Out of Humous: Homesick

Those of you who have read my past entries (or have ever walked up and down mountains) already know it involves some difficulty.

Those of you who have been to the jungle know it's like Tel Aviv in the summer, only with more mosquitoes and less pollution. Those of you who have travelled on horseback know it's as bumpy as driving in Jerusalem.

Homesickness, however, can rarely be compared with anything else. It has its physical dimension, though. Don't let anybody tell you it's just in your mind. It feels like your body contracts so as to fit into a tube that would release it on the other side of the planet. The process, though physically unpleasant, is eased by an expected sense of expansion and relief at its end. At home.

It can happen after nine months or after two weeks, depending on the person and the experiences. It's hard when you miss your loved ones, though it's probably harder for the ones left behind. The parents, also left behind, are involved in these trips. They would love for their son or daughter to enjoy themselves but would be much happier to see them close again, exposed only to the known and familiar dangers.
 
Those sometimes over-worrying parents are now missed, not to mention the home-cooked food. So many travellers would trade the best chunk of Argentinean meat, the best Chilean wine, the best Uruguayan cup of mate and the most delicious Brazilian exotic fruit for a home-cooked meal.
 
The holidays, of course, are a classic time to get homesick. It's not just the family dinner, it's also going out with friends afterwards; it's the favorite bar, the streets, the pet and, let us not forget, your favorite hummus place.
 
"I already scheduled with about ten people to have hummus once I get back," one traveller told me. It appears that the topic never exhausts itself. Naturally, this is not a matter people from Jerusalem and Tel Aviv can agree upon. Netanya, Acco and Ramla also have their pride, but there is hardly anyone to hold those flags.
 
All those hummus imitations you run into in your travels - they only remind you of the times you had the real thing, and the streets you used on your way there and back. A world in which you drove a car, had your own bed and hobbies. A world in which you knew the language and all the in and outs. A world apart.
 
What do I miss? Well, I miss my family. I miss my parents and my brother who I haven't seen for months. I also miss the trees I planted at my parents' garden. I miss my friends and the smell of the land in the Sharon at first rain.
 
I too miss my hummus, as you can imagine. There's that tiny place in Jerusalem. It's next to a church and not far from a nice historic building, where architecture students, working people, students from the two nearby neighborhoods and others gather on weekdays for the best hummus.

And for yourselves, who probably feel the need for a vacation, here are some pictures from the Salkantai trek which ended at the Machu Picchu and the horse ride to the Ausangate mountain.