In the interest of full disclosure and honesty, I will now say that the bus rides in Norway are not the oh my god most expensive things ever. At 8 dollars US, they are the same price as a tube ride in London.
Yikes. So much for exemplary public transit in the rest of the world. I mean, I love the tube, but I will take a 2 dollar subway ride, thanks.
So, yay, London. It's lovely here. Once again, I get to spend the time someplace where I am familiar and feel relatively comfortable and like I know where I am and where I am going. Once again, I don't have much of an agenda - but since London is less atmospheric than Paris, now my agenda is mostly to shop; today was every bookstore I could find (why does Britain do even Borders better?) and tomorrow is Oxford Street.
But I can't shake the knowledge that I am going home in 2 days. It's surreal to me. I have been both loving where I am and loving what I am doing and missing home at the same time for so long that I don't know if I know how to not be like that anymore. As unreal as my whole trip has felt, the end of it feels almost the most significant and unbelievable part.
There is lots more to say, about going back to the States and about being at home, but I don't have the words. It is certainly bittersweet, and it is inexplicably sudden. I have known exactly how long I have for about the last month, and yet the thought of Mexican food and my own bed and a hug from my mother actually being as close as they are feels oddly abrupt.
I hope I'm ready for it.