Still abroad (but at least on my “home” continent).
It’s been a trip. This is country number three (I don’t think a train trip, and an ale in Wales, counts as a separate country, nor the short layover in Frankfurt), and bed number 5/6 (depending on how one thinks of sleeping for two (freezing) hours on a banquette on the Ferry across the Irish Sea, from Holyhead to Dublin). I feel oddly liminal. I want to be back in Ireland, or England. I also want to be home.
Toronto is hella familiar, to the point of being homey; but the past month has made some things which are different quite familiar. I like some of them better (not paying to withdraw money, a better attitude toward alcohol, more readily available street food of good quality, etc). Others (the quality of the coffee, the power outlets matching my plugs, the money being worth about what I expect, and the price of things being in keeping with what I’m used to paying, etc.) are nice to come back to.
So I am neither away from home, nor at home.