It's funny how you can feel nostalgic about a place after just a short time there. Of course, it's rarely just the place that tugs at your heartstrings. It's the memory of the people you knew and the experiences you had. I have great affection for Los Angeles, despite the fact that it is, for most intents and purposes, one giant, exhaust-shrouded, sun-scorched, cement covered mass of urban confusion. How could such a place make a person feel all warm and fuzzy? But it does. I also love the tiny town of Solvang, San Francisco, Denver, Gunnison of course and, harking way back, Portland. Hilo gives me a little tingle every time I emerge from the airplane and into the warm, damp air, where it smells like flowers and coconut oil and the sea. I discovered some feelings of nostalgia for the University of Anchorage campus today. That surprised me. After all, wasn't I just put through the ringer here, sleep deprived, brain tissue soaked and then wrung out like a wet washcloth? I went downtown to shop around, eat one more hunk-o-halibut and check out the museum. It was nice. I returned to campus and, walking the familiar path from the bus station near the library to the dorms, I got the feeling.
"Where is everybody?" I though. "I'm going to miss this place." Leaving feels a little like leaving home. I guess that's because it has been home for the past two weeks. What a fantastic experience! I've met people I now consider friends and whom I know will remain so into the future. I can't wait to come back. For now though, I am looking forward to seeing my furry babies again. And the not-so-furry one, too.
It's 11:30 p.m. and the sun has finally set here. I'm the last of the writers to leave. My plane lifts off for Seattle at 2:30.
A hui hou. Aloha!
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