Travel wrenches

Today I had the pleasure of participating in Kiwi culture - to truly live like a local - not by attending a Maori welcome ceremony, not even by bunjee jumping or seeing a flightless bird. No, today I went to the dentist due to a small chip in my front tooth.

At the time of writing, I look like a bit of a mess even though the injury to my central incisor has been repaired. At the procedure the dentist numbed my upper gum and lip to avoid any sensitivity to the point of trauma on the aforementioned tooth. Although I can now smile without looking like a “pretty Floyd from Dumb and Dumber” (as one kind friend put it), my lip now droops in a way that hides my front teeth altogether. I was given no information on how long I can expect this side effect to last.

It turns out dentistry in New Zealand functions in much the same way as North America except the situation is somewhat more pleasant given their cuter accents and a national insurance covering accidents from extreme sports. (If anyone asks, I chipped my tooth while mountain biking, not on the metal mouthpiece of my water bottle.)

I also currently have somewhat of a doozy of a black eye which makes it look like I went rogue with lavender eyeshadow. Above the purplish eyelid, northwest of my eyebrow, is a large bump that is the cause of the bruising below. My left eyebrow subsequently sticks out a bit further than the right rendering a rather Neanderthalic vibe on that side.

The bruising on my eye is due to a pretty unfortunate incident. If any of my aunts are reading this, the accident involves someone missing my shoulder when playing punching me when they said, “aw, shucks,” in response to some witty retort. But for the rest of the Trail Talks audience (Aunties, this is where you leave us), the grim appearance of fifty percent of my face is the result of me being a real dumbass.

I was out climbing at what now I now consider to be my home crag - Paine’s Ford - on a little ditty of a route called Lost Soles. I was chatting with friends, not paying great attention, actually rehashing an earlier incident in which I’d fallen off a climb before the first bolt (meaning I wasn’t clipped in to anything) and dislocated my friend’s thumb as he attempted to spot me. I was chuckling about how silly that was and how I wouldn’t make a mistake like that again when I reached out to clip the bolt and in seemingly no transition time found myself headfirst in the dirt. About ten people rushed to my aid, and I sat up dazedly but otherwise OK, small cuts in my shoulder and forehead. I felt fine, but judging by everyone’s reaction, I had jumped into the waiting jaws of death itself. Unprompted, a stranger nearby said I should watch out because she has a friend who took a fall EXACTLY LIKE MINE, (“actually, you look a lot like her, her name is Annika and she lives in a parallel dimension“), and now she can’t walk or talk anymore. And while I of course offer sincere sympathies to this stranger’s friend, I didn’t exactly want a list of horrific worst case scenarios before I’d even brushed the dirt off of my elbows. 

As of now, I’m still walking and talking normally, except of course for the slight (hopefully temporary) lisp I’ve acquired as a consequence of my droopy lip.

As I continue to receive wrench after wrench in my plans, I’ve created an image of some evil cosmic force throwing them, cackling madly, rubbing their hands together and wondering how much more I can take before I pack up and go home. Well, listen here, Cosmic Demon! My trials with an overall fucked-up face are easily ignored because so many other things are incredible. The almost daily climbing with some friends with whom I’ve grown remarkably close, hiking to the top of a peak through  a temperate rainforest to take in views of craggy mountains and a turquoise bay, laughing with friends about my teeth, and declaring my purple eye to just be a trendy makeup routine.

The best compliment I’ve ever received is that I’m “resilient, like a potato.” And while I hope my friend was not making the comparison in a physical sense, I am proud to say that no matter what I’m thrown, no matter how shitty shit gets, I’ve always kept going. It’s part of what brought me to New Zealand in the first place.

So, put up your dukes, Evil Universe Bummer. I wouldn’t mind evening out my black eye anyway.