Le Mal du Pays...Otherwise known as Homesickness

For the past couple of weeks, I'd been floating on a tide of caffeinated bliss--bouncing into the kitchen to whip up another version of sauteed onions with tuna and peas (I've been eating variations of this dish for days; the reason is not yet known), bouncing into class, into cafés with friends, into gardens, into yoga, even bouncing into the library at which I'm now a member.  My friend Quentin has described me as very bouncy, and also noted the lack of equivalent adjective in French.  But my bounciness came to an abrupt halt at the end of last week, and left a yawning void of fatigue in its place.

So it has arrived, as everyone said it would.  I thought I could avoid homesickness if I just kept running forward at full-speed: making friends, reading books, drinking café crèmes, going out even when I didn't feel up to it.  Unfortunately, using avoidance as a coping mechanism can only work for so long.  I began noticing some cracks in my strategy.  I lavished an unusual amount of attention, complete with cooing and ear-flapping, on a black lab ambling innocently down the street (I miss you Duffy!); the owner looked at me as if I were a bit off-my-rocker.  I scroll lovingly through the phonebook in my cellphone, missing the friends listed there.  I bought miso soup mix and organic brown rice udon noodles--my therapist would say I'm projecting my affection for Taiki onto the food of Taiki's people; she'd probably be right.  I miss eating Alice's Teashop scones with Twin A, I miss wandering around the Upper West Side with Emily, I miss bugging Mommy while she's trying to work, I miss making bread with Daddy, I miss those big, sad, brown eyes Louise uses to get more meat, I miss having coffee with my friends at the completely un-scenic Richmond Beach Starbucks.

This weekend, however, my homesickness came with physical symptoms.  I slept.  And slept, and slept.  I am deeply tired, and I've learned that this breed of tiredness can't be alleviated by any number of cafés crèmes.  Life abroad is a continual challenge.  I sometimes equate it with one of those endless slogs up an Adirondack trail.  You arrive at some great lookouts, and if you're with my dad or one of his brothers, you test your geographic knowledge and find you can name most of the peaks in view.  The break, the view, and the ability to know where you are in relation to your surroundings make you feel pretty great.  But the upward slog must go on.  So you pack up your Nalgene and trail-mix and get back to work.

This weekend, however, a little break just didn't suffice.  So I set up camp under my down comforter, downloaded a season of an American TV show (Mad Men), and got out the novel I'm reading by Barbara Kingsolver (i.e. not French lit).  Here I sit on Sunday morning, coffee in hand, feeling refreshed but not completely renewed.  But I'm not too worried; I think the bounce will come back, though it make take a few more 10-hour nights of sleep.

Any advice from those who've experienced homesickness, or from those who have temporarily lost their bounce, is welcome.

Bisous & sweet dreams,

Alice