Coffee up!

Throughout my time in New Zealand I have attempted to immerse myself in kiwi culture, tactfully avoiding those things classically American that have infiltrated the country. While not always successful, I have gone out of my way to avoid one particular symbol of American culture that’s landed on the New Zealand doorstep: Starbucks. This was not particularly hard while living in Hawera, with the closest coffee house located an hour north in New Plymoth. However, now living in Hamilton I find one strategically located in the middle of the CBD, on a corner I pass multiple times in my downtown travels. Thus far I have been successful in my resistance, until today. I guess I figured that with my trip home occurring in just two weeks, I should reacclimatize my taste buds to what I would be drinking a majority of the time, especially in Seattle. Entering the establishment, it was like I’d entered a close friend’s home, the ultimate tactic of the Starbucks Corporation. Instantly I was at ease. The experienced marred only by the counter boy’s black stare when I flippantly mentioned I had forgotten the proper sequence in which to order my coffee, as I had done in Seattle so many times before. Clearly, he did not know the origins of his product. Yet, when my grande, non-fat, vanilla latte was called to the pickup counter in true Starbucks style and crossed my lips, all was forgotten. Some things never change.

Sometimes cheaters do prosper

Ok, this is an entry purely about sportsmanship, or the lack there of. Yesterday, Jason and I ventured down to watch The Great Race. An annual rowing event along the Waikato River, it features two major finale trophy races between the University of Waikato men’s and women’s eights and internationally invited teams. This year the women raced the University of Melbourne and the men invited a recently graduated team from Harvard University. Both races were sure to be close with strong showing from all teams in the week leading up to the race. Yet what I witnessed in these two races made me hang my head in shame for my new found love of the Waikato.

As a preface to the playback I am about to recount, I must explain a little something of the complexity of the course. The Waikato River has a very fast moving current, with favored sides for rowing along the way, with the entire 4.8K race run upstream. Prior to the race, the coxswains call the coin toss to decide not only the side on which they want to start, but also the side on which they want to finish. In both cases the visiting teams won the coin toss.

The women raced first with the favored Melbourne team showing a strong start. Within minutes, the two boats locked oars, as the Melbourne team attempted to cross the course in front of the Waikato women, necessitating a halt to the race. This now put Waikato in a favorable patch of water. Aligning again, the race restarted, with another oar locking halt happening within minutes. With the final restart, the Waikato team found themselves in favorable water once again leaving the Melbourne team struggling to regain their initial strength. An unfortunate happening, but nothing seemed quite out of the ordinary.

Then, the men got set to start. After a rolling alignment the red flag dropped, signifying the start. Yet, within minutes, with Harvard having gained good ground off the start, and making its first move to cross the river to find calmer water, the Waikato men suddenly stopped rowing. Now I’ve rowed a few races in my lifetime, and from what I witnessed on the big screen, I could see no reason the Waikato men should have stopped rowing. Suspiciously, they happened to stop at almost the exact location of the women, thus granting them good water off the restart and a sizable lead. I will say that I am not a Harvard fan (no, I did not attempt to gain admission and was rejected), but I quickly found myself cheering loudly for the burgundy clad men to make a strong comeback. And they almost did, losing by mere seconds. Just think what would have happened if the race hadn’t been tactfully stalled. I’m sorry Waikato men, you may have won, but in my book the US will always be number one.

The Fifth Dimension

Somewhere in between starting my new job, shifting house, entertaining guests and babysitting Jason’s niece and nephews, the month of August has flown by. Yes, there are days when time inches by, Fridays being the prime culprit, but ninety-nine percent of my days finish before I can wrap my head around them. It’s an interesting phenomenon. Not so much the time factor, but my place within it. In that I’m speaking of being a female GP in Hamilton. I know I’ve mentioned it several times, but will reiterate it here, female GPs are like “hen’s teeth”, more precious then gold. I guess patients think women will be more sympathetic to their problems, are more comfortable having them perform exams, or handling their children. The irony is that a majority of the concerns they present with I honestly have no first hand knowledge of. I have not been pregnant, I do not have children, and I certainly have not gone through menopause. However, by the genetic process of possessing double X chromosomes, I somehow “know” about these problems. Please don’t misinterpret, I am not complaining in any way. It’s actually given me the drive for self-learning in the hopes of being more empathetic. It’s also made me realize that getting older is no smooth ride. There are days I look at the five year old child who walks into my consultation room and think, “Wouldn’t it be great to be five again and find a piece of chalk and a blackboard the greatest toys in the world?” Instead, I’m faced with the anxiety of updating my CV and writing a cover letter in my attempts at finding a new job in the states. Yet, with all that anxiety comes the excitement and almost childhood pleasure at the prospect of starting something new, showing Jason the country in which I grew up, and moving forward with my life. It’s this addition of emotion and abstract thought that really differentiates me from that five year old child. Knowing I can use this added dimension to understand and empathize with patient concerns is what comes with age, regardless of gender. For in the end, we all just want to be understood.