35 km on the Otago Rail Trail

As I’m typing, I’m still under the adrenaline rush.

Of all amazing things I’ve had the opportunity to experience in New Zealand, this probably has been my favorite so far. The combination of a cloudy, mildly fresh —but not too cool— day; gorgeous, raw, rural landscape, and the beloved —and by this point much needed— physical sensation of exercising was so rewarding, so fulfilling, I was ecstatic.

We left Lauder to cycle all the way back to Wedderburn. What awaited us? Never-ending prairies of all imaginable nuances of golds and browns, flowers of beautiful, bright colors setting a strong contrast against the pale vegetation and the grey sky. On both sides of the dirt road, countless sheep and cows feeing on the exuberant grass —they occasionally lifted their heads to set their curious eyes on us as we circled through—, the sporadic sight of a jackrabbit hopping ahead on the road, and beautiful birds (according to my field guide to the wildlife of New Zealand, probably many of them yellowhammers).

No cars, no buildings, no artificial sounds or other people in sight to distract us from absorbing the essence of the Otago region through all senses.

It was 35 km of nourishment for the soul, and I could have kept going for many, many more.

PS.: I didn’t think the day could get any better, but then a ladybug just landed on my arm.

Not all kiwis are flightless

I jumped from an airplane at 15.000 feet (4500m).

To begin with, I’m not even sure why exactly I did it. When I put my name on that list I assumed that it wasn’t binding and that I could get out of it any time. Well, it was, and I couldn’t. I had no time to think about it twice when they had already charged me. To make things worse, I had signed up for the highest jump, which I didn’t realize involved a longer free fall (yay). I didn’t want to lose my money, that’s true. But regardless of my assumptions on cancellation policies, why had I put my name on that list in the first place, to begin with? I have a tendency to assume negative outcomes when I’m not in control. A few years ago, due to my surfing accident —one that defied all statistical probability—, this error of thought was consolidated a bit more deeply into my subconscious mind. I think I needed to get rid of that, to become more rational again —even if doing so ironically required me to engage in the most irrational behavior imaginable.

Showing up at the venue, hoping onto the bus, getting into my harness and meeting my instructor all triggered an increasing release of cortisol into my bloodstream. But only getting on the plane made it all feel final for good. As we gained altitude and mountains and lakes decreased in size, the fear and anxiety in me skyrocketed to levels I had never experienced before. And so did the flow of tears rolling down my cheeks. I was sobbing and breathing fast. The notion that it was too late to go back was very scary, but at the same time, I wasn’t sure I even wanted to. What would I be teaching my brain by doing so? To run away from fear? That facing challenge and adversity was not a task I could master? That I just could not do it? I didn’t want it to be that way, but I also really didn’t want to die. All these contradicting feelings and turbulent thoughts where unfolding inside my head when I felt my instructor reach out to hold my hand and shout some comforting words in my ear. This and the feeling of his regular steady breathing right against my back calmed me down a bit, but the panic increased again as he started to hook himself up to my harness, and peaked when he placed an oxygen mask over my nose and mouth. This could only mean that we were about to reach the drop zone. Suddenly, the door slid open and the first tandem jumped. I shrieked. Before I knew it, it was my turn.

The anticipation while sitting at the door, legs dangling off the edge of the plane, was barely bearable. There are no words to describe the tension that arises from the absolute resignation of facing such a life-threatening situation, knowing that you’ll be confronting death any second and there is NOTHING you can do to avoid it. I was cramped into my “banana position”, as that was the only thing regarding safety that was in my hands. By this point, with just the edge of my overwhelmed conscience, I was vaguely aware that my goggles were sitting slightly displaced, pressuring lightly agains my left lower eyelid, which just added to the absolute panic that I was already experiencing. I closed my eyes and bent my head backwards the way I had been instructed to. It was imminent. All of a sudden and without warning I was pushed into the abyss.

At first, there was no wind, no resistance at all keeping my organs from dropping in that terrifying way they do when diving into water from a height. Just the night before, I had searched for people’s testimonies on their skydiving experiences, trying to gain an idea of what it’d be like. Many stated that fear disappeared as soon as you left the aircraft, and that after that, you just felt like floating. Bllsht. I felt like I was falling, and that I was faking FAST. The faster I fell, the stronger the wind became, which did make the experience of free falling slightly less physically distressing. But it also only displaced my goggles further upwards —so that at one point I could barely open my left eye— and it made it impossible for me to reach out to put them back in place. All this while having the camera man desperately trying to catch me smiling. Plummeting towards the ground at 200km/h, literally half blind: the smiling part just wasn’t gonna happen. Also, I was too busy screaming my lungs out. Again, someone had said that at that speed you can’t really scream. Well, bllsht again!

All of a sudden, a strong force pushed me upright and up. That sudden and powerful change in speed and dynamic was, again, very scary. I screamed once more. Words can’t describe this feeling either. My mind was vaguely able to make sense of what was happening to my body, but all my primitive instincts were screaming in overload, desperately trying to, somehow, get me away from that situation. That must have lasted for about two to three seconds, but it felt like a lot longer. And then, as I was finally able to feel an actual physical resistance to my fall —provided by the parachute— without the impairing wind in my face, when I realized the worst part was over, the first wave of relief washed over my body. I was alive. The parachute had gone off. I laughed compulsively, I screamed out “oh my God!” over and over again. I turned around to my instructor and thanked him for saving my life at the top of my lungs. “Thank you for saving my life”. Strong words.

And so, I finally started to kind of enjoy myself in the most exhilarating way because I was alive. The views over the Wakatipu basin were absolutely stunning and my brain was finally able to register them as such, instead of just as purely menacing. It was a perfect sunny day. Too ideal, too beautiful and warm for the idea of having faced death to seem real. That scenic beauty seemed to add to the sense of safety that the parachute opening above my head had already provided. There were a couple of violent turns and another moment of panic when my instructor loosened up the strap around my chest midair to make me feel more comfortable (“No, no, I’m ok, I’m ok, please leave it tight, please!), but if I had to pick the most pleasurable bit about the experience, it would be that last descending part. Sooner than expected, after around 4 minutes of circling through the air, I was told to lift up my legs and before I knew it, also at a higher speed than expected, I had landed on my butt. I collapsed in the ground, I closed my eyes and I started to laugh compulsively. That pressure valve to my emotional overload turned into crying as soon as I stood up and the harness was removed from my body. It went on for quite some time. What was that feeling? It’s not easy to describe with just one word. It was a boiling mix between relief, gratitude, processed fear, panic and sure, probably also joy. And yet, this description is not enough. I'm sure the intensity of the feelings I experienced yesterday can only be fully understood by experiencing them fist-hand.

With smeared make-up and red eyes, all shaky limbs attached to my body and the widest smile on my face, I jumped on the bus back to Queenstown.

As for whether I would recommend it or do it again, I’m still processing. It’s way too early to say. However, that evening at the hostel I was brushing my teeth next to one of my friends when out of nowhere, I broke the silence with a single chuckle. “What?”, she managed to ask with a mouth full of toothpaste. “It’s the skydiving”, I replied in the same fashion. We laughed.

62 Magdalenas

Magdalenas are Spanish cupcakes. They are made of flour, sugar, olive oil and lemon. “Llorar como una magdalena” — to cry like a Magdalena— is a Spanish phrase used to refer to someone who´s crying profusely. It originates from the way Maria Magdalena, the biblical figure, is often depicted in classical art. Well, I just spent five hours baking 62 magdalenas as a farewell gift for my department, since next week will be my last there. I did so while reminiscing, daydreaming, listening and singing to Christmas music. These hours of uninterrupted introspection allowed me to realize something I wasn´t fully, mindfully conscious of until now: it´s been a rough year; a bit of heartache, some loneliness, lots of hard work, long hours, lack of sleep, crappy lunches or lack of them, weekend and late shifts… but it´s also been a pretty amazing one. It´s easier to focus on the negative, because it´s more evenly scattered across time. But the positive is readily taken for granted and not properly reflected on, which is a recurring predisposition in me and should undoubtedly be actively fought against. I have experienced so many heartwarming, moving, intense, beautifully overwhelming moments this past year. And they all came to mind on this quiet Sunday of magdalena baking. I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve, that’s a fact. And though most of the following experiences didn´t literally led to madalena tears, some did, and almost all of them came pretty close. In chronological order:

• Attending Jordan Peterson´s lecture in Zurich. Somehow, I was incredibly lucky to find second-hand tickets one week in advance. Not all the content resonated with me and my convictions, some of it might have been a bit low putting as well, but one thing this is undeniable: this man is a great speaker. It was pure pleasure to witness his eloquence and, in my opinion as a non-native speaker, beautiful ways with English rhetoric live. Everyone else in that room was in trance as well. Not a cough. Not a phone in sight. Magic.

• Getting Penelope. I am aware of the fact that being able to play guitar masterfully and gracefully is a skill that requires firm determination, regular practice and long time to acquire. I admire anyone who can play an instrument skillfully. Not only do I admire them, but drool on the ground they step on. But how difficult could it be, to be able to memorize and play simple chords while singing, in a campfire-gathering-kind of style? I gave it a try and figured it out. And I must say being able to do that now is extremely satisfying. I have no wish to find out how I sound outside of my head, but I am content as it is. Challenged mastered.

• Defending my doctoral thesis in front of the two evaluators, my parents and my best friend. The latter showed up with an alcohol-free bottle of champagne, flowers, and two balloons shaped like a capital D and R respectively. No need to add anything else.

• Holding little Popcorn in my hand for the first time. She was so soft, tiny and bony. It felt like she would break anytime just from looking at her. When I first got her she ran away from me screaming (I didn´t know hamsters could make that sound. I won´t lie, it was equally hilarious as it was heartbreaking). Fast forward nine months, she now comes when I call her tapping on the floor. She´s the sweetest, low-maintenance roommate that anyone could ask for. And so far, she only bit me once, when my finger smelled like red pepper.

• Participating on a swimming competition for the first time in over 10 years. It happened in Bavaria. I didn´t shine. Not to be expected when resuming swimming after 10 years of showers being the sole regular water exposition I subdued my body to. Less so after (gladly) getting only 2,5h of sleep the previous night. But the absolute highlight was the moment this guy who´d painfully struggled to complete his 200m butterfly finally touched the wall. Must have been the longest it has ever taken anyone. Does that count as some sort of world record? It was PAINFUL to watch, which made it accordingly enormously satisfying to see him reach the end without disqualification. By the last lap he had grabbed every single present person´s attention. When he finally made it, hundreds of bodies exploded into long applause and deafening roars and cheers. I remember the way the guy responded by lifting his fist and smiling, and how that only made everyone else, me included, scream even louder. Once again, beautiful, uplifting. I will never forget that moment that embodies everything community, sportsmanship and even humanity is supposed to mean.

• Seeing an HD FULL double rainbow. It happened during our ferry ride crossing back the Costa Rican gulf of Nicoya on our way back from Santa Teresa to San José. It was a gorgeous sunset already, but when I walked over to the opposite side of the deck and saw that wonder of nature in all its high definition glory right in front of me, my jaw dropped as low as it can. I made sure to get everyone to the other side as well. Best way to wrap up that already in itself amazing trip. First time I´ve ever left Europe ALONE, by the way. That one almost moved me to tears.

• Seeing Ed Sheeran live (under another full rainbow). 100.000 people. According to him, “biggest gig” he´d ever played. When he came out, so did the second HD full rainbow of the year (and probably of my life as well). According to him also “the only show where I´ve had a rainbow”. He then proceeded to hope we knew most of the songs, since otherwise it´d be ”two really long hours”, and to absolutely blow my mind. Needleless to say, the guy is talented, but what happens when you additionally DO know most of those songs? They just reach your heart with less resistance. The collective singing, the beautiful lyrics, the lights, the rainbow… That one definitely moved me to tears all the way. It took us one hour to get back to the car and two more hours to leave the parking lot. But it was unquestionably worth it.

• The Book of Mormon in London. Never ever in my life would I have thought that a musical could excite me, surprise me and make me laugh as intensely as that one did. And I can´t imagine another live show ever toping it. From the first song “Hello!” onwards, it was a mind-blow after another. I was in awe at the wittiness of the cheeky, even provocative to offensive lyrics, whose moral questionability you couldn´t help but instantly forgive before having the chance (or wanting!) to reflect on it. Throughout the whole thing, I was equally horrified as I was amused. Still can´t get over “Turn it off” and “Hasa Diga Eebowai”. Guilty pleasure much. I also think that, as an estrogen-charged individual, there was something additionally appealing about watching a group of talented young men singing and dancing in perfect coordination from the close comfort of the second row. That one definitely moved me to tears… of laughter.

• Watching the first friend I made here on my very first day as a medical student get married. To her boyfriend of almost 10 years. I did cry like a madgalena at the church. Remembering her teary face and his eyes full of emotions as she walked down the aisle still gives me the feels. When they first danced together as husband and wife, they radiated joy and love it was almost blinding… and consequently that´s the last thing I remember seeing clearly after my eyes teared up again. It was a beautiful wedding and the very author of this blog had the honor of catching the bouquet mid-air. She might or might not have (unintentionally!) pushed a very distressed looking little girl to the side in the process, and there might or might not be a picture taken by the wedding photographer to prove so.

• Getting the new job I wanted. I was in Madeira the morning I looked down at my phone to find a missed call from my soon to be new boss, less than a week after my interview. My heart dropped when I realized it was the hospital´s number. I called back on a 100bpm heartrate to hear his kind voice confirming the good news. I hung up trembling, told my parents in a messy blur of hugs and kisses and rushed to call my bestie (yes, the capital D, capital R friend). Definitely tears of joy that day as well.

• My birthday. I was working night shifts that week. Thus, I was about to spend the first hours of my birthday alone in an empty, dark hospital ward (not that I minded, since I had plans the next day that would have made up for that anyway). That is what would have happened, at least, if its wasn´t for one of my colleagues. He stayed late “working on his poster”. Two minutes before midnight he took me to a hospital rooftop I didn´t even know that we had, and made a chocolate cake, a candle and a lighter appear out of his backpack. I blew the candle to a misty, but beautifully lit up city below my feet. It was such kind and selfless gesture, sweeter than the cake. One of the best, most unexpected memories of the year. I´m so happy and humbled knowing people like that exist.

• Having my makeup and hair done by a professional make-up artist, as I acted as model for both, his own website and my hobbyist photographer friend´s. It sounds girly and superficial left at that, but it was a special experience in many ways. I find any creative process captivating to watch, but it reaches a whole other connotation when performed on something as close to me as my own face. It was an experience for (almost) all senses: the gentle, almost soothing strokes of his brushes on my cheeks, the cozy acoustic guitar tunes playing in the background, the smell of powder, the sight of an artist in trance as he fully, delicately concentrated on his creation. Pretty cool stuff.

• Venice in November. As I wrote on my precious post (literally), I set foot on St Mark´s Square on a Friday afternoon. Just as daylight was finally fading, a five-man band featuring accordion, bass guitar, clarinet, piano and violin was striking the end note of its version of “What a Wonderful World” when all of a sudden, the piazza lit up. There was a spontaneous echo of “aaaws” and “aaahs” produced by all tourists lucky enough to have been present at the moment. And that was one of the most beautiful moments I’ve experienced lately, one of those that makes me feel grateful for all my fully functional senses, and for being alive.

After going over all these points I think I have more than enough reasons to state that, even though it hasn´t been perfect at all times, my year has been pretty fantastic so far. I feel loved and blessed and lucky. I know for a fact there is much, much more to come, starting next week.

But for now, I´m happy thinking of how tomorrow I´ll turn up to deliver my 62 freshly baked magdalenas to my wonderful colleagues and staff.