There's No Place Like Home - Nearly

Today at 4pm GMT i arrived back in the first world.

It was the usual long-haul. Partying until 5am, packing till 6am. 2hours in front of the computer, on the internet. Passing out, passing in. Until 8am when my neighbours drove me to Rio's bus-terminal.

6 hours on the bus to Sao Paulo, 3 hours waiting at the airport, 2hours checking in. 6.5 hours to Amsterdam, transit, an hour delay, then the final 45minutes to London. Where, muscles twitching uncontrollably from the confinement, i make my way out of the airport.

Out of the subway station, Soho, and i can taste the excitement. Houses are orderly, streets wide and clean and filled with the cries of Sunday-evening revellers, and the expensive whirr of the Bmw's and Mercedes and Aston Martins that pass.

I feel like im in a carefully crafted advertisement on Brasilian tv. The kind that many Brasilians dream of living, in the same way they dream of going to the moon.

But here in London, the difference between rich and poor is compacted. And suddenly for the first time in a long time, i dont feel so bad for wanting things; a new camera, a nice car, to over-eat, to over-buy, to live in nice apartment with downlights and polished wood floors, plush couches, a laptop, and a king-size bed.

***

Its now 2am. Im passing in/out again - tired. The rumble of the trucks is coming in through the open windows and I wonder about my time, volunteering, in Brazil and how should I have changed


ps ill be more upbeat next post. promise :)