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After 10 hours at the border, Rachel got the visa and we went home. Home! I love to travel, but there's always a sigh of relief to return to the comfort of home, back to a familiar bed, even if it doesn't have sheets because of a recent electric blanket fire.

Having the other passengers go ahead without us when it was clear we would have a wait awhile, we had to negotiate a ride from the border to Damascus. In Damascus, we all passengers got out somewhere random and shared a taxi into the center of the city, during which the driver repeatedly asked me why I would not marry or at least give my phone number to the nice Jordanian sitting shotgun. How old are you? he asked, guessing 15, maybe 17?

When I got up to go, the bulge in my jeans pocket gave away my excuse that I didn't have a phone (my excuse I don't want to get married until I'm 30 was met with "I would wait, won't you wait?" by the taxi driver and "yes" by the Jordanian student).

At home, I inhaled chicken and dumped heated buckets of water over myself (there's only enough water pressure for the shower in the morning). Abu Mazen and Iyad questioned me about how much I know about the differences between Shi'ism and Sunnism, and Abu Mazen tried to convince me that believing Jesus is the son of God and God himself is kind of silly - I've told the family I'm Christian - my atheism is best not broadcast. I walked to Bab Toma to catch a micro, looking at all the Christmas lights still up. Ah, home.