So here I am…sitting in the living room of my flat, drinking a hot cup of mint tea, listening to the tunes of Cat Stevens singing “Peace Train” while also hearing the rumblings of the nearby metro six floors down and one block over, and realizing that I LIVE here. I live in this ancient city with thousands of years of history and millions upon millions of inhabitants. Although I have only been here for seven short days, I know where the best supermarkets and fruit stands are located in my neighborhood. I know what to do when the light in my dark stairwell goes out. I know how to read numbers and most letters in this foreign and difficult language that I am attempting to grasp. I know who to call to have water from the corner store delivered to my flat (so I don’t have to haul it up six floors). I know the lady who owns my building. I know that taking a shower is usually either too hot or too cold, and it takes practice to achieve a satisfactory lukewarm. And I am thankful for when we have water at all! I know how much I should pay for pears grown here in my country and that imported pears are ridiculously expensive. I know how to get from my flat to several friends’ flats by taxi. And I can even explain to the taxi driver, in his language, how to get back to my flat, which I have found is sometimes more challenging. This is not a “vacation” or a “trip”…it is my life. Although temporary, this is my home.