On the flight to Oslo, via Schiphol, I was void of feelings. A great trip was drawing to and end, and I didn't know whether I was glad to go home or whether I would have prefered to continue traveling. A fat Texan in the seat next to me, swelling and snoring when sleeping, helped me decide that I in deed was looking forward to going home. Outside the windows, in the night, the Hale-Bopp comet twinkled good-bye, reminding me about my great time in Grand Canyon and many other places the last few months.

cold home I knew I was in Norway when I made a phonecall from the airport to a friend, which lasted for fourty seconds and cost me the equivalent of US$4 and the bus to the city another US$8. Besides there was snow outside. There wasn't much to do but to figure out the cheapest way to get home and get the tickets I needed. My money lasted until I was about to get on the last three hour bus home to where my parents live. Then I was broke. I explained to the driver that I had actually traveled around the world, on budget, but now, 170 kilometres away from home, I had no more money. He said that was the stupidest excuse he'd heard for years, so he let me ride home for free, as long as I promised I'd pay for the ticket as soon as I got home and could borrow money from someone.

Thus I came home in one piece, after possibly the longest journey I will undertake in my whole life. Ah, the luxury of being able to drink tap water without risking cholera or OD'ing on chlorine, to get ice cubes from the freezer anytime, to have up-to-the-minute news constantly available and all the other things we always take for granted at home. I cherished it all, and was definitely happy to be home.

The trip had given me energy to finish my studies with the necessary efforts, and I soon found myself in a life of routines again. It wasn't long before I started preparing for new trips...

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Last modified: Sun Jul 7 19:58:20 CEST 2002