No matter how many turns around the world my life goes through, my hometown will always be what I call my home home. There's home, where I live and spend most of my days, and there's home home, the city and village where I grew up and lived until I was 17.
What's it like home home?
Home home is to walk through the narrow cobble stoned streets and live so many memories.
It is to smell the unique scent of Spring, a mixture of lilacs, lavender rosemary and other herbs, in the air.
It is to pass by the city garden and see the same two old ladies gossiping, the same old man sleeping on the bench under the shade, and the children eating ice cream bought in the same little old kiosk.
It is to walk around with my mom and stop every 5 minutes to chat with someone random because she knows everybody!
It is to go to the market and buy fresh fish. And then grill it in the fireplace.
It is to be outside wearing just a t-shirt and then put on a sweater to be at home.
It is to go to my parents backyard and harvest the ingredients I need to cook dinner. Perhaps carrots, tomatoes and parsley. And then strawberries, while we wait for the cherries and the kiwis to mature.
It is too arrive at home and have a welcomy bread pudding made by one of our neighbours.
It is to go cycling with my dad and see how much he can still push me.
It is to enjoy a glass of red wine, from a bottle that costed 2 euro, while I write this post.
It is also to know that I could never live here again, but for a few days it's the best place to be!