Hospitality

I must admit, I'm still amazed by the generosity of New Zealanders. On Monday, I had a consult with the husband of a long-term patient to the clinic. He was someone who's face I'd seen for the last several months, but never actually treated. I first encountered the couple back in February, right after I arrived. She had some slightly unstable health problems that had the potential to force cancellation of their two week South Island tour. She had never been to the South Island. My goal was to get them there. Fortunately, everything turned out well, after multiple visits to the clinic, and they made their trip. In the process I got to know them a little better, as they did me. So this past Monday when he came in for a consult, he naturally asked me about my latest trip to America and I mentioned that I was getting ready to venture to the South Island myself in about three weeks. Without even batting an eye he invited me to dinner to share pictures from their journey and discuss favorite stops along the way. I didn't think much of the invitation, assuming false pretenses. (I am American after all, where we are prone to making offers and not following through.) Still, something hovered in the back of my mind. Maybe he was real in his extension of an offer for dinner. So yesterday, I called him on his potential bluff. I was the one made to look the fool. Five minutes into the conversation I was talking to his wife, the chef, and a dinnertime of 6pm was set for the next night.

I spent three hours at their house tonight having dinner, drinking New Zealand wine, and discussing everything from the clinic, to family, to travel within the South Island, to similarities and differences between New Zealand and American cultures. Leaving of my own accord so as not to overstay my welcome, they gladly would have had me stay for another three hours. As I walked to the door, they invited me back after my South Island holiday to share my experiences. I knew their offer was genuine. There were no false pretenses, just true, kind-hearted generosity. Something this American can appreciate and learn a little bit about.

Three Dollar High

Today while I was plugging through my clinic, one of the patients placed three dollars worth of New Zealand coinage on my desk. Apparently the prior patient has lost it out his back pocket. I kindly told the discoverer to keep the money, but she simply replied I should keep it for my trouble. So, I placed it in my pocket and didn't think much about it. Then as I was going about my lunchtime errands I passed by my favorite cafe, setting off my salivary glands in true Pavlovian fashion for a good cuppa. Momentarily disheartened, as I failed to bring my wallet, I remembered the coinage in my pocket and headed inside. Gleefully placing the money on the counter I waited for my new coffee drink of choice: Trim Flat White. An interesting phenomenon followed. The owner of the cafe came over and started asking me about my trip home to America, a bit of information I'd forgotten I'd relayed to her. Then another townie, whom I'd only met once (at another local cafe) came over and struck up conversation. On the way out, I ran into a dear patient of mine and chatted with her for awhile. I felt like some local celebrity with all the attention. As I walked out the door, glorious hot beverage in hand, I realized that for as inconspicuous as I perceive myself to be, or might want to be, I will be recognized and revered as part of this community. I couldn't do anything but smile.

All this from three simple dollars.

Cold Snap

Lucky me that I decided to arrive back in New Zealand right before the weather changed. It's one of the downfalls of traveling to the Northern Hemisphere while living the Southern. The seasons are opposite. I thought that spring was rapidly approaching before I left, temperatures reaching 15 degrees Celsius during the day. Unfortunately, the Southerlies (a word I'm now beginning to associate with foul language) have blown through again, bringing another wave of record breaking cold weather.

Now tell me, how am I supposed to show off my newly obtained American tan?

Overload

It seems ridiculous that one who's living in a foreign country for a year, would choose to spend one of her weeks of vacation going back to her home country. You would think she would spend all of her free moments exploring this great countryside. Unfortunately, I've never been one to make complete sense in my decision making processes (at least to others). Consequently, this American bred girl chose to spend 19 hours on an overnight flight to visit friends in the states while living in New Zealand. If you must know, there was some method to my madness. A close friend is moving to England in the fall and since she couldn't come to see me, I chose to visit her. Okay, I said there was "some", not complete, method to my madness.

The interesting part was that I chose (not on purpose) to fly right after the recent bomb scar at Heathrow. Multiple coworkers interrupted me throughout the day of my departure to inform me what was allowable on the plane, usually changing on an hourly basis. This was preceded by an early morning phone call from my mother to inform me of the recent events. All help was appreciated. Yet, for all the hype, I got through just fine, even with my laptop in carry-on luggage. No clear plastic packaging required. They even gave oversight to my 24kg bag (23kg being the limit for international flights), simply slapping a "heavy" tag on the outside with no request for compensation.

Details of the trip are trivial to this tale, except to say that it provided necessary reconnection with friends whom I've not seen for seven months, a chance to visit my old place of employment, and an opportunity to catch up on some necessary beauty treatments. It also gave me a jump start on my tan for the upcoming spring and summer months here, courtesy of the consistent 80 degree weather. I do love a Seattle summer. More apropos for this tale are the American differences I noticed after living in New Zealand:

1. They have Mexican food. Okay, this may not seem like that big of a deal, but after living in two American cities with large Mexican influences, it's really hard to go without a good basket of chips and salsa, a chimichanga, and a margarita. Don't despair, I had plenty of the salt-laden ethnic food during my week to get me through the next 5 months. A more appropriate statement would be to say that American cities have a wider array of ethnic food. True, it's unfair to compare Seattle, a city of 500,000, to Hawera, a town of 9,000, expect when it comes to the gentrification of my tastebuds to New Zealand cuisine. I miss ethnic diversity.

2. Driving is done on the right-hand side of the road. This only becomes apparent if you've ever put all your concentrated driving effort into learning an opposite system. I can't tell you how many times I thought an accident was impending when my friends drove into a gas station on the right-hand side of the entryway. It's probably a good thing they never let me take a chance behind the wheel while I was home.

3. Tax and tip are not included. It's very hard to go back to performing public math at a restaurant after you're used to paying the amount that's at the bottom of the bill, no more, no less.

4. There's a lot of traffic in the US. I think I passed the same number of cars in my 68K trip from New Plymouth down to Hawera as were in one line of traffic backed-up at a stoplight in Seattle. One thing is for sure, when I move back, I'm taking the bus.

5. American airports aren't as forgiving with excess baggage weight. When I arrived on Friday morning to fly back to New Zealand, I realized my bag was heavier then when I left. The person working the ticket counter informed me under no circumstances (ie payment for excess weight) would Air New Zealand allow me to check a bag over 23kg. Even though I knew this was false (see paragraph above on 24kg bag), I obligingly took my luggage downstairs, purchased a box, and repacked my bag to meet weight requirements. I will gratefully admit the ticket counter person did let me come straight back up to her, bypassing multiple people in line, to finish checking in. Ironically, when I transferred to my domestic flight within New Zealand, my main piece of luggage still over the 20kg domestic limit, I received no grief or request for monetary compensation. A "heavy" tag was simply slapped on my bag.

Half Wit

Several months ago I got the idea in my head that running a half-marathon in New Zealand would be fun. I'd done a couple in the states and thought having a competition t-shirt with New Zealand emblazoned across the front would be a nice memoir of my trip. I was already running a 10K loop around town several times a week, so making the jump to 21.1K didn't seem that onerous. It's unfortunate that my mind didn't have the same reasoning skills to deduce that 11.1K is a slightly bigger hurdle then I anticipated. Despite my poor leaping skills, I persevered this past weekend.

The Levene Lake Taupo Half Marathon, set along the edge of Lake Taupo in the central plateau of the North Island, was the setting for my temporary misjudgment. Occurring on August 6th, I figured there could be no better way to spend my birthday weekend then accomplishing an athletic feat. Some might call it sadistic, some might call it masochistic, I call it the greatest anti-depressant endorphin rush known to mankind. What can I say, I'm an athletic extremist. I will fully admit this fact.

I arrived in Taupo on Saturday afternoon under cloudy and gray skies. I heard some rumbling around the registration center that it was to rain the next day. No worries, I thought, I'm a Seattlite, I'm used to rain. After picking up my packet, I made my way back into town for dinner, reviewing the race materials over a protein and carbohydrate load. I headed to bed early, figuring a restless night was ahead of me in anticipation of the next day. Fortunately, I only awoke once during the middle of the night. Unfortunately, it was to pounding rain.

Sunday morning proved no less dry then that prefaced by the prior nights rainfall. Taking a quick step outside, I judged the temperature to be around 9 or 10 degrees Celsius. I dressed in multiple layers, including my polypropylene rowing shirt from Head of the Charles, hoping it would inspire me to greatness. The goal was to finish in under two hours. Wearing my new GPS wristband pace monitor (thanks mom and dad) while listening to my iPod shuffling through the various songs of my life, I thought I might just be able to accomplish my goal. Adorned with all my electronic equipment, I headed for the start line and quickly lined myself up amongst the thousands of competitors. Apparently, this is the most popular half-marathon in New Zealand.

The gun went off promptly at 9am, releasing the first wave of runners. I let myself fall back a bit and eventually went off in wave five. Guided by my pace monitor, I knew not to go out too fast and quickly found a good rhythm. By 5K I was only a minute behind my goal pace, an amount I thought I could easily make up throughout the remaining 16K. By 10K, I was three minutes behind and starting to realize my goal might not be attainable. At this point, the rain was still coming down. Despite my reservations, I took a quick swig of energy Gu and psyched myself up for the second half of the race.

The course is favored because it's relatively flat and follows the edge of the largest lake in the North Island. The terrain consists of road, walkway, and firm farmland. Relatively easy ground for the average runner, unless it's been raining all night and all morning. At kilometer 11, when I had just regained my confidence, I hit the not so firm farmland. I glanced at my monitor and watched my pace drop quickly as each step was placed carefully so as to avoid the next slip and slide scene. Okay, so I wasn't going to finish in under two hours, but at least I could beat my best training run. Two kilometers later, when I stepped back onto firm ground, I re-centered my thoughts and picked up my pace. That's when the last atmospheric element, the one I had been subconsciously avoiding and hoping would not appear, reared it's ugly head: wind. At kilometer 16, as I turned back onto the main road, a Northeasterly, the same one that would probably blow the rain through later that day, came at me with gale force. Great. The catch is that I live in Taranaki, purportedly the windiest region in New Zealand, and I was prepared. I had trained in Southerlies, Northerlies, Westerlies, you-name-erlies. I was ready. Putting my head down, I dug into the wind for those last 5K, praising each kilometer sign that brought me closer to the finish. Cursing through the last 500 meters, which included the only true elevation gain in the whole race, I crossed the finish line and stopped running. I had finished! My head still swimming with exhaustion and delirium I grabbed my free water, banana, chocolate trout, and cup of dried soup. I never would have thought reconstituted soup could taste so good, but after two hours of facing almost every meteorologic element possible, it was the most heavenly thing to cross my lips.

Oh, and if you're wondering (which I'm sure you are), my final time was 2:07:41. Not my goal, but definitely a personal best. Makes me wonder what I could do on a dry, sunny, windless day. I guess that means I'll have to run another one.

Happy Birthday to me

Birthdays are funny. I always view mine with mixed emotions. There's a little bit of excitement and definitely some reservation. The bottom line, I'm getting older.

Last year I was actually quite excited about my birthday. I was turning 30, I had finally finished all my medical training, and I was looking toward a job in New Zealand. I spent an entire week in celebration pampering myself, going out to eat, and enjoying time with friends. It was awesome. Naturally, anything after that experience is going to be a little bit of a let down.

Yesterday, marked another year of my life. I am now 31. For some reason, I also now feel old. Turning 30 seemed like a coming of age, turning 31 just seems like age. It has put me into a psychological tailspin. Realize, a lot of this is precipitated by my locale in a foreign country away from family and friends. It's just not the same to celebrate with people you've only known for six months. Yet, I was pleasantly surprised.

Friday morning I was running late (not an unusual event for me, but this time justifiable) because I was saying goodbye to some friends from the states who had stayed with me the night before on their way back up to Auckland. Admittedly, I was also dragging my feet because I don't feel anyone should have to work on their birthday, myself included. Yet, within the first five minutes of my arrival, I was being serenaded with "Happy Birthday" from the clinic staff as they entered my consult room, bringing a piece of candle-topped birthday cake and spreading an array of presents on my desk. The day was looking up. Unfortunately, my patients did not have the same sympathy for my day of celebration as I was bombarded with a series of emotionally draining clients. In addition, I was leery of a particular patient, a member of the Maori Black Power gang, who had threatened me the day before and was meant to come in again on Friday (blog entry to come surrounding this event). By lunch, I had pretty much had it. Fortunately, the afternoon proved light and short. The receptionists had kindly blocked my last hour and a half out, unbeknownst to me. Finishing my paperwork, I was out the door early.

The gym was my next stop for the last of my training runs before the half-marathon. Upon entering, one of the owners extended an invitation to a "selective" dinner party with other members of the gym. Having no plans for dinner given that all my kiwi friends were otherwise occupied, I kindly accepted. Upon leaving, I was handed the prize for winning the Women's division of the 5000 meter rowing competition. (Time: 20:09.6 for all my rowing compadres. That's at a resistance of 10.) The day was getting better and better.

Despite being across the Pacific from those closest to me, I never felt forgotten. My email was peppered throughout the day with greetings from various friends (several from distant educational phases of my life) and family wishing me happy birthday. Small packages were also left on my desk intermittently during the day each time I left my consult room. And the ring of both my cell phone and land line greeted me when I arrived home with familiar voices speaking from the other end.

So while I may be internationally located, and I may be feeling a little bit older, I am definitely not feeling alone. We'll see how I feel after this weekend's race...