It is funny how soon you begin to feel that a place is home. On Saturday I strolled with my host brother through town. He is actually a student doing an internship in Rouen, not any actual relation to my host family (it's just easier to say host brother rather than all of that.) He had not been to downtown Rouen yet so we had a nice afternoon walk though the shops and squares of Rouen. I was leading him through streets, giving a mini tour when he asked me how I knew so much about Rouen.
"Well, I have lived here for 2 1/2 months, I should hope I know it."
I got to thinking about how familiar Rouen has become for me. I know the bus/metro system like the back of my hand. I have my favorite haunts... aka shoe stores and cafés. I run into people when I am walking through town. It has quickly become home to me. The cobblestone is now normal. Seeing the spires of the cathedral is a orienting tool, not just a tourist attraction.
I was communicating this same thing to my friend Clara and she said, "it has become a second home. Or actually, a third for me. Home, Canton and Rouen." That got me to thinking. How many places do I think of as home? Many times I have asked myself "where is my hometown?" but this is a different question altogether. After moving several times and traveling a lot, I have racked up quite a bit of places that have been homes to me. There are the normal obvious places, San Diego, Princeton, Pataskala, Bremerton, Canton, and Watertown. But also, there are the places like Mzuzu and Rouen in which I have come to call or think of as home.
Perhaps "home" is the wrong word. However I think that for me, home has been relative. Home is where my family has been. Now, in Rouen, I have been surrounded by people who quickly became a part of my family. Thus, Rouen, like many other places, has joined my collection of homes.
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