Looking for Longevity with Oprah and Dr. Oz
Written by Dan Buettner
Oprah makes things look so easy. The Blue Zones show we did together - which will air Tuesday, November 25 - will reveal the nine secrets of the world's longest-lived people. But the preparation for it took seven years of research. This blog is an account of just one chapter of that story: exploring the Costa Rican Blue Zone with Dr. Oz. Read this and you'll see a different side to Dr. Oz, one that will likely surprise you as it did me.
I wanted to show Oprah's audience how centenarians had lived most of their lives. Our plan was to hike to the home of a legendary persnickety 97-year old named Aristide. His house was hidden in the jungle with no running water or electricity and surrounded by corn-and-bean fields. It's a place that looked like the last 50 years hadn't happened. I didn't foresee the adventure that lay ahead of us.
Jorge Vindas, our guide pointed to the San Juan's cloud-shrouded mountain and said, "It's going to be pouring rain." Oz, producer Leslie Grisanti, two cameramen, a soundman, and I started off across the cow pasture towards Aristide's house that was hiding in a cluster of trees over the ridge. Five minutes into the trek, it started to rain. It wasn't a gentle shower; the clouds unleashed its watery wrath upon us. This was not a bid deal for Oz or me, but for the cameramen and sound people, who schlepped over $100K of electronics on their shoulders, it was a disaster. One camera instantly short-circuited and the sound mixer fried.
We all stood ankle deep in mud and cow dung, water dripped off our noses and clothes clung opaquely to our skin. At one point, Aristide's son tore down the mountainside on a motorcycle. Our guide had warned us that we weren't really welcome and that this family is slightly eccentric (the father won't even let his 60-somthing kids leave home without permission). And the rumor was they were well 
armed. But the son gave us permission, so we proceeded.
We went up over a hill, and down a steep dirt road that the rain had turned into a cascading river. We crossed the knee deep river with the cameras rolling the whole time. At Aristide's home we waited outside. A bull stood out in yard, between a door and us. It could have been dangerous--many bulls are--but fortunately this one wasn't. We waited in the rain for Jorge to walk around and find out if we could go further.
Meanwhile, I pointed out a "Jocote" tree. Jocotes are small fruits the size of crabapples but taste like mango custard. I picked a few and gave them to Dr. Oz. The cameras rolled: "Fruits like these are rich and antioxidants," he began, "Food like this is made for a short shelf life but a long human life."
One more hurdle confronted us before we got into Aristide's house: Dogs. I've heard people say, "Dogs that bark don't bite." Well, these dogs didn't bark and as we approached, Aristide signaled for us to be careful of the "perros bravos". We took our chances. I played the same sort of translator/tour guide role again. There was no electricity and I pointed out that these people go to bed and wake with the sun and sleep a good 8 hours. Dr. Oz turned to the cameras and reported. I told him about the high-calcium water. He did another report--all pitch perfect.
On the way back, I asked Dr. Oz about his life. I wanted to know something about the man who is regarded as "America's Doctor." I asked him how a typical day unfolds for him. He's up at 5:45 am, does his yoga and push ups. Goes into the office and works while its quiet. He eats some nuts and oatmeal before going into the operating room, which he describes as "zen-like". He eats a big lunch at noon, does some writing early afternoon and then goes into his second surgery in the afternoon. Then he does his "Oprah work", mostly phone calls and the like. He goes home most nights, eats a small dinner with his family (4 kids) and then does the elliptical trainer as he watches TV. He's in bed by 10 or 10:30. He only has a couple drinks a week.
Dr. Oz is a quick thinking and a fast, precise speaker. Sometimes, it seems as if his tongue can't keep up with his brain. He's also very good at toggling between congeniality and seriousness. I bid him farewell that day convinced that his media success comes not only from his vast medical expertise but insatiable curiosity and a genuine goodness that the audience can sense. With this OZ, there's no secret man behind the curtain.
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