After being away for ten weeks, coming home to my apartment in Chinatown has its charms.
I'd forgotten the dazzling light that comes from having big windows at either end of my living room. When I first arrived on a cloudy Saturday afternoon, I felt like a mole who emerged into full sunshine. The brightness almost hurt my eyes.
For almost 70 mornings, I drank my first cups of coffee either sitting on my bed or on a straight chair. Although I propped myself against a pillow or two, it still lacked the luxurious comfort of drinking it while nestled into a couch. (Thank you, Ikea.)
Showers are invigorating and I was lucky to have hot water in every room I inhabited. However nothing matches the luxury and joy of a hot bath before bed. Beyond bliss, I tell you.
And when I leave my apartment, it's not unusual to run into friends on the street and stop for a quick chat. Seattle is still the sort of city where this happens often; in Hong Kong or Bangkok it's a minor miracle. After weeks of depending on Facebook for random encounters, the delight of real-time chats is nourishing.
I love to travel and hope to do much more of it, but in the end, the best part is coming home.