I was in Cyprus, watching the Inaugural events on television with Greek Cypriot and American friends. The images were clear: millions of people in Washington, D.C. and beyond, watching, moved by the moment; the emotional responses, even in our group, to the visual "change" in American politics; the hope that united us all, that our world will be a different place because of our choices. Of course, the Greek voiced-over descriptions of the ceremony, speeches, and swearing-in ceremony made the particulars of language unintelligible. But, it didn't matter. It was a patriotic moment, shared across the continents.

On the evening of July 16, 1969, I was in Zurich, Switzerland, standing in front of an electronics shop, watching Neil Armstrong step onto the surface of the moon. I didn't understand the comments from the television screen then, either, but I was aware that I had become part of a bigger, world community. And, I was so very proud to be an American.

There is something wonderfully poetic about sharing these events away from my home, my home town, home state, home country. I realize that we are not where we live, but how we feel.

Right now, Lee Greenwood's "Proud to Be an American" is reverberating through my being, and for the moment, I'm a member of the Stars and Stripes brigade, waving my flag for all to see.

I'm back. . .

Whatever possessed me to buy a ticket to Cyprus last October? After living here six months, did I think I could return "home"? T. Wolfe told me "no." And, he was right. It's a different world, not being a Fulbrighter, not having a car, not having a real purpose, not living in an apartment, not having my traveling partners Evi and Justine, not knowing how to structure my days.

But, different is not necessarily a bad thing. I'm on a mini-vacation in a place that fascinates me. I'm on foot, trekking two-three miles a day around the maze of streets in old and new Nicosia/Lefkosha. I'm tempted by the shoe stores in ways I wasn't when I was on the tighter budget. I can visit my favorite restaurants. And it is really a delight to pop in on people who do not expect to see me--at the University of Cyprus, at the Fulbright Office. The looks I've received! "Is it really you?"

I'm staying at the CAARI (Cyprus American Archeological Research Institute) on Andreas Demitriou Street near Wagamama. Here, I met a delightful young scholar, named Madeline, who recently graduated from Yale, was a member of the elect-Obama machine, and is on a year-long fellowship here. We traded secrets. I showed her where the good, close, home-style Cypriot restaurants are; she let me know the ins and outs of the Obama campaign. Tomorrow she heads back to the States for the Inauguration--one of the balls and all!

To date, I've checked in with friends, had dinners with colleagues, will see my ex-landlord tomorrow, shopped at Alpha Mega, strolled Makarios, crossed at both Green Zone checkpoints, and read the daily news.

In many ways, I feel I haven't left. In all ways, I know I'll return. . .again and again.