A couple of fairly lazy days. Still a bit beat from being ill earlier in the week. Done a little bit of walking around, drinking coffees in local cafes and reading (feels slightly odd to be reading something as English as P.G. Wodehouse in Mexico). Went to a fancy castle and the modern art museum. Endured a lack of electricity during a thunder storm, and practiced my stuttering Spanish skills when trying to buy trousers and sunscreen.
Most of all, though, I’ve been feeling homesick. It’s something I’ve never ever felt before. Previous holidays have always left me wanting more, and hating going home. But this time, I keep thinking about Berlin. It’s eight weeks since I left, and if I had the chance to fly back tomorrow, I’d be very tempted. But my pride and ego will stop me going back sooner than I’d planned. Although my return-to-Europe flight date of 11th July does seem so very far away.
Each passing day, I miss Billy more and more. And each passing day, I worry that he’ll forget who I am by the time I get back. It really kicked me yesterday when I stopped in front of a pet store with some pretty puppies in cages in the window. I just wanna be back there with the little fella, walking around Mauerpark in the wind and rain.
Still, I’m not complaining. I know I’m lucky to be in Mexico right now, and in three weeks I’ll have visited three countries that I’ve never been to before. And, of course, I’ve got a long long time to go on this adventure; maybe I won’t be homesick for Berlin.
Seems weird, though, that it takes being half a world away to make me appreciate the old place.