Coming home this past month and then returning to Ukraine a few weeks later has changed that. When I was home everyone seemed to ask what shocked me the most about being back in the land of plenty. What no one asked, nor did I foreshadow, was what is going to shock me about returning to Ukraine.

My laborious arrival home wrenched all energy from me so that my first margarita, burrito and trip to a real grocery store were dulled by exhaustion. Why was I so exhausted? Well a story is no doubt much needed to explain what a sentence would simply fail to capture.

A normal transatlantic trip from the continent to the states should take 8-12 hours and leave one slightly pooped. While I do reside on the continent I live in Europe only by the most generous of definitions. Additionally while living off $150 a month has turned me into such a penny pincher that even Granny B would think me stingy. So in saving a few pennies (a few hundred dollars worth of pennies) I booked a ticket leaving from neighboring Poland and taking me on a scenic route through Germany and Denmark before arriving in Seattle. Staying in Krakow for the night would have made the trip a little simpler but also would have added to the expense, and seeing how I had to be at the airport at 5am made the excuse of a good nights rest completely irrelevant. I therefore decided to take a night train from the border to Krakow and then hop a bus as the sun came up and arrive at the airport in time to check in and grab a bite to eat. Well seeing how my travel experiences as of late seem more like an audition for “Amazing Race” and less like a vacation my schedule was sure to disintegrate as soon as I began my first leg of this journey.

Crossing the border was completely painless as I pushed all the Ukrainians aside and waved my Peace Corps credentials an claimed I worked with the embassy. However once I reached the train station on the other side of the border would I soon realize that all calls for a celebration were off. I had misread the Polish train schedule and that there would be no midnight train as there are no midnight trains on Sunday, and when the clock strikes twelve Saturday would end and Sunday would begin.

Curse my stupidity and the religious convictions of Poland that make travel all that less predictable. I took the only train that night that dropped me off in some rusting steel town where I quickly hopped another train to a larger rusting nothing a few hours further west. Knowing that the rail system wasn’t going to get me to Krakow in time for my flight I made a b-line of the bus station. Not understanding Polish made reading the bus schedule impossible, luckily spoken Polish and Ukrainian are close enough alike that I could converse with some young Poles who assured me that there was a bus at 2:52 am to Krakow and all I had to do was wait and then my prayers would be answered. So I camped out with all the other weirdoes that flock to deserted bus stations around midnight.

As three o’clock approached and there was no more action at the bus station than three hours previous I quizzed another Pole about the likelihood of my getting to Krakow intime for my flight via bus. He quickly told me know that the early bus doesn’t run on Sundays, damn those other Poles who gave me the slightest bit of hope.

I then decided that I would take a taxi the 90 or so miles to Krakow. I figured it would take two hours at the most and in Ukraine that would be about a $45 cab fare. Well if there is one thing the EU has done for Poland is that it has increased the rate taxis charge for desparate travelers at the Rzeszow train station. Instead of being charged $45 the cab driver wanted $300! I begged for $100 and was laughed at. The next cabbie wanted $400 so I quickly gave up and bought a train ticket. The train would give me 20 minutes to get from the train station in Krakow to the airport, needless to say I slept very little on the train and spent my time praying.

I arrived at the airport just as my flight was taking off, and just as the lovely LOT agents popped a hefty dose of bitch pills. After a few abrasive conversations with the wenches that man the LOT desk I was charged a $150 change fee and hopped the next flight to Munich. The scheduling created a near guaranteed opportunity of my missing my connecting flight to Copenhagen. I relished this opportunity as I figured I could schmooze the much kinder Lufthansa ladies into putting me onto a more direct route to the US, one where I would avoid an overnight in Copenhagen. I was quickly disappointed and sucked up my destiny of spending a night on the road.

Upon arrival in Copenhagen I took in all the comforts of Western Civilization also known as the Duty Free Store! Figuring that I shouldn’t blow my money I wisely purchased a bag of tax free Haribo Gummy Bears, my first in twenty months. Finally four days later and a bath in a shallow sink in a bathroom in Copenhagen I arrived in Seattle nearly exhausted and starving. Mom’s Mexican Kitchen provided the manna and the proverbial milk and honey in the form of Carne Asada and a few Margaritas.

While they tasted amazing, especially now as I digest mystery meat and buckwheat kasha from the cafeteria at school an wax poetic about America’s culinary choices, at the time I was too exhausted and overwhelmed to fully appreciate them.

To answer those popular questions of what; did I like about being home, what did I miss or what is the biggest shock I offer this: Family and friends were by far the best treat about being home. I miss them when I am away but seeing them in person really was a huge treat. I noticed repeatedly that America seems to have gone up market. I don’t know if I noticed this simply because I dwell considerably below market but America really is the land of plenty and all that plenty is offered in various forms of luxury and comfort, with of course the corresponding price tag. Lastly the best treats or most appreciated experiences were in no particular order; Rositas’ Margaritas, meeting Kendra, Phipps’ Mojitos, seeing all the Berry’s, a treasured double tall non at Monorail Espresso, BBQ, Mom and Dick’s company and washer & dryer, a double bed, Erin, Sean, driving, the smell of the sound, Mt. Ranier, nights out with friends, Special Olympics crew and lastly satellite TV.