The same, but not the same

One of the more magical aspects of sustained travel abroad is that, upon return, the old and familiar world of home can look transformed, or new - even, in a sense, foreign. That, at least, has been my experience over the past week. The aquarium, which we'd visited at least half a dozen times last winter and spring, now looks different, in relation to Cape Town's; the local grocery's offerings are startlingly different from the prepared foods, curry powders and pricey grapes to which we'd begun to grow accustomed. Heck, even driving on the right side of the road feels mildly exotic.

None of this is really a revelation. In fact, it's the stuff of cliches: you can't go home again, and so on. But it was really brought home for me when, as L. and I watched Cleo in her playroom the other evening, Satie's meditative Gymnopedies came on the radio. I've written about them before, and I still enjoyed them, but they now sounded slightly different: less spartan, and a bit more lush. In fact, they were slightly different: the recording was a new one to me. But the real point is that, regardless of who might have been playing them, they likely would have struck me as different.

Cleo still remembers how to climb up to the top of the Cold Spring playground tower; she still remembers where the Green Space is. But I, and I assume she, now also see those familiar spaces in a new light.