I've been in a different country for every holiday since I moved overseas.
Thanksgiving in Denmark. Christmas in Spain. NYE in Ireland.
Valentines in Nepal. St. Patrick's in Norway.
Sarah and I have tickets for a birthday in Switzerland.
We expect to be home in time for Independence Day in the USA.
Valentine's Day found me dusty and sweaty in Southwest Nepal.
Gargare, our most stretching week.
Complete with swarms of mosquitoes and overflowing toilets.
My Swedish friend, Jon, was having a massive craving for American flapjacks,
a few weeks prior, so one afternoon I tracked down all the necessary ingredients,
but it was three weeks between kitchens.
So I lugged three kilos worth of flour, baking powder, butter, and sugar
around in my backpack, all over Nepal.
It ended up being Valentines Day before I could make them.
Tegan and I tried rather hard to make our pancakes heart-shaped.
Highly difficult when your Nepali friends are running through the room screaming,
and you can't regulate the heat of the pan and soybean oil is spattering all over the place.
It took several hours to make enough for thirteen of us.
Our hostess insisted that we were making Roti (Nepali flatbread)
"No! These are pancakes."
"Hahaha! No! Looooove-roti!"
Previous years, I've always made dinner, for friends, on February 14th.
With all of them squeezing into my tiny living room, over pans of enchiladas and lasagne.
So, naturally, this year followed similarly.
Friends. Feast. Candles. Living room floor.