There's No Place Like Home

When the time came to leave Asia, I put on my ruby red slippers and clicked my heels three times.

^ Click One: Goodbye, Danang, with your sweet, little airport and gentle, communist ways. I'll come back to see you next year.

^ Click Two: Oh hay, Hong Kong, remember me? Istanbul, Amsterdam, Johannesburg, Rio de Janiero...your gates lead to some exotic places and I'm tempted to wander. But for today, I'm going home

^ Click Three: Vancouver. All night long. There is a certain irony in spending an eight-hour layover at an airport that is just over 100 miles away from home. But that's what I did. And when the sun rose and I climbed onto this little puddle jumper for the last leg of my flight home, I was thrilled for the final chapter in my lovely, long adventure. 

There's no place like home...

There's no place like home...

There's no place like home...

^ Wait. There is my home!!

We flew right past Mukilteo and I saw my good old hometown ferry plying the waters in the golden sunlight of dawn. Squint hard and you can make out a tiny black speck in the sunlit patch of water. Somewhere on that forested bluff to the right lies my home, my family, and my sleeping furry pets. 

Smoothly, my plane touched down, rolled up to the gateway and came to a stop.

I opened my eyes, and found myself in a gingham dress with a wet washcloth on my forehead.

No, no. Just kidding.

But I grabbed my suitcase and walked outside where the cool Pacific Northwest air washed over me, and I knew that for all the miracles of travel, there really is no place like home.