I have written about my life as an expat before. There are many things that make this life engaging and soul-enriching in my opinion but there is one curious collection of expat feelings that I go through when travelling to a place that may one day be home.

I recently travelled to Lisbon. This is on my list of places to live in for so many reasons – the colours, the atmosphere, the food.

Will I ever be able to live here?
Who knows?

That does not stop me wanting to.

My holiday started predictably when the mumbling taxi driver waited for me in front of number 8 instead of number 18, despite my having filled in the online form correctly.

The trip to the airport took longer than usual due to a football match at the nearby Sparta stadium. Once there, the standard routine of queue, bags, security check, overpriced drinks and boarding continued as usual.

We were delayed by 15 min, but that’s hardly remarkable.

The reading light above me flickered like a Christmas light so I put my book away and tried to sleep. I closed my eyes, leant back into my chair and tried to relax.

And then it hit me.

I’m going to Lisbon.

L-I-S-B-O-N

I’m going to be back amidst the sounds, sights and smells of a sea-based city that has bewitched me since 2007.
I’m going to eat bacalhau.

I’m going to ride quaint trams along narrow roads that will remind me of Malta but be different at the same time.
I’m going to walk along the Praça do Comércio and stare at the architecture the way I do in Prague, my current home.

I’m going to sample one of the widest selections of food the way I used to in Brussels for 6 short years.

I know that what I am about to say is going to sound like madness.

At that point, aircraft engines whirring in the background, I felt homesick.
Homesick for Lisbon.

A place I have not yet lived in.

While I was on my way there.

Perhaps only an expat can understand this.

Perhaps I really am mad.

Perhaps I should embrace my madness.