Miami with Browniecake

Almost three months ago I arrived in Athens at midnight —a walking chaos with a suitcase, a lined-up nerve-wrecking job interview, a head bursting with excitement and ideas, and a broken heart.
I went up to my room to find an empty bed framed by two other girls already fast asleep. A couple of hours later I’d open my eyes to a beautiful and friendly smile, barely inches away from mine.

“Hi, I’m Marta!”
“Hi, I’m Diana!”
“Nice to meet you. I love waking up next to strangers!”

I couldn’t have been more awkward, but she laughed, and soon after some of that same weirdness was reflected back at me —it was refreshing, and I knew we would get along.

Fast forward a couple of amazing weeks of Greek island hopping, some postcards, some texting, many voice messages, and suddenly there I was —being picked up at Miami International Airport by the same beautiful and friendly smile, this time behind a self-made sign reading “Welcome back home from (sex) rehab, Marta!”. 
Talk about awkward and refreshing (I loved it).

Our first stop was authentic Salvadoran food for dinner —a chicken pupusa like I’d never tasted before, which could only be topped by finally meeting Othello, whose huge puppy eyes barely left space for the rest of his facial features, and whose nose was as humid as Miami’s mid-fall air (inside joke alert).
It was a late arrival at D’s home followed by long overdue girl talk until the early morning.

The next day, we enjoyed a succulent cuban breakfast at Versailles after rescuing her mom’s giant Thanksgiving turkey from a collapsed tray in the oven (I had to gasp in disbelief and amusement at her casual “es el más chiquito que pude encontrar”), which would eventually lead to a somewhat false alarm of burnt poultry and smoke everywhere. After our heroic efforts there was my third visit to Fort Lauderdale Beach, last having taken place many years ago, evoking memories of past summers, of a sneaky kiss from a cheeky but charming 18-year-old afroamerican boy at the time years younger than me, of first impressions of Florida, or even the US, and flashes of long car rides to the Keys and the Everglades. 

I had the fortune of spending my first Thanksgiving in the United States, welcomed by the warm hospitality of a suburban Salvadoran home in the outskirts of Miami, around delicious and abundant food and engaging conversation with up until then complete strangers who received me at their table like they’d known me forever. There were lots of laughter, and the amazing opportunity to learn more about what it’s like to live in the States first hand —the pros and cons, the blessings and the struggles. An amazing enriching experience which I will no doubt never forget.
The beautiful evening ended with our by then familiar drive back home, followed by more girl talk until way past midnight.

The best home made omelette rollitos I’ve ever tasted entered my stomach as breakfast the following day, and accompanied us to Oleta Beach, where we enjoyed two hours of kayaking around the mangroves, crowned by an adventurous dip, a few (more or less graciously) dodged roots and branches, Pokahontas soundtrack singing destroying and tummy ache inducing cracking up. 
“What’s the minimum you’d have to be payed in order to drink a gulp of this water?”
“I don’t know, does my life have a price?”
But nothing was as priceless as the look on Diana’s and Kevin’s faces at the sight of the horrifyingly humongous, edematous Miami Beach mosquito bite on my forehead, big enough to have its own gravitational pull. 
“Are you sure you didn’t bump your head??”

After that, the visited colorful Wynwood, sidetracked only by the casual “hey, got ecstasy, LSD, all that” bluntly and unapologetically blurted out at us while turning a corner, as well as a first acquaintance with a $15000 water drone designed for “agricultural activities” frequently sold to “certain sites in South America”. We binged on delicious Asian cuisine like starving little monsters —poke bowls, bao buns and taiyaki (first try ever, sold on the first bite). As the grand finale, I dared to sing destroy “It’s Raining Men” at Sweet Caroline Karaoke Bar armed by the confidence provided by knowing I’d never see my audience victims again.
Drive back home aaaaand more girl talk.

We made it to the airport after our last Salvadoran breakfast and a visit to the movie theater to watch new Disney’s Encanto on American style XXL reclinable seats while being served overpriced food and beverages like true VIPs. By that time my new Miami Pandora charm was proudly dangling right next to the NYC one.

It was pure chaos at MIA until the very moment I sat down on Air Europa’s Boeing 43A (or something), landing in Madrid 9 hours later just to discover I’d booked the wrong date for my connecting flight back to Switzerland. Hence, my forced (but very wholesome) hotel night spent near Madrid Barajas with plenty of time for blogging and room service.

Maybe the reason I’m so aloof and all over the place is that I’m using lots of mental space to process and store the amazing memories I’ve made these last couple of days, or even months. And to come to terms with the joy experienced by having found an AMAZING new friend when I least expected it, and of having had the incredible opportunity to spend so much time with her the way I did.

Life is not perfect. Life can and will be tough at times. But as I have so often experienced, it can also be deeply rewarding and satisfying, just as stepping out your door to a radiant 25°C sunny Florida day in late November. 
I’m so, so thankful for mine.

Te quiero, Tenerife

Pasar una semana en casa me ha venido muy bien.

Gracias a la tecnología es posible mantener buena y frecuente comunicación con las personas importantes en la vida, pero afirmando lo obvio, nada supera pasar tiempo junto a ellas. En los momentos en los que me siento más sola, confundida y perdida es mi familia —además de mis amigos mas cercanos— la que de verdad ilumina el camino. A su vez, es curioso como las mismas experiencias que provocan dolor, dudas e inseguridad, son las que fortalecen y abren los ojos a la realidad de ciertos aspectos de la vida incuestionables hasta ese momento —tanto patrones de pensamiento y conducta como relaciones personales problemáticas y/o perjudiciales —tanto breves como longevas.

Hay muchas razones por las que me alegro de vivir donde lo hago, y por las que me ilusiona tanto el proyecto de continuar con mi formación radiológica en la bella y avanzada Suiza. Por otro lado, no son pocos los motivos por los que a menudo —especialmente en invierno— siento añoranza y pena por no poder pasar más tiempo en mi tierra.

Minutos antes de escribir estas palabras, durante el despegue de mi vuelo con destino de vuelta a Basilea, fui testigo de unas de las vistas aéreas de la isla de Tenerife más claras e impresionantes de toda mi vida. Lo vi todo: el árido paisaje del sur bordeado por sus turísticas playas y salpicado de activos molinos eólicos, la autopista del sur conectando con la capital y las zonas más pobladas del norte de la isla —pasando por la Tabaiba de mi querido Colegio Alemán, y por Radazul, donde dos de mis amigos alemanes pudieron disfrutar de unas preciosas vistas a primera línea de mar durante los desayunos de esta semana. Un poco más allá, Santa Cruz de Tenerife, con el emblemático auditorio junto a las piscinas del Parque Marítimo, conectando a través de amplias y verdes avenidas con la piscina municipal, en las que tantas horas pasamos entrenando para el Alameda y el Teneteide después de clase. También lucía imponente el Macizo de Anaga, con sus aislados y misteriosos roques adornando la costa más noreste de la isla —un bonito reto para cualquier ciclista motivado y un poco loco. En la autopista del norte, la conocida curva tan pronunciada a la altura de Taco, y un poco más allá, nuestro segundo aeropuerto. El Valle de la Orotava y el Puerto De la Cruz eran distinguibles ya algo difuminados al fondo. Y casi casi como un borrón imperceptible, la zona de Los Silos y Las Canteras, que siempre asociaré con viejas fritas, papas rellenas y veranos entre plataneras y verbenas. Y, como no, el majestuoso Teide, coronándolo todo con sus suaves faldas de cenizas, roca volcánica y magma enfriado. 

Las amplias columnas de humo de la actual explosión volcánica de La Palma perfectamente visibles en el horizonte confirmaban de manera irrefutable la inusual claridad de este precioso día de otoño.

Y yo siento gratitud. Por haber nacido y crecido en el paraíso. Y por haberlo hecho segura, sana, querida, rodeada y guiada por la mejor familia que podía haber deseado. Gratitud, también, por contar con la capacidad, determinación y fuerzas para poder afrontar con éxito una formación de calidad en un idioma extranjero, tan lejos de todo lo que me importa —con unos horizontes personales y profesionales desafiantes, amplios e ilusionantes. Y por poder saltar entre los dos mundos frecuente y libremente. 

Agradecida estoy por todas las circunstancias a lo largo de mi vida que me han llevado a donde estoy hoy.

Where the Grass IS Greener - Éire

The one time I’d visited Ireland back in 2018 to attend the Irish College of Ophthalmologists Annual Conference (jeez, how things can change in 3 years), I didn’t leave Kilkenny. I remember loving the beauty of that small area and regretting not having seen more of the country.

So after four years and a semi-overcome pandemic, here I am again in Dublin –but this time for good, and not just to catch a train to go somewhere else.

I had the pleasure of being picked up by F the night I arrived in the city. After two weeks in Greece I’d only known her with sleeveless tops and denim shorts, so for a fraction of a second I was confused at the sight of her joyful Irish beauty in long pants and a cardigan. We had dinner literally ON river Liffey, at MC Cill Airne. We reminisced about Greece but also shared projects and ideas, as well as one of the most delicious brownies I’d ever had the pleasure to savor.

After dinner we headed to a traditional Irish up close by, where a friend of hers and his buddy were playing traditional Irish music. I remember especially loving the last song, “Toss the Feathers”, whose title I only managed to make out with much effort, given these guys’ strong Irish accents and the loud background noice at the bar. A few fun and witty exchanges, some more upbeat Celtic tunes, and the accompanying vibration of the musicians‘ feet firmly taping on the ground to the rhythm of the fiddle and the accordion. Not a bad way to start my brief catch-up with Ireland.

Visiting the Cliffs of Moher was predictably mind-blowing –at least for those brief moments where the heavy mist lifted just long enough to make them visible to the human eye. The rest of the time the fog was so thick I could actually smell it. Cows and sheep and crows scattered all over the landscape as well as the distant sound of a traditional flute added the touch of Irish authenticity and charm necessary to compensate for the multitude of languages spoken all around me during those hours.

Although brief, my stop at The Burren in County Clare with its rugged landscape framed by the Atlantic shore and curvy rural roads was also beautiful and inspiring.

But ironically enough, I think the one moment where my spirit felt the most elevated was standing in the middle of Shop Street in Galway, listening to this brilliant Blues/ Rock n’Roll band called „OL’ Times“ that materialized out of nowhere. The smile that put on my face and the exciting chills that run through my body made me give up the idea of trying out authentic Galway seafood and trade that for a takeaway meal from McDonald’s, just so that I could keep listening to them as long as possible.

Speaking of music, there’s this one piece of information I learned that gave me all kinds of mixed feelings of pride, nostalgia, sadness and longing. Galway used to have very extensive merchant relationships with Spain, which led to a large community of Spaniards settling there and mixing with the Irish. Apparently this is why the subject of the original „Galway Girl“ song had brown hair and tan skin. So I guess Galway has randomly become my favorite Irish city now (the fact that they had “Churros n’ Cofee” also helps).

After driving 500km in one day I just can’t make myself go to Belfast today anymore (sorry, Northern Ireland, see you another time).
Can’t wait to spend the day in Dublin with F instead, and get to know this European capital for good once and for all!

PS.: Love the fact of how seagulls are the pigeons of this place.