New York is the new Mykono(ooo)s

16 out of all 24 Island Hoppers made it to Manhattan. That's a whopping 67% –according to Maddy a never seen occurrence in the history of social travel.

I left the warm Mediterranean shores last summer saying goodbye to some of them on an rocking ferry from Ios to Athens. I was emotionally numbed by nausea, as the antihistaminic I took from some random girl in between gags over a toilet seat clearly came in too late. Others, I barely hugged in an upsettingly drowsy state of mind, once the pill had finally kicked in at our last dinner table. The motion of the sea was mercilessly reproduced by my brain throughout the whole evening until I finally fell asleep. I felt the inevitable sting of sadness at such a pitiful ending to such an amazing time –and nostalgia, as I was convinced I would have to think of them as a beautiful memory. I did not think for one second I'd see them again (soon), let alone this same year!

Unexpectedly, our group chat didn't die. Days and weeks went by with a profile pic of passed-out Brian misrepresenting our surprisingly lively and active dynamic. It was like a stubborn little bug that just would not give up under the attack of spraying time-passing and unlikely interpersonal diversity (yeah, couldn't come up with a better metaphor).
I used to wake up every morning to dozens of messages from all over the world, which went on for quite some time. Finally, on September 22nd, at 9:37pm CET, 8:37pm GMT, 03:37pm EST, and 12:37pm PST, a light bulb went on in my head: “Would anyone be up for a New York week? It's midway for both the California people and the Europe people”. The response was positive, but I didn’t get my hopes up at first.
Ten days later I had my flight tickets, in a feverish state of mind, all racing heart and sweaty palms (and wallet), and in one of my what-have-I-done vs. YOLO kind of moods.
The NYC travel bug spread faster than Corona and screenshots of flight itineraries started popping up from everywhere, just like virus-induced papules. What a rash rush.

When I finally made it to New York City, I arrived at our overpriced hotel with deceiving online advertising. But the disappointment vanished as soon as I walked up the stairs at SoHo's MAMO and saw my friends' happy, familiar faces, and heard their voices once again. The sneaky tears that visited were certainly unexpected, as I was exhausted. But the joy of the reunion gave me all the strength I needed to keep up with the night, staying awake + 24h, which now that I think about it, I had NEVER been before outside of work (booh, 24h shifts, by the way. See you NEVER again!). There was Derek's birthday cake crowned by two deadly rockets candles, our inhibited singing, our mingling at Madame X Lounge and a visit to self-proclaimed New York's best (absolutely packed) gay bar Industry in the Hell's Kitchen neighborhood. It was one night that felt like three and it is only now thinking back that I can fully appreciate the pure magic that it meant (thank you again, Jamie!).

I was first to arrive at Bea the next morning, where we enjoyed an amazing brunch followed by my second ever visit to Broadway, where Wicked absolutely blew me away and brought the second set of New York tears to my eyes. My visit to The Summit with Andy was as impactful, and a mellow version of what I felt just before jumping off a plane in New Zealand. After a brief stroll through christmassy Bryant Park, we headed for dinner with the others at a Turkish restaurant we had all to ourselves.

In case you guys ever read this, you can roll your eyes at me all you want, but you know you like my dad jokes just as much as the delicious hummus we had that night. Here's a reminder of my stellar performance at the dinner table:

• “What do you call dangerous hummus as a side dish? Hummuside”.
• “You don't like hummus, Kaleigh? So you're a hummus-less person”
• “Here we all are, just a bunch of hummus sapiens having dinner”.
• “Ah, come on, you guy, I know you like my sense of hummus”.

Once everyone but Andy and I had left, he turned into The Best City Guide I could have wished for, and suddenly I was blessed with the rare gift of not having to use my neurons for DAYS, literally until I was brought back to the airport. I never ever looked at a map, searched for the right subway line, I never ordered an Uber or booked a site, which was refreshingly new to me considering my usual patterns. All I had to do was follow him around (20.000 steps every day!), take pictures, talk, laugh and go on a marathon of dad joke freestyle verborrhea. At some point he teased me about something and I said, “One day, Andy, you'll pay for this”. His reply: “Oh, I think I already am”. Those last New York tears were laughter-induced, and God knows my PayPal account was on fire in an attempt to balance things out.

Those last few days were full of first impressions, excitement and joy: Time's Square's Happy Socks, a GIANT bubble blower from amazing Party City, crossing Brooklyn Bridge, visiting the 9/11 Memorial, the Financial District, The Highline and Chelsea Market, watching Last Night in SoHo at a fancy AMC movie theater on reclinable seats while sticking my face in an XXL popcorn bucket, enjoying the dreadfully stunning views from The Edge at Hudson Yards, buying my exclusive NYC Pandora charm, soaking up art and history at the MET, (unsuccessfully) feeding oatmeal cookies to cheeky fearless Central Park squirrels, unbeatable strawberry waffles at our usual random diner around the corner, delicious lunch at Eataly and finally, my one and only planning contribution: seeing The Manhattan Transfer live at The Blue Note, leading to serious facial muscle soreness from the smile that owned me for hours. I just CAN'T WAIT to give their signed CD to my dad as a Christmas gift.

While typing, I am pleasently aware of how it all sounds like some sort of movie script. This whole unexpected experience, all these people, were definitely not what I envisioned at the beginning of 2021. I think my favorite lesson here is that beautiful things happen outside of The Comfort Zone. Yes, life is hard. It is unfair. It is short and at times pointless. But these facts are nothing but liberating permission to make the best out of it. To be brave and bold and unbiased, and to interpret it freely to our liking, so that we can squeeze every single drop of fun and joy and meaning we can out of it.

In this sense, it took a first meeting to click and spark up incipient feelings of cordiality and appreciation for a bunch of strangers. It took consistent messaging and a second encounter to deepen those, and to start talking about friendships. Now all I can say is that I can't wait for the third, which I hope will happen soon, in order to anchor some of these people to my life for good, in a significantly meaningful, life-changing and self-bettering kind of way.

Exquisit. Undoubtedly one of my favorite songs ever.

Ah, ooh, ah
This be-bop's too much
I know you know
Hip hop, never stop
I'll pour you tasty funk
We got cool and hot
Just for you, the pleasures of the soul
Come on, come in
And check it out
Soul food to go

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.