I´m home. And it´s not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I almost shed a tear on the way from the airport to Reykjavík last night though - I was listening to a song by my favourite band from Mexico and their music just belongs to another world. Oh well.

The homecoming shock is always guaranteed to be... well, a shock. Usually amusing afterwards but not so pleasant while it lasts. At Stansted I thought that all Icelanders looked the same, and we had breeded with us a ruling gene for a gray skin colour. How dull. Everybody seemed a bit washed out, lacking suavicity (and no, I did not mean suavity, this is neologism). But then again so does the majority of people at international airports and after 24 hours I´ve become used to it. And anyway, that´s what I look like too.

When I arrived at the Hostel I got a warm welcome and when I got to my room my bed had been made and candles lit, just what I needed. And to sleep in a cool room and cuddle up under a duvet, as opposed to sweating under a sheet, is wonderful. So is taking long long showers with hot hot water, thinking that in Iceland there´s plenty of it. It still smells of sulfur, but I´ll get used to that. And there is so much space here! The houses have big lawns and no barb-wired fences or rabid dogs guarding them. The days are bright until 8 o´clock, I knew it was a smart move to skip the darkest months.

Everything is pretty much the same, except the milkcartons and the 1000 ISK bill look different, and the familiarity of things and environment is comforting and very easy on the still jet-lagged brain. I have to get used to old routines, and remember not to greet everyone with a kiss and that the used toilet paper is supposed to go to the toilet and not to the wastebasket next to it, here the sewer system can handle it.

The plan for the close future is to work at the Hostel and pay off debts. I´ll be staying there as well until the 7th of April when I go back east to meet the parents, on the 11th (a generous prize to the ones that know why that is such a great day) I come back to Reykjavík and move to an apartment on Laugarnesvegur, across the street from the place where I lived last summer. Then the plan is to work until I have enough money to hit the road again, along with having fun and enjoying life. Plan B is to marry Diego Torres and move to Argentina (but only if he shaves and promises not to let his hair grow longer than shoulderlength again), too bad his current girlfriend is a hot model, but hey, this is me we´re talking about here. Plan C would be to take off again without paying the debts and be thrown to jail in Thailand for drug-trafficking, but I´m too smart and not desperate enough for that.

And Bobby Fischer is going to be an Icelandic citizen. Is this a joke?! ´Cause I surely cannot see the funny in it.

I'm at Stansted airport, waiting for my flight home. New York was cold, gray and rainy - London is cold, gray and foggy. Layering is the thing to do, since my warmest item of clothing is a fleece sweater which I've mostly used as a pillow the last few months, instead of using it to fight off the cold. Can't say I'm thrilled to be back in Europe, but I'm tired, sleepless and cranky and I'm still hours away from home, I'm sure it will be fine when I get there. I'm just tired of airports - and children at airports and on airplanes have a knack of making my mood plummet. I once mentioned this to a friend, but probably he's a better person than I am and has ever-renewing sources of patience, because he feels sorry for them and doesn't let them get on his nerves. I do. And to all the parents out there: if you are not going to work on your children's upbringing - don't have them! That was my weekly ranting about things I can't change, I promise not to whine again until next week. Not out loud.

I got a chance to speak Icelandic my last night in Costa Rica and I've got a slight accent, the conveyor belt from mind to tongue is bit rusty and sometimes I can't find the words I'm looking for. Nothing a bit of WD40 can't fix. God, it will be good to be home.

All things must come to an end. Tomorrow morning I'll leave my beloved Costa Rica and head home, I'll be in Reykjavik just before midnight on Tuesday. I don't really feel like leaving, but it will be good to come home, meet family and friends, go back to work and lead a normal, or relatively normal, life for a while.

On my first day at home measures will be taken to look human again, and maybe even slightly feminine. On the to-do list is to get a haircut and find other clothes, which are neither torn, bleached by the sun or wrinkled beyond repair. A trip to "my" swimming pool will be a part of the beautifying process as it works wonders on body and soul.

Then I'm going to have a hearty meal of flatbrauð, hangikjöt, kókómjólk, harðfiskur and smjör and pylsur. Accompanied with a mix of malt and appelsín, skyr for dessert. After which I will probably have a heart attack. And no, my dear co-workers, fiskibollur will not be on the menu.

In the afternoon I have a rendezvous with a foamy latte and gossip magazines at my cafè-cum-bookstore, though something tells me I will be drawn to the travel guide shelves once more, it's never too early to make plans for the next trip. Actually I have a loosely formed plan, so I better not do anything stupid such as fall in love or buy an apartment in the close future.

In the evening I will be found at another cafè, Ljóti andarunginn in Lækjargata, and I would love to get hugs and kisses and spend time with friends there over a cup of coffee or whatever you want in your cup.

So if you wanna be on my good list you know how to make me happy; just drop by on Wednesday evening :D

Ég er enn á lífi þó ég hafi ekkert bloggað í langan tíma. Ég er komin til Costa Rica, hef verið hér í rúma viku og lifi eins og blóm í eggi hjá vini mínum og fjölskyldunni hans. Yndislegt fólk og yndislegt land.