I am always at the airport. Seriously, I am always there picking up a friend, dropping off a coworker, greeting a work team, or doing something at the airport. At times it feels like I belong there. Drop offs are the easiest. I pull up to the curb, get out of my car as a cop or some airport employee starts telling me I can't stay long.  With a sea of white-shirted, black-panted, luggage-cart-wielding vultures waiting on the sidelines, I unload the bags onto the curb, waive off the oncoming swarm telling them  "We have it, its ok, thanks." Then a handshake and a hug, and finally a: “Goodbye.”  or  “See ya in a couple weeks.”  or “Seriously don't worry about paying me. It was my pleasure.” Then, I leave. Pick ups and meet and greets, are a little more complicated, but only just slightly. I go, park the car, hit the front steps, check out the monitor for the arrival times and wait. If you are not used to the airport, things can get pretty overwhelming.  People shoving signs in your face, signs with names like like Wedermeyer, or Ivanov, or Vermeulen all giving hints to where these strangers have just arrived from. There are people screaming and shouting and selling lottery tickets, not to mention the slick looking guys with their shirts unbuttoned to their nipples asking you: “Where you going?”  or  “You need ride?”  or just  “What hotel?” Now, at least, they have stopped asking.  Maybe its because I am there so often, or because I have a fairly memorable look (a 6'6" bearded white man is not the norm here), or because itsALWAYS the same people working the crowd,but  regardless why, they don't bother asking anymore.
Anyway, when the team, or group, or person arrives I take their bags, get them and their luggage situated in the Sexy Beast and head off to their home, or hotel, or place of lodging. So, this Friday I find myself at the airport once again.  I seek out my favorite pillar to lean against.  Its my favorite because I can see both exits from the airport (you never want to miss the person you came for) but this time I can't get comfortable.  I can't fall into my routine.  I feel strange. Well, I feel less strange and more excited. As time passes I start to feel really excited, like a little kid when his dad walks in the door with hands behind the back saying guess what I have excited. Why? Because I am at the airport to pick up a group of people I know, people who know me, friends. These guys are from my church. We have been emailing and facebooking for months, but Friday they arrived. Now if you have ever had the opportunity to live outside of your own country, or even your own community for any extended period of time I think you will understand why I was so excited. Living outside your country, your community, your home culture is draining. No matter how much you get used to it, its still just a little off. There are always things about this new culture that you will never understand, always some word you've never heard, some joke you just can't get, you are NEVER truly comfortable. Sometimes the drain is subtle. You might feel overly tired one night, or have an inexplicable argument with your spouse, or have a strange desire to watch 2 straight weeks of Olympic Curling during some of the hottest days of the year. There are also they days when you have an incredible desire to eat at your favorite restaurant back home, or watch television without using SAP, or drink a Venti Skinny Vanilla Latte from Starbucks. You may even find yourself, at times, hating everything about your new home: the food, the language, the architecture, everything. Then, when friends arrive, especially friends from home, everything seems right.  There is no need to search for words, they just flow. You can talk for hours about old friends, recall special times you shared together. Everything just makes sense.   The “That's what she said” jokes start coming, the word “dude” doesn't raise eyebrows, you don't have to explain what Tahoe Joe's is nor why just the mention of it makes your mouth water. Everyone KNOWS that In and Out makes the best burger, and nobody tells you that 112 degrees there isn't so bad because its a dry heat. I miss being home, but in these moments it feels as if I never left.