Waiting...

A sculpture on a rubble, Port Adelaide, S.A.

His eyeballs were gradually drowning, he could feel it… then he simply just couldn’t hold it back, so it started to overflow.

Rogelio Pagoto quickly glanced over the rear-view mirror of his 1999 blue Toyota Starlet to check the traffic behind him.  The Horrocks Highway was empty so all he saw on that rounded and rectangular mirror was the reflection of his damp eyelashes, deeply injected sclera, and a tear drop that was uncontrollably flowing down the medial canthus of his left eye.

For quite a few kilometres now, he had been driving haphazardly.  He never did notice the violent gust and the wind-blown dust outside.  After a few years of losing the sensation for pain, it had all changed this afternoon; the emotional numbness seemed to have started to wane off as he felt his heart bursting out of his chest.  He released his right foot off the accelerator as he drove downhill; it was then when he caught the sight of that thick, heavy clouds hovering above the expanse of the flowering wheat field—perfectly concealing the splendor of the late afternoon, mid spring sun.

“He must have been tired of hearing my prayers… I have been asking for this for ages now but He seemed to have been ignoring me,” he thought as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.  The vehicle he was driving accelerated uphill, disregarding the 100 kph speed limit.

Yes, Rogelio was wondering why his prayer had remained unanswered.  He knew he was so blessed to have been enjoying all the comforts he had for quite a while but the divine intervention he’d been requesting for the sake of a loved one back home was, for so long, yet to be granted!  Even those countless votive candles he'd lit in the shrines and altars of the churches he had visited didn't work, the intercession just didn't happen.

With his Sony Nex-5 and his tripod in his backpack sitting on the passenger seat, he drove aimlessly through the Main North Road wishing to eventually find a great subject to photograph so he could, somehow, suppress the disturbing emotions he’d been bearing all day.  It started to drizzle so he had to turn his wiper on to mop the raindrop splatters off the windshield.  Using the back of his hand, he cleared that drip of a salty liquid off his left cheek, too.  

At the moment, he was certainly unsure whether to keep his faith or to give up his belief that one day it would all be worth the wait. 


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Analgesia

My classmate, Beshoy- very busy taking pictures of his histopathology slides.

I FINISHED OFF A PACKET of ten 500mg paracetamol tablets this week.  And I am extra thankful that at 5pm yesterday (Friday) I am still up and kicking! 

Yesterday was the last day of my Pathology and Diagnostic Services Rotation—and for the whole week since Monday, my rotation group-mates and I were required to do 4 case presentations and sit for a one-hour exit exam.  With an exam and a grand rounds presentation left for the final day, I was stressing out over the fear of failure.  On Thursday night, I just felt extremely exhausted—every square millimeter of my bones and flesh was aching, that I simply couldn’t believe to have completed the rotation and embraced Friday evening unscathed.

This morning I still feel the need of taking some more painkillers.  No regrets, it was my fault last night—I decided to celebrate the conclusion of my pathology rotation by gulping down some milliliters of Shiraz-Merlot-Sauvignon trio as well as gobbling up hundreds of grams of grilled lamb chops with a good friend Jordan.  So here I am having a bit of head and body aches yet enjoying the comfort of my humble yet well-heated room (while missing out the second day of the Barossa Gourmet Weekend). 

Don’t get me wrong; that rotation was the best that I had, so far.  I truly loved it!  Foremost and most importantly, the pathologists and the rest of the diagnostic ancillary services team had successfully created a very friendly atmosphere—which ended up to be a very good learning environment, and in building up my confidence on this field… unlike the other clinical rotations that I’ve done where arrogance and ego dominated the entire teaching process.  It’s so disappointing that I possess no power or no right to dispatch this message off to the other rotation coordinators.  Honestly, I stepped out of the lab, postmortem and microscopy rooms yesterday holding my pathology lecturers in high regard but my respect seemed to have plummeted for those who humiliated and treated me like a crap in medicine and surgery.  Well, they couldn’t blame me for that.

I know that out in the real world someday (I consider vet school as a not-so-real-world), I will be doing things that will surely remind me of the good old days in the lab, postmortem, tissue trimming and microscopy rooms.  But for now, it is time to take a break… no rib and brain cutters, no histopathology cassettes, no agar plates, no thermal cycler.  It’s time to pick my dusty stethoscope up and get ready for the Anaesthesia and Analgesia Rotation on Monday. 

Oh well, my Nex-5 is getting dusty, too… and my Instagram account has been screaming out for the past few days, as well.  

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An Encounter with My Guardian Angel (a true story)

The bus arrived in Brussels thirty minutes ahead of schedule. It was around 3:30AM on a Thursday- the 24th of January 2013 when a Megabus from Paris dropped us off at the bus stop somewhere in Rue du Cardinal Mercier. Aside from me, there was a young couple who also got off but as the bus left for Amsterdam, the lovers instantly disappeared as they walked through the foggy, dimly-lit lane. The sloped street was lined with reasonably towering buildings but only few had their interior lights on.

I could recall that the bus driver announced earlier that the temperature in Brussels was sitting at around -4'C. Awkwardly wrapped in my modest, layered Australian winter clothes, I had my backpack on... I was alone- a total stranger left standing on a dark, shed-less bus stop with my Beerenberg greenbag (which I had been taking along with me all the way from Adelaide). I looked around... the freshly-fallen snow off-street was ankle-deep. That was my initial experience in Brussels, I was in the middle of the city which, at that moment- appeared exactly like a deserted, ghost town!

I started walking but I didn't know where I was heading. I didn't have a compass. After crossing a few streets downhill, I saw a 5-star hotel across the Brussels Central Railway Station that was not operating that time. I am a student, a budget traveler and can't afford to get a room from that high-end accommodation.

Luckily, in front of that hotel (the name I can't recall) there was a taxi waiting for any potential passenger. I approached and briefly told the young driver about my European adventure. Francisco, who, he said, had a sister in Perth, Western Australia told me to hop in his cab with a promise that he'd take me to a backpacker's district in the city. After a quick (maybe 5-minute) drive, the taxi pulled over the street and I saw a few signage indicating my preferred accommodation. I paid, thanked the driver, and alighted...

It was nearly four in the morning. I had pressed the door bell and spoken to four sleepy receptionists in four different backpacker hostels but the three were fully-booked and one was asking for Euro40,00 for a short stay! I walked off and explored around a bit, met an intoxicated young local who spoke to me in a language I can't understand! I was thinking to spend a few hours in a local coffee shop until it gets bright and the city comes back to life but there were quite a few customers inside who seemed drunk and at that time singing all their hearts out along with the karaoke!

I left and walked... and walked until I spotted a relatively presentable hotel- I think it was 3-star-rated. Tired and desperate, I pressed the bell and I was welcomed. I briefly told the receptionist about my European escapade and eventually he offered a room for Euro25,00. I didn't have a choice.

4:45AM. I got a small but clean, comfortable room with en suite and a free Wi-Fi! I set my alarm clock and while I was on my bed, I was still thinking about my Euro25,00! I initially thought that there was a spacious bus station in Brussels like what they have in London. I thought I could spend a few hours in a well-heated Belgian bus terminal, take a quick nap on the benches and start roaming around the city as soon as it gets bright. But no, there's none! I had spent Euro25,00 that was supposedly allocated for my Euro22,00 Brussels Sightseeing Day Tour. I was lying comfortably on that bed but I was left unhappy of what I had just paid. How can I explore the city of Brussels with my very limited budget? Then everything went blank... I fell asleep.

I checked out at 8:45AM and with the help of the city map and a few directions from the receptionist, I was able to get to one of the Métro de Bruxelles stations where I caught a train that would take me to the heart of Brussels. A series of connected passenger rail cars slithered through an old subway. The next thing I knew I was already in the middle of the freezing and bustling cobblestoned streets of the de facto capital of the European Union. I had seen export-quality chocolate shops and artisan waffle stalls everywhere!

In one of the stations of Métro de Bruxelles with my historic Beerenberg greenbag.

After a few free chocolate tastings, and after having a piece of Belgian waffle, I finally found the closest bus stop for the City of Brussels Sightseeing Tour. Even with a limited budget, I had to do this 'day-trip' hop-on, hop-off bus tour 'cause I only have until 3:30PM in Brussels (I need to catch another Megabus for my trip to Amsterdam).

9:30AM. A double-Decker, well-labeled, red bus came and stop. A few tourists were getting off, and I was one of those who were waiting to board to experience Brussels in a day (okay, in six hours only). Momentarily, there was this large-built woman (but not fat) who's just hopped off the bus- a Caucasian and looked like she's in her early fifties with a bright face and very friendly aura. She smiled at me and asked, "Have you got a tour ticket for this bus?"

"Uh?! Nahhh, I still have to purchase mine from the bus driver," smiling, I politely replied.

"Here, take my ticket, son. I have finished my tour," she said while agressively inserting her Euro22,00-worth Brussels Sightseeing ticket into my gloved right hand.

"Shhhh!" She gestured with her index finger in front of her closed, pouting lips. She winked at me and glanced back to the driver who didn't noticed what she had just done.

I looked straight into her eyes and said, "Oh, thank you!"

Then it's my turn to enter the bus. Before I stepped in to present MY TICKET to the driver, I quickly turned my head around to wave to that lady but she's mysteriously gone! ...vanished into nowhere!

I felt I was truly blessed! Earlier that day I was worried of spending Euro25,00 for my accommodation but now I got a city sightseeing ticket for free!

I believe that that lady was my guardian angel! Recall that at 9:30AM she said she had already finished her tour. Way too early because on her or 'my ticket' (that I still keep until now) it was printed:

PURCHASED 24.01.2013 09:36:36
Valid 24 hours. Keep your ticket.

This photo was taken after I finally hopped off the bus after my Brussels Sightseeing Tour- the exact location where I met the woman who gave me her day-trip ticket.

-end-

Bread and Wine

The picture below is a very good representation of how a happiest person in the world would look like:

Hermann Thumm Drive, Lyndoch, South Australia.

I know that the mood of this post is very different from what I usually write, but this time let me have the stage.  One thing more, I don't normally flaunt about my faith but now I'm so courageous to say that I've sung my praises to bring back all the glory and honour to God! 

Amidst all the disasters (especially in Equine Medicine and Surgery in the mid-semester exam) and complicated health problems that I had during my preparation for the final examination last month, I was so blessed to have conquered all the hurdles last semester!   Water can, indeed, be turned into wine!  Officially, I've already completed 50% of this 3-year DVM program.

The marks were supposed to be up yesterday but it didn't come up.  I don't know how I managed to sleep last night while anxiously waiting for my grades.  I got up early this morning, jogged, had my breakfast, checked my university account online, then took my lunch and checked again but the final grades were yet to be released.  I tried to keep calm; and to comfort myself, I decided to drive to the beautiful Barossa.

From Gawler, I drove through the winding the roads- uphill and downhill.  I saw a herd of Hereford on the rolling plains, then some blanket-covered Thoroughbreds that perfectly contrasted against the hilly grasslands carpeted with the golden blossoms of soursobs.     

The newly pruned vines somewhere in Lyndoch, South Australia. 

As I went farther afield, the pasture gradually faded... there were varieties of huge eucalyptus trees- left and right, which seemed to be rushing the opposite direction as I accelerated to hit the speed limit.  At the blink of an eye, those gigantic Australian flora were gone, and the scenery along the winding road was replaced by acres of leafless vineyards silhouetting against the cloudy winter sky.

My first stop was Chateau Yaldara.

The Yaldara Estate selling their award-winning McGuigan wines, Lyndoch, South Australia.

    
Now look at that!  When I saw the sculpture and the fountain, my memory transported me back to Rome... then I instantly forgot everything about my pending grades!  Surprisingly, the artwork was blending so well with the elegant French-inspired backdrop- a structure that was built in the mid-1900's by the bank of the North Para River.
   

This winery was founded by Hermann Thumm in 1947 who eventually sold it to McGuigan Wines when he decided to retire in 1999.   

The concrete stairs of this charming country house was so tempting that after taking a selfie (thanks to the 10-second self-timer setting of my camera) my legs had undeliberately taken me up and into the mansion.

There were two groups of wine-lovers enjoying their tasting session.  The gentle voices of the two lovely ladies behind the counter were faintly reverberating as they presented their award-winning  wines one after the other.

When one of the employees noticed me, she uttered a very typical Australian greeting and instructed me to proceed upstairs so, while waiting for my turn at the wine-tasting counter, I could enjoy the wood carving exhibit of an Australian artist whose name I can't recall.           

While I was standing by the window in the sala upstairs, I got a magnificent view of the fountain and the century-old flour mill (1867) below.




 

The wine-tasting counter of McGuigan Wines, Chateau Yaldara, Lyndoch, South Australia.

A few samples of McGuigan's wines...

McGuigan have Pinot, Verdelho, Sauvignon, Shiraz, Semillon, Chardonnay and many more but I opted to try their sweetest red and white wines.  The very friendly lady behind the counter introduced their moscato, tawny port and late-harvest Riesling.  The taste?  Beautiful!  International Wine Awards 2009, 2011 and 2012 judges really knew what a delicious wine is!        

The old flour mill (1867)- now a Greek Restaurant and an opal-souvenir shop.  By the bank of the North Para River, Hermann Thumm Drive, Lyndoch, South Australia.

The tastes of those wines were still lingering on my palate when I explored the opal and souvenir shop across the road.

Next door, there's a Greek restaurant known as Cafe Y- owned and managed by a family who could proudly trace their roots back to Greece.  I entered and chose to sit next to the glass panel overlooking the river nearby.  Then I started thinking about my final grades again... It was around 3:20PM when I bravely took my phone out of my pocket, turned the mobile data access on and logged in to the university website.  My heart nearly leaped out of my chest when I saw the good news, and the rest was history!  

I was actually thinking beforehand to order a Greek meatball with roasted tomato and Greek salad but I instantly lost my appetite, probably because of joy.  The waiter came to take my order, I asked him to give me the simplest Greek snack available.  He left and came back with this biscuit on the plate and his mother who, he said, was the 'author' of this cookie.

Kourabie served with a 'handful' of icing sugar; goes very well with coffee. 

Soon after I finished it, the father came...  I told him I loved their shortbread!  He excitedly took a serviette, and scribbled the name of this food.  This is what he wrote: 

Kourabie (singular) 
Kourabiethe (plural) 
Greek Shortbread Biscuit

I took the table napkin and told him I'll write a blog post about it.  Then I drove back home...

So this is it, as promised.




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