San Sebastian, Santo Domingo, Haro, Segovia, and Toledo. Spain is what we would like to think of as a small place, since it is NOT the United States, but it is really quite large, and covering as much ground as we did in such short time was quite taxing. The car was fun to drive, and the countryside was simply amazing. I was ecstatic to have the opportunity to first-handedly show Nancy and George around  the country where I'd been living, and to get to know other parts of the country that I had not yet seen.

Now, Winston-Salem has swallowed me whole, and I am back into the 336. It is odd. There are so many nuances that I never took note of before leaving for such an extended period of time, and that no one could notice without leaving NC for so long. It is difficult to describe, but easy to note. It is some form of learned scrutinization of culture. I'm unsure how or why I find myself constantly analyzing everyday situations as if they are brand new experiences, but I do so with a different eye. I enjoy it.
I did it over there as well.
It is good to be home.