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.