I thought I was being clever when I blogged about tram signs, and things you can't do on trams and buses in Switzerland. Well, I guess Kansas City also has signs on buses which are restrictive for passengers, albeit two fifths less restrictive than Zurich, which seems typical of everything. Apparently on Kansas buses, we can still saw the seats. But, we are not allowed to use Harry Potter wands, eat hotdogs, drink sodas, nor carry on Peterbilt truck grills.
And, I tried a Haagen-Dazs bar out of Magnum desperation today. It's not the same. Nowhere close.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Friday, December 25, 2009
Gluttony
Sugar, enriched bleached wheat flour, water, partially hydrogenated vegetable oils, palm oil, corn syrup, corn starch... 370 calories, of which 150 directly from Fat (17g).
Basically, sugar and corn. Of course. I am corn.
I must admit I have fully enjoyed eating the last week with reckless abandon. Not that a week is edible, but I somehow managed to eat it. Ho Hos, and Ding Dongs, and Cupcakes. Oh my. Hostess probably didn't realize in 1967 that such branding names would turn out to be something someone doesn't want to eat. But hey, what's in a name?
In the spirit of Commercial Christmas ("ho ho ho" is the sound Santa makes), Sarah picked up a package of these at the QuikTrip, currently having visited 5 times so far. She knows my childhood emotions about such things. Along with thousands of calories, I still store fond memories of raiding the kitchen cabinets at 3am for the school lunch goodies. Back then they were individually wrapped with aluminum foil. Now, 3 are bundled and sold separately. Open the package, eat them all. I haven't seen these in Zurich, yet. I can't imagine smart people would let them in to pollute the food supply.
Gluttony used to be one of the 7 deadly sins. Now it's a logo on a hamburger joint in Adliswil.
Basically, sugar and corn. Of course. I am corn.
I must admit I have fully enjoyed eating the last week with reckless abandon. Not that a week is edible, but I somehow managed to eat it. Ho Hos, and Ding Dongs, and Cupcakes. Oh my. Hostess probably didn't realize in 1967 that such branding names would turn out to be something someone doesn't want to eat. But hey, what's in a name?
In the spirit of Commercial Christmas ("ho ho ho" is the sound Santa makes), Sarah picked up a package of these at the QuikTrip, currently having visited 5 times so far. She knows my childhood emotions about such things. Along with thousands of calories, I still store fond memories of raiding the kitchen cabinets at 3am for the school lunch goodies. Back then they were individually wrapped with aluminum foil. Now, 3 are bundled and sold separately. Open the package, eat them all. I haven't seen these in Zurich, yet. I can't imagine smart people would let them in to pollute the food supply.
Gluttony used to be one of the 7 deadly sins. Now it's a logo on a hamburger joint in Adliswil.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Back, Day 4
Had sushi last night with the Tobins at Ra, a sushi restaurant inside the new W Hotel in Overland Park. It was good, the company was awesome, but still I had Sushi House on my mind. Trevor and I even had to stop in to say "hello" to Brian, and mention to him that we were going to be there on the weekend, just in case the message hadn't gotten to him during the reservation.
A lot of Christmas shopping is occurring. Prices here are 1/3rd the price of everything in Zurich. Kris and I are laughing when we see the food bills come... "Omg, look at this! You can feed an army here for under $100!" Still not sure how America does this, but my thoughts about subsidizing corn are persistent. Maybe there's also more about how America drives efficiency into everything produced on large scales. I have heard Swiss citizens fear this type of mass-production-thinking invading their lifestyle. Migros, a Swiss style Wal-Mart, absorbs reputation hits for this.
As for other luxuries...
her: So, how do you like driving a car again? Is it hard to pick it back up?
me: It's like riding a bike.
Sorry. I thought that was clever, but now that I read it, it's pretty stupid.
A lot of Christmas shopping is occurring. Prices here are 1/3rd the price of everything in Zurich. Kris and I are laughing when we see the food bills come... "Omg, look at this! You can feed an army here for under $100!" Still not sure how America does this, but my thoughts about subsidizing corn are persistent. Maybe there's also more about how America drives efficiency into everything produced on large scales. I have heard Swiss citizens fear this type of mass-production-thinking invading their lifestyle. Migros, a Swiss style Wal-Mart, absorbs reputation hits for this.
As for other luxuries...
her: So, how do you like driving a car again? Is it hard to pick it back up?
me: It's like riding a bike.
Sorry. I thought that was clever, but now that I read it, it's pretty stupid.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Back, Day 1
Chipotle Pork Bol. Well worth the 18 hours of transit time. Mixed with two visits to QuikTrip, my daughter is in heaven.
Day started with Einstein's bagels for breakfast, moved to Chipotle's for lunch, and will finish with Jose Pepper's for dinner. Clearly we are unable to locate worthy Mexican food in Switzerland. If anyone knows of exceptional Mexican food in Zurich, I'm all ears.
Also made a visit to Lukas Liquors for four bottles of Stag's Leap Artemis. Will bring 2 back with me and give one to my now ex-boss, who claims he doesn't read this blog, but somehow can always quote it. :) Hi Ex-Boss; bottle on its way.
Day started with Einstein's bagels for breakfast, moved to Chipotle's for lunch, and will finish with Jose Pepper's for dinner. Clearly we are unable to locate worthy Mexican food in Switzerland. If anyone knows of exceptional Mexican food in Zurich, I'm all ears.
Also made a visit to Lukas Liquors for four bottles of Stag's Leap Artemis. Will bring 2 back with me and give one to my now ex-boss, who claims he doesn't read this blog, but somehow can always quote it. :) Hi Ex-Boss; bottle on its way.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
PACK!
Tomorrow we head to Kansas, passing through Newark on our way.
her: What the ... ?? You're BLOGGING instead of PACKING??
me: I'm a pro. I can pack in 10 minutes. I have it down to a science now.
her: Whatever, "Pro". You aren't remembering the last time you waited until the last minute?
me: I always wait until I leave to pack.
her: Ok, you're a packing scientist. Which means you have perfected it down to forgetting only 2.4 items you need to pack.
me: Huh? 2.4?
her: 1 shoe, 1 pair of matching suit pants but you have the jacket, and 40% of your shaving kit.
me: (blink)
her: What the ... ?? You're BLOGGING instead of PACKING??
me: I'm a pro. I can pack in 10 minutes. I have it down to a science now.
her: Whatever, "Pro". You aren't remembering the last time you waited until the last minute?
me: I always wait until I leave to pack.
her: Ok, you're a packing scientist. Which means you have perfected it down to forgetting only 2.4 items you need to pack.
me: Huh? 2.4?
her: 1 shoe, 1 pair of matching suit pants but you have the jacket, and 40% of your shaving kit.
me: (blink)
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Ski
I made it home without being airlifted by a red helicopter. My buddy told me to get the red helicopter insurance before I stepped onto a slope, but I didn't.
gus: That was such a cool day.
me: What was so cool about it?
gus: Being able to slide down a hill really fast on your feet.
I told Sarah she could now check off skiing in the Swiss Alps from her Bucket List. I also told her that her future fiance will be angry that she's been so many places, to which she responded with silence by quickly falling asleep on my lap.
For me, the worst was the brutal walking in Frankenstein shoes, ripping the flesh out of my shins. I could have handled it if I were only walking around the slopes in concrete bricks. But, because my wife heard the key phrase "You'll want to wear your boots so that they stay warm, even on the train," I was wearing them while getting the skis out of the basement, lugging around luggage filled with our clothing for afterward, around the train stations, on the trains, trying to somehow hurry around in shoes that would suit me better if I were a corpse tossed into the Hudson. I'm sure the neighbors enjoyed the four of us clomping around the flat and halls. One more event to remember with The Louds.
gus: That was such a cool day.
me: What was so cool about it?
gus: Being able to slide down a hill really fast on your feet.
I told Sarah she could now check off skiing in the Swiss Alps from her Bucket List. I also told her that her future fiance will be angry that she's been so many places, to which she responded with silence by quickly falling asleep on my lap.
For me, the worst was the brutal walking in Frankenstein shoes, ripping the flesh out of my shins. I could have handled it if I were only walking around the slopes in concrete bricks. But, because my wife heard the key phrase "You'll want to wear your boots so that they stay warm, even on the train," I was wearing them while getting the skis out of the basement, lugging around luggage filled with our clothing for afterward, around the train stations, on the trains, trying to somehow hurry around in shoes that would suit me better if I were a corpse tossed into the Hudson. I'm sure the neighbors enjoyed the four of us clomping around the flat and halls. One more event to remember with The Louds.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Hmm
Yesterday, as I walked to work in the 4th consecutive day of rain, I found myself caught in a reflective thought. I am no longer feeling like I'm somewhere else. This is all starting to feel familiar now.
A friend, an expat colleague, was asked several weeks ago as I was giddy about my own upcoming travel home...
me: Are you going back home for the holidays?
her: You mean Kansas? We're not going there for the holidays.
me: WHAT? Are you crazy? WHY NOT?
her: (micro-glance of surprise at my reaction) Well, Switzerland is our home now. We're happy here.
Brain jolt, perspective shift.
It took me 4.5 months to cozy up to the thought that I'm choosing to be comfortable in a "foreign country", or not. My blogging has started to diminish in frequency because the differences aren't seeming so extreme any more. I still don't know the language, but I'm now pondering getting more serious about this as I am often told it would greatly enrich my experiences, and get me closer to understanding the cultural differences which have seemed extreme to me.
At the moment, I am making no plans to stay, but I'm also not making plans to leave. I'm in a where-will-I-live limbo until some point in Q1'10, when other decisions are made around me. For the time being, I am finally choosing to enjoy the location I am in, a concept my wife has been experiencing since she first arrived in her dream-state 4.5 months ago.
A friend, an expat colleague, was asked several weeks ago as I was giddy about my own upcoming travel home...
me: Are you going back home for the holidays?
her: You mean Kansas? We're not going there for the holidays.
me: WHAT? Are you crazy? WHY NOT?
her: (micro-glance of surprise at my reaction) Well, Switzerland is our home now. We're happy here.
Brain jolt, perspective shift.
It took me 4.5 months to cozy up to the thought that I'm choosing to be comfortable in a "foreign country", or not. My blogging has started to diminish in frequency because the differences aren't seeming so extreme any more. I still don't know the language, but I'm now pondering getting more serious about this as I am often told it would greatly enrich my experiences, and get me closer to understanding the cultural differences which have seemed extreme to me.
At the moment, I am making no plans to stay, but I'm also not making plans to leave. I'm in a where-will-I-live limbo until some point in Q1'10, when other decisions are made around me. For the time being, I am finally choosing to enjoy the location I am in, a concept my wife has been experiencing since she first arrived in her dream-state 4.5 months ago.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Schlecht
A former expat colleague, considerably more youthful, and while still an expat, giving me advice...
fec: Do you ski?
me: No.
fec: Snowboard?
me: No.
fec: (pause) Do you like sitting for long periods of time alone waiting on people to return from those activities?
me: Not really.
fec: (pause again) Then I hope you can tolerate spending months under clouds.
We're getting ready to go skiing for the first time ever as a family. We'll take lessons, of course. I am afraid of this activity since one minor aspect of parenting is keeping one's eye on one's children. I can already sense they will be fearless and ski-sprinting down very long Swiss Alp mountain sides, while I will be pondering the contrived safety and long boredom of catwalks.
The clouds here are persistent. "Das Wetter ist schlecht" translates (roughly) to "the weather sucks so bad it's worth commenting on it." The people here escape this depressing long-term doldrum by going above the clouds, socializing, enjoying the activities and entertainment the mountains attract. It is a subculture I know nothing about, but am willing to give it a whirl. Will let you know how it goes. I fully anticipate getting hurt somehow.
fec: Do you ski?
me: No.
fec: Snowboard?
me: No.
fec: (pause) Do you like sitting for long periods of time alone waiting on people to return from those activities?
me: Not really.
fec: (pause again) Then I hope you can tolerate spending months under clouds.
We're getting ready to go skiing for the first time ever as a family. We'll take lessons, of course. I am afraid of this activity since one minor aspect of parenting is keeping one's eye on one's children. I can already sense they will be fearless and ski-sprinting down very long Swiss Alp mountain sides, while I will be pondering the contrived safety and long boredom of catwalks.
The clouds here are persistent. "Das Wetter ist schlecht" translates (roughly) to "the weather sucks so bad it's worth commenting on it." The people here escape this depressing long-term doldrum by going above the clouds, socializing, enjoying the activities and entertainment the mountains attract. It is a subculture I know nothing about, but am willing to give it a whirl. Will let you know how it goes. I fully anticipate getting hurt somehow.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Egg nine beef
Friday, November 20, 2009
OMG France
Went to Paris this week to see a couple of European icons: the Eiffel Tower, and the Louvre. My wife originally rented an apartment for the six of us (her, me, my kids, and my parents). It seemed like a good idea, one I approved when we saw the pictures of it on the Internet. Suffice it to say we're all instead at the Hotel Opal. After a grueling night, we each concurred that it was not exactly the place we would choose again.
We made it to the top of the Tower. Took this picture with my work Blackberry. The camera on it sucks. We took more pictures while on the Tower, saw the city. The last time I visited Paris, I was able to take a crepe on the Eiffel Tower. Not this time, though. My kids laugh about that. Today we will attempt a visit at the Louvre Museum. I really want to see the Mona Lisa. If I see nothing else but this, I will be satisfied.
Spent the first night of our vacation in Geneva, walked around the city the next day. Lots of expensive brand name shops there. Took a train from Geneva to Paris on the second day. When we arrived at the Paris train station, I was a bit confused by the messages on the signs. Again, another pic from my crepey Blackberry camera showed retards were probable in Avignon. Sorry about the quality of the photo.
We made it to the top of the Tower. Took this picture with my work Blackberry. The camera on it sucks. We took more pictures while on the Tower, saw the city. The last time I visited Paris, I was able to take a crepe on the Eiffel Tower. Not this time, though. My kids laugh about that. Today we will attempt a visit at the Louvre Museum. I really want to see the Mona Lisa. If I see nothing else but this, I will be satisfied.
Spent the first night of our vacation in Geneva, walked around the city the next day. Lots of expensive brand name shops there. Took a train from Geneva to Paris on the second day. When we arrived at the Paris train station, I was a bit confused by the messages on the signs. Again, another pic from my crepey Blackberry camera showed retards were probable in Avignon. Sorry about the quality of the photo.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Fitness
So, three and a half months, I now understand why the Swiss are so fit. Here are my observations:
1) Sprinting for trains and buses is a popular workout routine. On any given day, you can stand in the main station and count hundreds of people working out. I like to dress up in a suit and leather shoes for my workouts. I feel more comfortable knowing I'm getting my money's worth on outrageous dry cleaning bills.
2) The cost of everything else limits one's calorie intake. Spending capability works wonders on any diet outside the US. There are just better things to spend your money on here than outrageously expensive food. For example, gasoline for your car, car insurance, a car, speeding tickets, maintenance of your car, registration fees for your car, and all other non-car expenses.
3) Corn.
Why corn? I watched two recent movies: The Informant, and Food Inc. To me, subsidizing corn is now at the root of all American evil. Watch them both, and you'll find the same pattern, too.
Friday, November 13, 2009
OMG Greece
I was finally able to make it outside the hotels where the software conference is being held. This was the Athens view from the restaurant where I had dinner last night. The restaurant is called Dionysos, and wow it is something. Not a bad seat in the house. The restaurant decor has spared no expense, and the service was fantastic.
I stumbled into a lunch spot just beneath the Acropolis, called Geros Toy Moria, in the winding roads of Plaka. We sat at a table on a hillside sidewalk, drank espressos, had an awesome tomato salad, ate fresh-catch fish, and finished with baklava. Again, the service was exceptional. They compete with the gentleman who has situated his restaurant directly next door, down the sidewalk. It is quaint to watch them entice the potentials.
Today we visited several islands. I couldn't help continuously asking directions to the town named Vagia on the island of Aegina.
I stumbled into a lunch spot just beneath the Acropolis, called Geros Toy Moria, in the winding roads of Plaka. We sat at a table on a hillside sidewalk, drank espressos, had an awesome tomato salad, ate fresh-catch fish, and finished with baklava. Again, the service was exceptional. They compete with the gentleman who has situated his restaurant directly next door, down the sidewalk. It is quaint to watch them entice the potentials.
Today we visited several islands. I couldn't help continuously asking directions to the town named Vagia on the island of Aegina.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Momentum
Being in Switzerland puts me in the middle of places I have only read about. I haven't traveled outside of Switzerland since landing in Zurich in August. My wife and kids went to London over a break, so they are enjoying this benefit without me. I haven't been able to take advantage of where I am located for a few reasons, but this week, I am in Athens, Greece, at a software conference called "Momentum". And, while I haven't yet made it out to see the awesome sites and to take photos of the inspring and very old landmarks, I did have to wonder what the graphic designer of this directional sign was thinking.
I can say I have been eating more food here than I would in Switzerland. Maybe the graphic designer has been, too.
I can say I have been eating more food here than I would in Switzerland. Maybe the graphic designer has been, too.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Öh Fünf
Learning a new language is one of the most frustrating tasks I have attempted. I don't learn languages well. I'm just not wired this way. My mouth doesn't make the sounds that others make. When I try to speak in German, I am constantly asked "What did you say?" but in English.
The umlaut sounds mess me up completely. The word "five" in German is "fünf". It's a funny sound for an American to try to pronounce. There are too many compressed little sounds in one word to sound comfortable saying it. To an "only-English" speaker, the umlaut u has a bit of an r sound in it, if one can closely catch it. To hear Five hundred fifty-five spoken in German gives me a giggle.
The umlaut sounds mess me up completely. The word "five" in German is "fünf". It's a funny sound for an American to try to pronounce. There are too many compressed little sounds in one word to sound comfortable saying it. To an "only-English" speaker, the umlaut u has a bit of an r sound in it, if one can closely catch it. To hear Five hundred fifty-five spoken in German gives me a giggle.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Hag
I originally took this picture because every morning I see it, and of course I have a small giggle to myself. After all, until my first coffee, I could easily be classified as a loving caffe hag.
So I started researching what it was, what it meant. I felt if I was going to try to be clever about something culturally trivial, but funny to me, I should know something about it or be blasted by people who do.
HAG is an acronym for Handels Atkien Gesellschaft (Trade Atkien Society, dunno what Atkien means but the German word Handelsgesellschaft means Partnership or Corporation, and this is what is intended). Caffe HAG is currently owned by Kraft, is a decaffeinated coffee, and is the mother of the Sanka brand better known in the US. To me, Sanka sucks. Caffe HAG is from the same genealogical tree, so by inference of pedigree, it sucks too. I don't drink it, I only laugh at its existence. Apparently, this company is the descendant of the inventor of decaf coffee, Ludwig Roselius, which he patented in 1906.
There is also a rich cultural history of this sucky brand through something called Coffee Hag Albums. The reference of Switzerland having the most complicated series has not gone unnoticed by me.
So I started researching what it was, what it meant. I felt if I was going to try to be clever about something culturally trivial, but funny to me, I should know something about it or be blasted by people who do.
HAG is an acronym for Handels Atkien Gesellschaft (Trade Atkien Society, dunno what Atkien means but the German word Handelsgesellschaft means Partnership or Corporation, and this is what is intended). Caffe HAG is currently owned by Kraft, is a decaffeinated coffee, and is the mother of the Sanka brand better known in the US. To me, Sanka sucks. Caffe HAG is from the same genealogical tree, so by inference of pedigree, it sucks too. I don't drink it, I only laugh at its existence. Apparently, this company is the descendant of the inventor of decaf coffee, Ludwig Roselius, which he patented in 1906.
There is also a rich cultural history of this sucky brand through something called Coffee Hag Albums. The reference of Switzerland having the most complicated series has not gone unnoticed by me.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Mein Gott! Silence the bells!
I grew up in a smallish midwestern town, Blue Springs, a suburb of Kansas City, another smallish midwestern city. I went to a church in a smallish midwestern town, Raytown, a suburb of Kansas City. Not once did I hear church bells. Not even once. I DID hear church organs, people singing, a preacher giving a sermon or a prayer, people shaking hands, enjoying their fellowship, and every once in a while some dumbass doing donuts in his Pontiac Grand Prix in the parking lot.
Here, in fun Switzerland, every hour on the hour the church bells toll. Every half hour, on the half hour, church bells toll. On Saturdays and Sundays, the church bells have fits, randomly to me because I have no schedules and I don't speak German. On Sunday, at 9:50am local time, the entire area for as far as my old ears can hear erupt into mass chaos, whether I'm ready to awaken or not.
So that you can also share in the enjoyment, here's a video example of me, ducking under the Berkowitsch, then doing what I can to leave the frame of view... because, you know, I'm shy.
Here, in fun Switzerland, every hour on the hour the church bells toll. Every half hour, on the half hour, church bells toll. On Saturdays and Sundays, the church bells have fits, randomly to me because I have no schedules and I don't speak German. On Sunday, at 9:50am local time, the entire area for as far as my old ears can hear erupt into mass chaos, whether I'm ready to awaken or not.
So that you can also share in the enjoyment, here's a video example of me, ducking under the Berkowitsch, then doing what I can to leave the frame of view... because, you know, I'm shy.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Swinglish
Expats (actually, not expats, just my wife) here are fond of apologizing for butchering the local language by adding their own words to it. They like to say "oh, please forgive my Swinglish." They are trying to be clever. Truth be told, it's not even a Swiss German and English mixture. It's more an attempt at Highglish Germanglish.
For someone like me who hardly knows a few words in German, the clever Swinglish phrasing is still lost on me. I told my son the other day, who is quickly learning German and singing German songs around the place...
me: You are speaking like a third grade German.
him: Come on, Dad, you say something now. You're supposed to be advanced.
me: Ha. I speak worse German than a little German baby.
him: Oh DAD!
Really, this is how we learn languages. Mimicking, speaking, then reading. I'm going to study this a bit more. I have two colleagues who know more languages than I have fingers. I have one colleague who can describe which language was popular during the 1700s and what the socio-economic status of the majority European population was. I am completely dumbfounded by this, with immense feelings of inadequacy.
Leave it to stupid me to read restaurant signs in mixed English and German, and ask "Why do they have special menus for 2 gang members and 3 gang members?"
For someone like me who hardly knows a few words in German, the clever Swinglish phrasing is still lost on me. I told my son the other day, who is quickly learning German and singing German songs around the place...
me: You are speaking like a third grade German.
him: Come on, Dad, you say something now. You're supposed to be advanced.
me: Ha. I speak worse German than a little German baby.
him: Oh DAD!
Really, this is how we learn languages. Mimicking, speaking, then reading. I'm going to study this a bit more. I have two colleagues who know more languages than I have fingers. I have one colleague who can describe which language was popular during the 1700s and what the socio-economic status of the majority European population was. I am completely dumbfounded by this, with immense feelings of inadequacy.
Leave it to stupid me to read restaurant signs in mixed English and German, and ask "Why do they have special menus for 2 gang members and 3 gang members?"
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Community Tables
In the US, I was very accustomed to having my own table for meals. In Switzerland, especially in traditional Swiss restaurants, or even at events and gatherings, there are these long benches. I know now that when I see a bench inside a restaurant, if I am not a member of a party of 6 or more, I will be seated with strangers who will share the same salt and pepper with me, or ask me to pass them the sugar for their coffee. I have a cousin who also thinks that close-talking is a cultural thing here. Could be. I do like my space. My daughter calls it her personal bubble. "Get out of my personal bubble."
There is this one specific restaurant in Zurich that most outsiders seem to enjoy, and believe that this must be Swiss culture. The locals like it, too, but only once in a great while. They serve American-sized portions, so it's mainly to sell local food culture to the tourists. It's called Zeughauskeller. I like it. It's fun once in a while, but crowded. Sometimes it's fun to talk to strangers, but I have to be in the right mood... the mood that is ready to entertain others. My father-in-law judges a restaurant's quality by the size of its nightly crowd. Thus, this one would seem to be one of the top, even with its community table seating.
There is this one specific restaurant in Zurich that most outsiders seem to enjoy, and believe that this must be Swiss culture. The locals like it, too, but only once in a great while. They serve American-sized portions, so it's mainly to sell local food culture to the tourists. It's called Zeughauskeller. I like it. It's fun once in a while, but crowded. Sometimes it's fun to talk to strangers, but I have to be in the right mood... the mood that is ready to entertain others. My father-in-law judges a restaurant's quality by the size of its nightly crowd. Thus, this one would seem to be one of the top, even with its community table seating.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Eliot Sharpener
I don't speak German. I wish I did. I've tried. I know a few little things. Enough to know when I'm making stuff up. My kids know a lot by now. They have been taking German as part of their curriculum.
Tonight at dinner while I was passing the bread, I asked my daughter a question. I was hoping to make her laugh because she was in quite a sour mood.
me: Kannst du brot? (translated, Can you bread?)
her: You're so stupid.
me: Super. Bist du brot? (translated, Are you bread?)
It started the conversation talking about what German they have learned. I was asked all kinds of questions in German. I didn't know any of the answers. They had to translate for me. Now that it was funny, the question came to me...
her: Bist du ein spitzer?
me: Am I a what?
her: If it's ein, it's a masculine or neutral word. If it's eine, it's a feminine.
mom: Ohhh, a clue...
me: What is a spitzer?
her: It has to do with something in school.
me: A pencil?
her: No. But you're close.
me: An eraser?
her: No.
mom: A pencil?
her: No! Dad already said that.
son: A pencil sharpener?
her: Yes.
me: And it's masculine?
her: What?? Dad! You're so stupid.
me: I'm just saying... Not that there's anything wrong with that...
Tonight at dinner while I was passing the bread, I asked my daughter a question. I was hoping to make her laugh because she was in quite a sour mood.
me: Kannst du brot? (translated, Can you bread?)
her: You're so stupid.
me: Super. Bist du brot? (translated, Are you bread?)
It started the conversation talking about what German they have learned. I was asked all kinds of questions in German. I didn't know any of the answers. They had to translate for me. Now that it was funny, the question came to me...
her: Bist du ein spitzer?
me: Am I a what?
her: If it's ein, it's a masculine or neutral word. If it's eine, it's a feminine.
mom: Ohhh, a clue...
me: What is a spitzer?
her: It has to do with something in school.
me: A pencil?
her: No. But you're close.
me: An eraser?
her: No.
mom: A pencil?
her: No! Dad already said that.
son: A pencil sharpener?
her: Yes.
me: And it's masculine?
her: What?? Dad! You're so stupid.
me: I'm just saying... Not that there's anything wrong with that...
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Finally
Talking about the weather in Switzerland is considered polite small talk. Right now, it is 2 Celsius. To me, that's 35 degrees in Fahrenheit. I don't speak German. Fahrenheit looks like a German word to me, (I know it is the name of the Polish dude who created this measurement system) but for the raw irony, I'll switch in Celsius.
(in a conference room of 5 people)
me: Do local citizens enjoy this type of weather?
person 1: Of course, it's a beautiful today. It is a bit chilly.
me: This is the temperature I set my air conditioning in my house, in Connecticut.
person 1, 2, 3, 4: HA HA HA HA HA HA.
person 1: Yes, we do have to wear sweaters to the office in NY.
I am finally comfortable. The bugs are thwarted, I'm no longer sweating my ass off just to breathe, and I can finally enjoy the scenery without running for shade. It is definitely beautiful here. The leaves are changing colors. Everyone is walking around in overcoats, scarves, hats, even some are wearing ear muffs and gloves. I'm walking the dog in shorts, a t-shirt, and sandals, whistling a happy tune.
I can't imagine what my heating bill will look like when a bill finally arrives. The floors here emanate heat. I have to open doors to the outside just to let in the fresh air, something I haven't been able to do with the constant onslaught of insects.
Yes, finally I can be happy with something as simple and polite as the weather.
(in a conference room of 5 people)
me: Do local citizens enjoy this type of weather?
person 1: Of course, it's a beautiful today. It is a bit chilly.
me: This is the temperature I set my air conditioning in my house, in Connecticut.
person 1, 2, 3, 4: HA HA HA HA HA HA.
person 1: Yes, we do have to wear sweaters to the office in NY.
I am finally comfortable. The bugs are thwarted, I'm no longer sweating my ass off just to breathe, and I can finally enjoy the scenery without running for shade. It is definitely beautiful here. The leaves are changing colors. Everyone is walking around in overcoats, scarves, hats, even some are wearing ear muffs and gloves. I'm walking the dog in shorts, a t-shirt, and sandals, whistling a happy tune.
I can't imagine what my heating bill will look like when a bill finally arrives. The floors here emanate heat. I have to open doors to the outside just to let in the fresh air, something I haven't been able to do with the constant onslaught of insects.
Yes, finally I can be happy with something as simple and polite as the weather.
Labels:
Cultural differences,
dialogue,
Me me me,
weather
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Exactly
Growing up in the 1970s and early 1980s, childrens' television programming was starkly different than today's dedicated networks of mind fry and distraction. While the behaviors I exhibited then are the same as what my children tend to exhibit (unplugging from my surroundings, sitting and staring at a box), the distraction selection then was severely limited to 3 major channels, and maybe a few extra minor channels. Afterall, we kids back then didn't have a tremendous amount of expendable income, so the marketing and revenue potential was weaker. Reruns and limited programming did have a tendency to motivate us to get up and move, although a rerun of Ultraman or Johnny Socko and the Flying Robot was always worth watching over and over. For a young boy, our heroes were Speed Racer, Batman and Robin, Superman in black and white, or the Green Hornet. Our early life lessons and language teachers were mostly surreal puppets from Sesame Street, HR PufnStuf, New Zoo Review,and Gary Gnu from The Great Space Coaster. Even the Electric Company resorted to puppets now and then.
I remembered Gary Gnu recently. The memory was triggered by a word very often used here. The word is "genau". It is pronounced like "geh-now", with emphasis on the second syllable. It means "exactly". I hear it everywhere I go, often strung together in repeating phrases. "Genau, genau." Surely two exactlys together is a stronger confirmation of agreement than only one. Yesterday, I heard it strung together 3 times. "Ja, genau, genau... genau." As an outsider, I have heard the Swiss Germans lovingly referred to as the people of Greutzi and Genau.
I remembered Gary Gnu recently. The memory was triggered by a word very often used here. The word is "genau". It is pronounced like "geh-now", with emphasis on the second syllable. It means "exactly". I hear it everywhere I go, often strung together in repeating phrases. "Genau, genau." Surely two exactlys together is a stronger confirmation of agreement than only one. Yesterday, I heard it strung together 3 times. "Ja, genau, genau... genau." As an outsider, I have heard the Swiss Germans lovingly referred to as the people of Greutzi and Genau.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Uh...
I used to only smell this distinguishing smell at rock concerts that I would attend with my brother. The two of us would buy tickets to attend the old and repeating music of fading rock bands. We would ask each other "How would you feel if you had to play the same song over and over, the one you wrote when you were in a depressed stupor 35 years ago?"
Now, I can smell this distinguishing smell at train stops, walks in the park, walking through an art school campus, at restaurants, at the post office, in a grocery store... I smell THIS smell more frequently than the very local gag-reflex-causing-raclette-smell. I am not living in Amsterdam. I am living in Zurich. And yet, it is tolerated because... well, I don't know why. Of all the rule following rule lovers here, this one seems to be a little relaxed.
Now, I can smell this distinguishing smell at train stops, walks in the park, walking through an art school campus, at restaurants, at the post office, in a grocery store... I smell THIS smell more frequently than the very local gag-reflex-causing-raclette-smell. I am not living in Amsterdam. I am living in Zurich. And yet, it is tolerated because... well, I don't know why. Of all the rule following rule lovers here, this one seems to be a little relaxed.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
CLAP
Imagine concentrating on your computer screen, then suddenly out of nothing comes this CLAP sound. Your first reaction would to be look at where that sound came from, startled, then wonder why the hell the person clapped once, and returned to their work. Now imagine that happening throughout the day, at spontaneous intervals. You will be thinking "Tourette Syndrome", or just plain messed up. These must be the thoughts of my co-workers and family members, observing me throughout each day lately.
I am obsessed. There are these tiny little bugs that fly at my face throughout each day. Tiny. These tiny little flies (smaller than fruit flies) land on my nose hairs, on my eyelashes, on my lips... all freaking day long. I kill them all the freaking time, and yet 4 more spontaneously pop into life in place of the one I just killed. It is an annoying nonstop video game of Asteroids, but in real life. I am so embarrassed for my surrounding colleagues having to tolerate me.
Then I come home, try to have a glass of wine. I put down my glass, and out of nothing appear 6 fruit flies, also enjoying my glass of wine.
Then I go to bed, and I am sucked dry of my blood supply by mosquitoes that somehow enter my existence through wormholes. I am freaking nuts.
I am obsessed. There are these tiny little bugs that fly at my face throughout each day. Tiny. These tiny little flies (smaller than fruit flies) land on my nose hairs, on my eyelashes, on my lips... all freaking day long. I kill them all the freaking time, and yet 4 more spontaneously pop into life in place of the one I just killed. It is an annoying nonstop video game of Asteroids, but in real life. I am so embarrassed for my surrounding colleagues having to tolerate me.
Then I come home, try to have a glass of wine. I put down my glass, and out of nothing appear 6 fruit flies, also enjoying my glass of wine.
Then I go to bed, and I am sucked dry of my blood supply by mosquitoes that somehow enter my existence through wormholes. I am freaking nuts.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Tram restrictions
Here's a list of things you can't do while riding a tram in Switzerland. Evidently, you cannot:
- Blow your cigarette smoke onto the head of the person sitting in front of you.
- Pull out your empty pockets inside out and wave your arms up and down.
- Play your guitar and sing.
- Saw the seat next to you.
- Put your golf cleats onto the seat in front of you.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Lines
I stand in lines at Vapiano's to have my pasta made to order, or to order a pizza. I stand in lines at the bank, the grocery store check-out stand, the post office, and the ticket counter at the train station. I stand in lines at the cafeteria at work, to enter a revolving door in a mall, to get in to see a movie. Lines are everywhere here.
So why the hell do people rush in front of me when I'm stepping onto a train, a tram, a bus, an escalator at the Zurich Haupt Bahnhoff, or passport control at the airport? Why don't the same queuing rules apply in these situations? And why is it ok to pick your nose in public here, or sneeze all over everyone? What about these things are not staying within certain lines?
So why the hell do people rush in front of me when I'm stepping onto a train, a tram, a bus, an escalator at the Zurich Haupt Bahnhoff, or passport control at the airport? Why don't the same queuing rules apply in these situations? And why is it ok to pick your nose in public here, or sneeze all over everyone? What about these things are not staying within certain lines?
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Grumpy Old Man Tip #1
When I was young, I bemoaned health tips from oldsters. Now that I'm aging and becoming an oldster, I understand the purpose behind why oldsters do this. We only want to pass on useful information to people who still have time to make use of this information. So here is my first tip to pass on as an oldster:
Drink 6 to 8 eight-ounce glasses of water, daily.
This seems obvious, not really even worth saying. Eventually, I get thirsty, and I finally gulp a glass of water. What I didn't realize was what happens to me if I don't drink enough water consistently. Or if I try to somehow derive my needed water from things which are abundant in Switzerland, like beer, wine, Coke Zero, exceptionally strong coffee, wasser mit kohlensauer, or a bowl of Cookie Crisp with odd tasting Swiss milche. I've read dehydration can lead to most diseases. Don't know how true that is, but if it is even almost true... it's worth the preventative measures.
I tried something, as an experiment. I have a history of mild depression, and I know people also with these symptoms who describe it to me the same way... mild depression. For me, it's been showing up at odd times in the past 6 weeks since moving here. Nothing serious, just blah-ness. Most people tell me it's very normal to experience this after a move to a different culture. They even have a phrase for it, they call it "culture shock". I noticed it seemed to correspond with my face getting blotchy, a sign I am not drinking enough water, or too much coffee along with other body things I shouldn't describe. The first time it showed up here, I pulled out my toolkit for managing it. I don't take medication for these symptoms, although I know some who do take them with good success.
So as part of my experiment, I started rehydrating, monitoring how much water I'm drinking during the day, replacing whatever coffee I or beer or wine I drink with the same amount of water, or more. This tip lands me again into a restroom, frequently. But I feel a ton better mentally, my face isn't (as) blotchy, and my other functions aren't so unfriendly. I tried this a couple of times, dehydrating, not paying attention, back came the mild depression, and it went away after I rehydrated.
Feeling blah? Try rehydrating for a few days.
Drink 6 to 8 eight-ounce glasses of water, daily.
This seems obvious, not really even worth saying. Eventually, I get thirsty, and I finally gulp a glass of water. What I didn't realize was what happens to me if I don't drink enough water consistently. Or if I try to somehow derive my needed water from things which are abundant in Switzerland, like beer, wine, Coke Zero, exceptionally strong coffee, wasser mit kohlensauer, or a bowl of Cookie Crisp with odd tasting Swiss milche. I've read dehydration can lead to most diseases. Don't know how true that is, but if it is even almost true... it's worth the preventative measures.
I tried something, as an experiment. I have a history of mild depression, and I know people also with these symptoms who describe it to me the same way... mild depression. For me, it's been showing up at odd times in the past 6 weeks since moving here. Nothing serious, just blah-ness. Most people tell me it's very normal to experience this after a move to a different culture. They even have a phrase for it, they call it "culture shock". I noticed it seemed to correspond with my face getting blotchy, a sign I am not drinking enough water, or too much coffee along with other body things I shouldn't describe. The first time it showed up here, I pulled out my toolkit for managing it. I don't take medication for these symptoms, although I know some who do take them with good success.
So as part of my experiment, I started rehydrating, monitoring how much water I'm drinking during the day, replacing whatever coffee I or beer or wine I drink with the same amount of water, or more. This tip lands me again into a restroom, frequently. But I feel a ton better mentally, my face isn't (as) blotchy, and my other functions aren't so unfriendly. I tried this a couple of times, dehydrating, not paying attention, back came the mild depression, and it went away after I rehydrated.
Feeling blah? Try rehydrating for a few days.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Gross, Grosse, und "Gross"
My children are learning German. They have friends who speak German so they are motivated.
There's a large church landmark in Zurich with two towers, called Gross Münster.
gus: It's called Gross Monster?
me: No, Gross Münster. Gross means "big" in German. Grosse means "large". Münster means "minister", or maybe "cathedral".
gus: So it means big cathedral?
me: Probably. I don't speak German, so...
Later...
sarah: Gus! You're gross!
gus: That means "big" in German, Sarah. You just called me "big".
sarah: Then, you're disgusting.
gus: Well, part of that is my name, Sarah... "gus" is in "disgusting".
sarah: Gus is short for disgusting.
gus: No, Sarah. Gus is short for August.
sarah: (flustered) rrrrrrrhhhh...
There's a large church landmark in Zurich with two towers, called Gross Münster.
gus: It's called Gross Monster?
me: No, Gross Münster. Gross means "big" in German. Grosse means "large". Münster means "minister", or maybe "cathedral".
gus: So it means big cathedral?
me: Probably. I don't speak German, so...
Later...
sarah: Gus! You're gross!
gus: That means "big" in German, Sarah. You just called me "big".
sarah: Then, you're disgusting.
gus: Well, part of that is my name, Sarah... "gus" is in "disgusting".
sarah: Gus is short for disgusting.
gus: No, Sarah. Gus is short for August.
sarah: (flustered) rrrrrrrhhhh...
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Switches
I've been working a lot more lately. I'm feeling tired on weekends, but still working to catch up. When I was in the US, I would work at a frenzy in the morning until after lunch. From my New York or Kansas perspective, these are the hours the Swiss are still working. Then after lunch, I would catch up, sometimes until late at night. Here, the energy is focused from morning until night, then I often continue with my American colleagues for a while after. This is a big switch for me and for my manager, who used to do this, and may still, but perhaps not to the same energy level of before I landed here.
Speaking of switches, my wife asked me last weekend to help her hang some lighting. In the apartments here when one moves in, there is no lighting anywhere. Just wires hanging from ceilings in places where lights should be. Maybe the bathroom has a light or two, but nothing in any other room. This is normal here. When you move, you strip everything... lights, window treatments, everything.
For a short-term stay like mine, we are faced with a decision on how much to invest, feeling anything we bring in we will either try to sell, or throw away. We chose cheap, of course. And to remain within our limited budget, she asked me to help her hang and wire them. To know me means you will also know my reaction. I am not the handiest mate. My work is better when left to thoughts. My manual execution skills produce things that end up not what was hoped, expected, anticipated. My hands are about as useful as a couple of flopping fish. American light switches are about my pace. They are clearly labeled "on" and "off". I like binary thinking. It is simple to me, and it matches the simplicity needed for my fish hands. As long as the electrician did their proper job, all will be safe.
her: I need you to help me connect this light.
me: I don't speak German.
her: Come on. Just help. I don't know how to do it or I would.
me: You can look it up on the Internet.
her: So can you. So do that, then help me.
I look up the wiring on the Internet. Blue, brown, green stripe. These are (sometimes) the colors hanging from the ceiling. These aren't exactly the colors that match the lighting, but one of them does, the blue one. I think I'm smarter than the average light switch. Me and my fish can figure this out.
I connect one. I fiddle with the other.
me: Baaararararuarahgfhwqruigy
her: What?
me: Uh... can you turn off the power to this one? I just absorbed 220V.
gus: What was that? What happened? (He comes running from upstairs).
me: Oh, nothing. I was just laughing at your Mom. Sorry to bug you.
her: Well how do you know if it's on or off?
me: When you hold them both, it does or doesn't hurt.
Speaking of switches, my wife asked me last weekend to help her hang some lighting. In the apartments here when one moves in, there is no lighting anywhere. Just wires hanging from ceilings in places where lights should be. Maybe the bathroom has a light or two, but nothing in any other room. This is normal here. When you move, you strip everything... lights, window treatments, everything.
For a short-term stay like mine, we are faced with a decision on how much to invest, feeling anything we bring in we will either try to sell, or throw away. We chose cheap, of course. And to remain within our limited budget, she asked me to help her hang and wire them. To know me means you will also know my reaction. I am not the handiest mate. My work is better when left to thoughts. My manual execution skills produce things that end up not what was hoped, expected, anticipated. My hands are about as useful as a couple of flopping fish. American light switches are about my pace. They are clearly labeled "on" and "off". I like binary thinking. It is simple to me, and it matches the simplicity needed for my fish hands. As long as the electrician did their proper job, all will be safe.
her: I need you to help me connect this light.
me: I don't speak German.
her: Come on. Just help. I don't know how to do it or I would.
me: You can look it up on the Internet.
her: So can you. So do that, then help me.
I look up the wiring on the Internet. Blue, brown, green stripe. These are (sometimes) the colors hanging from the ceiling. These aren't exactly the colors that match the lighting, but one of them does, the blue one. I think I'm smarter than the average light switch. Me and my fish can figure this out.
I connect one. I fiddle with the other.
me: Baaararararuarahgfhwqruigy
her: What?
me: Uh... can you turn off the power to this one? I just absorbed 220V.
gus: What was that? What happened? (He comes running from upstairs).
me: Oh, nothing. I was just laughing at your Mom. Sorry to bug you.
her: Well how do you know if it's on or off?
me: When you hold them both, it does or doesn't hurt.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
More things I miss
Over coffee, one of my colleagues told me he switched to a Vegan lifestyle within the last few months. I had to ask him several questions about this when he told me. He says he doesn't miss the food he's given up, although he does see finding the food he wants to be more of a challenge. I could relate the part about finding the food I wanted being a challenge.
Near the building where I work, the building with the crazy people-grinding doors, there is a well known after-work place we frequent. The probability of seeing a colleague there is very high every night. It's close. It's convenient. It's directly next to a train station. They serve beer. But it's also branded as "an American Pub". The name of it is supposed to be modeled after what the Swiss (and the rest of the world) believe to be American. They serve hamburgers, fries, other things that are somehow fried in oils. Their hamburgers don't taste like hamburgers. They put some form of what we call Thousand Island dressing on it. It's not simple. Now I really want a US hamburger. And I want the beef to be laced with antibiotics, antimicrobials, hormones, and other non-regulated US additives. Add US home-grown genetic manipulation to this so that the cow stores more fat. If the manipulated fat tastes like bacon, great. In fact, add bacon, too. Not this flimsy prosciutto-like-pork-strips-faking-to-be-bacon. The real carcinogenic stuff.
Here's a few more things I've realized I miss:
- Men's Wearhouse: We know you'll like the way you look... cheap. I bought a suit here a couple of weeks ago. Omg. The cost of clothing here is unreal. I bought a suit because my clothes aren't fitting me any more. I'm losing weight. I'm so angry about this, too. I really did enjoy looking like that chap in the picture. I was so contented then, living with my conveniences, my hamburgers, my TV shows, driving everywhere, walking from my car to inside wherever. At this rate, I will be buying unrealistically expensive clothing, wearing them a couple of weeks, and buying more. It's ridiculous, and I've had enough. Send me real hamburgers, PLEASE!
- Cheap dry cleaning: can't say more than that.
- Cheap anything.
- Fluffy bagels with eggs and cheese. Mmmm.
- OK Joe's BBQ: Guuhhguugguguugugg.
- Noisy kids.
- Harley mufflers rolling through at 2am, rattling the house. I can't sleep with all the quiet here.
- Magazines I can read: every convenience store (brand name is Kiosk) here has rows and rows of magazines in German.
- Stag's Leap Artemis: my affinity for California red will never be surpassed by the great ones they have within proximity of these borders. I'm a snob for CA grapes. ;)
- And of course, my family and friends. At least facebook helps me keep up on their statuses, even if one of my cousin's statuses is simply "I'm pooping".
Near the building where I work, the building with the crazy people-grinding doors, there is a well known after-work place we frequent. The probability of seeing a colleague there is very high every night. It's close. It's convenient. It's directly next to a train station. They serve beer. But it's also branded as "an American Pub". The name of it is supposed to be modeled after what the Swiss (and the rest of the world) believe to be American. They serve hamburgers, fries, other things that are somehow fried in oils. Their hamburgers don't taste like hamburgers. They put some form of what we call Thousand Island dressing on it. It's not simple. Now I really want a US hamburger. And I want the beef to be laced with antibiotics, antimicrobials, hormones, and other non-regulated US additives. Add US home-grown genetic manipulation to this so that the cow stores more fat. If the manipulated fat tastes like bacon, great. In fact, add bacon, too. Not this flimsy prosciutto-like-pork-strips-faking-to-be-bacon. The real carcinogenic stuff.
Here's a few more things I've realized I miss:
- Men's Wearhouse: We know you'll like the way you look... cheap. I bought a suit here a couple of weeks ago. Omg. The cost of clothing here is unreal. I bought a suit because my clothes aren't fitting me any more. I'm losing weight. I'm so angry about this, too. I really did enjoy looking like that chap in the picture. I was so contented then, living with my conveniences, my hamburgers, my TV shows, driving everywhere, walking from my car to inside wherever. At this rate, I will be buying unrealistically expensive clothing, wearing them a couple of weeks, and buying more. It's ridiculous, and I've had enough. Send me real hamburgers, PLEASE!
- Cheap dry cleaning: can't say more than that.
- Cheap anything.
- Fluffy bagels with eggs and cheese. Mmmm.
- OK Joe's BBQ: Guuhhguugguguugugg.
- Noisy kids.
- Harley mufflers rolling through at 2am, rattling the house. I can't sleep with all the quiet here.
- Magazines I can read: every convenience store (brand name is Kiosk) here has rows and rows of magazines in German.
- Stag's Leap Artemis: my affinity for California red will never be surpassed by the great ones they have within proximity of these borders. I'm a snob for CA grapes. ;)
- And of course, my family and friends. At least facebook helps me keep up on their statuses, even if one of my cousin's statuses is simply "I'm pooping".
Sunday, September 13, 2009
1970s
Three years ago, one of my first complaints to a colleague about the locale of my new Swiss employer (through an acquisition) was that there was an underlying theme of 1970s. Not so much in fashion or styles as Zurich is at the forefront here, but more toward conservative business practices. They agreed, but through the eyes of their perspective. This colleague was an American female. I've also learned that once a person declares something, whether or not disputed, there is much energy spent collecting evidence to support such a declaration. I admit the following is my collecting evidence to support wild generalizations and skewed observations. Please read it as such, and not a political view.
Americans are seen by the rest of the world as being excessively litigious. Of course, there are good sides and bad sides. One of my Swiss colleagues described a family member enduring medical procedure horrors, with no satisfying recourse. Here, it is understood that people make their own decisions, and therefore accept the consequences. Social medicine here is wonderful when it works well, and can be very painful when it doesn't. I have lots of friends and a few relatives who are attorneys. Even Americans recognize the craziness of litigation practices, and most know a good lawyer joke. The Swiss seem far more self-controlled, self-governed, visible pride about knowing and following the rules so that order for each is respected. Fairness for all seems a core value, even if to me fairness is an illusion granted by those who have control of a system. For now, living among them, I like this. At some point, I can sense I may find myself a victim without recourse, and will then complain about injustice.
Women in the corporate world in Switzerland also face many challenges that America seems to have addressed since the 1970s. Daycare is rare and very difficult to find. The public school system sends children home for lunches, making a cohesive workday impossible. There is a spoken belief that mothers are to care for their children. Equality in pay, still an issue in America, seems also to be a recent issue here. At least in government, more women are becoming visible. But it is still very noticeable when looking around the ranks in conservative corporations. I can imagine my female colleagues feel privileged and accomplished to be where they are in strong positions, but also see the challenges in working with the male networks, the systems in place that have worked for generations, and still being able to further their goals and experiences.
Sexual harassment, a behavior changer in America, also has a view here tied to both litigation and American awkwardness in courting. Here, men can openly comment on the beauty of a local woman in the office, joke about being a blond, discuss openly the chances of winning the affection of a female colleague to enhance the success of a project. They are deathly fearful of doing the same while in America, so they know the difference. "La bise", or greeting with a series of cheek kisses, is a custom performed locally, 3 for close, 2 for acquainted, including during office greetings. I was recently described as "shy" for not respecting this custom, and while I attempted it my first time with friends two evenings ago, there was still an internal reaction which broadcasted my American awkwardness. I am still shy because I have been wired this way.
My 11 year old daughter brought these home the other day. She loves to spend her francs on candy.
kris: Ohhh, these remind me of Ava and the 5 and Dime. I would take a quarter and come back with a bag of candy.
me: When was that?
kris: I was just a little girl, maybe 4 or 5. Everybody in Ava was smoking real ones, I would smoke these.
me: So, the '70s?
My first reaction to seeing these was a parent's reaction to finding real ones with their child. It was an overreaction of course, but it led me to wonder more about the cigarette companies, and how their profits are largely made from non-Americans. Tort law just isn't the same here... yet. I have to wonder if it is something to come as our local cultures continue to mix, merge, mash-up, or if litigation as a means for justice satisfaction will be resisted. Anyway, the gum sucks, just like it did when I bought it in the 1970s.
Americans are seen by the rest of the world as being excessively litigious. Of course, there are good sides and bad sides. One of my Swiss colleagues described a family member enduring medical procedure horrors, with no satisfying recourse. Here, it is understood that people make their own decisions, and therefore accept the consequences. Social medicine here is wonderful when it works well, and can be very painful when it doesn't. I have lots of friends and a few relatives who are attorneys. Even Americans recognize the craziness of litigation practices, and most know a good lawyer joke. The Swiss seem far more self-controlled, self-governed, visible pride about knowing and following the rules so that order for each is respected. Fairness for all seems a core value, even if to me fairness is an illusion granted by those who have control of a system. For now, living among them, I like this. At some point, I can sense I may find myself a victim without recourse, and will then complain about injustice.
Women in the corporate world in Switzerland also face many challenges that America seems to have addressed since the 1970s. Daycare is rare and very difficult to find. The public school system sends children home for lunches, making a cohesive workday impossible. There is a spoken belief that mothers are to care for their children. Equality in pay, still an issue in America, seems also to be a recent issue here. At least in government, more women are becoming visible. But it is still very noticeable when looking around the ranks in conservative corporations. I can imagine my female colleagues feel privileged and accomplished to be where they are in strong positions, but also see the challenges in working with the male networks, the systems in place that have worked for generations, and still being able to further their goals and experiences.
Sexual harassment, a behavior changer in America, also has a view here tied to both litigation and American awkwardness in courting. Here, men can openly comment on the beauty of a local woman in the office, joke about being a blond, discuss openly the chances of winning the affection of a female colleague to enhance the success of a project. They are deathly fearful of doing the same while in America, so they know the difference. "La bise", or greeting with a series of cheek kisses, is a custom performed locally, 3 for close, 2 for acquainted, including during office greetings. I was recently described as "shy" for not respecting this custom, and while I attempted it my first time with friends two evenings ago, there was still an internal reaction which broadcasted my American awkwardness. I am still shy because I have been wired this way.
My 11 year old daughter brought these home the other day. She loves to spend her francs on candy.
kris: Ohhh, these remind me of Ava and the 5 and Dime. I would take a quarter and come back with a bag of candy.
me: When was that?
kris: I was just a little girl, maybe 4 or 5. Everybody in Ava was smoking real ones, I would smoke these.
me: So, the '70s?
My first reaction to seeing these was a parent's reaction to finding real ones with their child. It was an overreaction of course, but it led me to wonder more about the cigarette companies, and how their profits are largely made from non-Americans. Tort law just isn't the same here... yet. I have to wonder if it is something to come as our local cultures continue to mix, merge, mash-up, or if litigation as a means for justice satisfaction will be resisted. Anyway, the gum sucks, just like it did when I bought it in the 1970s.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Box Day
We're missing a local event calendar. I guess one of these exists somewhere because everyone is clued in somehow except us.
One month ago...
her: I put some boxes out yesterday on top of existing boxes next to the trash bin and this guy yelled at me in German. What am I supposed to do with these boxes?
me: I don't speak German.
Two weeks ago...
her: I really need to get these boxes out of here, and I have no idea what to do with them!
me: You could stack them into a closet like a jigsaw puzzle.
her: Grow up.
Today...
her: Did you see all of those collapsed boxes everywhere on your way to work this morning? Apparently today was box day. How the hell does anyone know when box day is around here???
me: I don't speak German.
her: I had to miss my exercise routine this morning just so I could rush out and break down a bunch of boxes in time.
me: Did you use a plus screwdriver?
If you've made it this far and are wondering why did I write this, see this former blog post.
One month ago...
her: I put some boxes out yesterday on top of existing boxes next to the trash bin and this guy yelled at me in German. What am I supposed to do with these boxes?
me: I don't speak German.
Two weeks ago...
her: I really need to get these boxes out of here, and I have no idea what to do with them!
me: You could stack them into a closet like a jigsaw puzzle.
her: Grow up.
Today...
her: Did you see all of those collapsed boxes everywhere on your way to work this morning? Apparently today was box day. How the hell does anyone know when box day is around here???
me: I don't speak German.
her: I had to miss my exercise routine this morning just so I could rush out and break down a bunch of boxes in time.
me: Did you use a plus screwdriver?
If you've made it this far and are wondering why did I write this, see this former blog post.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Worte
I don't usually get hung up on words, labels, names, their meanings. I have a wife named Kris. I have a son named August, born in June (and although we call him Gus, it is most often pronounced "Goose" here when they see it spelled like this). I have a dog named Bear. It isn't intentional, but it is something I notice. Usually my noticeables land me in a restroom. This time, the toilet humor is still here, but minimized.
Here are a few words from my travels that make my children giggle:
Ausfahrt. It means Exit... well of course. I can't get the kids to stop saying this in public, asking strangers what does ausfahrt mean, commenting "you smell like an ausfahrt."
Manegg. It's a town in Zurich. I'll take a picture if I come across one of these eggs.
Moosegg. It's a restaurant in Rueschilikon. Most of my colleagues have eaten there, or had a nice beer on the patio.
Stonga. I don't know if I'm spelling this right. Probably not. It means a small draw of beer, any beer, just small.
Panache. I also don't know if I'm spelling this right. It means a half-and-half mixture of beer and what I would call Sprite, but my Swiss colleagues also have a brand called Citroen. They do this to limit the alcohol intake, but still enjoy the social time required to drink a whole one.
Au. It's a town. It is pronounced like "Ow." It's fun to hear the female train recording say it as we're pulling into the station. "Ow." "Quit kicking her, Gus."
And, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention Chuchichaeschtli just to be respectful. Each ch sound is the back of throat ugula grinding. It means kitchen cupboard.
And an unrelated few worte... Today marks my zwanzig Jahre Hochzeitstag. Happy anniversary, Kris.
Here are a few words from my travels that make my children giggle:
Ausfahrt. It means Exit... well of course. I can't get the kids to stop saying this in public, asking strangers what does ausfahrt mean, commenting "you smell like an ausfahrt."
Manegg. It's a town in Zurich. I'll take a picture if I come across one of these eggs.
Moosegg. It's a restaurant in Rueschilikon. Most of my colleagues have eaten there, or had a nice beer on the patio.
Stonga. I don't know if I'm spelling this right. Probably not. It means a small draw of beer, any beer, just small.
Panache. I also don't know if I'm spelling this right. It means a half-and-half mixture of beer and what I would call Sprite, but my Swiss colleagues also have a brand called Citroen. They do this to limit the alcohol intake, but still enjoy the social time required to drink a whole one.
Au. It's a town. It is pronounced like "Ow." It's fun to hear the female train recording say it as we're pulling into the station. "Ow." "Quit kicking her, Gus."
And, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention Chuchichaeschtli just to be respectful. Each ch sound is the back of throat ugula grinding. It means kitchen cupboard.
And an unrelated few worte... Today marks my zwanzig Jahre Hochzeitstag. Happy anniversary, Kris.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Coffee
Mmmmmm... Swiss coffee. In the company where I work, and specifically in Switzerland, coffee is an event. It's a social gathering. It's where deals get done. It's a time to sip, and discuss. Not so much in the same company in the US.
For me and Swiss coffee, I get wired, incredibly bad breath, and yellow teeth. The teeth situation seems ok for most because most people also have yellow fingers from smoking. Maybe they don't realize that, but I notice my teeth every time I brush them and wonder just how the heck that happens so quickly after visiting a dentist. It's the coffee.
The coffee here is instantaneously grounded. They pour in these awesome roasted beans into the top and walk away. Then, lines of people press buttons, juggle cups or glasses of all sizes, and loud grinding noises with wonderful aromas fill the air. Well, these noises fill the air just underneath the non-stop talking and chatter in the cafe where people rotate in and out every few minutes drinking, discussing, dealing, socializing, gathering.
I have also started drinking far too much espresso. I tried switching to Ristretto, which I finally learned is a smaller shot of espresso, but I guess it's also a little stronger than espresso. Lucky for me I was hitting that button twice to get a reasonable sized blast. Little did I know... until later when I was blasting a gut in the restroom.
My Swiss colleagues enjoy asking me politely "So, do you have espresso machines where you work in the US?" They already know the answer. It's really just an inside joke to them. I play along with American politeness. While our coffee resembles cat urine to them, it also makes them shaky. They switch to tea when they are in the US. An American coffee's taste is just unbearable, but the shakes are also too distracting. Swiss coffee to me doesn't resemble a cat's urine. I quite like it. For me, it does however produce interesting results other than cafe chatter.
For me and Swiss coffee, I get wired, incredibly bad breath, and yellow teeth. The teeth situation seems ok for most because most people also have yellow fingers from smoking. Maybe they don't realize that, but I notice my teeth every time I brush them and wonder just how the heck that happens so quickly after visiting a dentist. It's the coffee.
The coffee here is instantaneously grounded. They pour in these awesome roasted beans into the top and walk away. Then, lines of people press buttons, juggle cups or glasses of all sizes, and loud grinding noises with wonderful aromas fill the air. Well, these noises fill the air just underneath the non-stop talking and chatter in the cafe where people rotate in and out every few minutes drinking, discussing, dealing, socializing, gathering.
I have also started drinking far too much espresso. I tried switching to Ristretto, which I finally learned is a smaller shot of espresso, but I guess it's also a little stronger than espresso. Lucky for me I was hitting that button twice to get a reasonable sized blast. Little did I know... until later when I was blasting a gut in the restroom.
My Swiss colleagues enjoy asking me politely "So, do you have espresso machines where you work in the US?" They already know the answer. It's really just an inside joke to them. I play along with American politeness. While our coffee resembles cat urine to them, it also makes them shaky. They switch to tea when they are in the US. An American coffee's taste is just unbearable, but the shakes are also too distracting. Swiss coffee to me doesn't resemble a cat's urine. I quite like it. For me, it does however produce interesting results other than cafe chatter.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Coke Light
This crap is not Diet Coke. It doesn't taste the same, it doesn't have the same name. Ask for a "Diet Coke" here, and you receive a) a Coke Light, b) a Coke Zero, c) select words in Swiss German, or d) a combination of any of these.
I hear a lot about the health quotient of the average Swiss citizen. Granted, the majority are fit. Very few look chubbier than I am, and the majority of these are not authentic Swiss. Even the aged folk (nicknamed Billy Goats within the expat community because they outpace the average American youth on hill climbing activities) are sprightly, well versed in Swiss diets, and are filled with pointers on living long and large. An example is "one glass of quality Swiss wine every day."
But when I go to any restaurant, or walk through the open-air train station, I am choked by the smoke exhaust of thousands of cigarettes. Apparently, smoking here is still considered healthy, but aspartame is not.
On a side note, last night I had a steak. The only reason I ordered it was because there was a footnote, something to the effect of Chicken is from France, Veal is from Switzerland, Lamb is from New Zealand, Beef is from US (caution: may contain antibiotics, antimicrobials, or other US allowed additives). All I can say is those things are yummy, but Coke Light is crap.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Mit Kohlensaure
When I first started traveling here for monthly meetings, I always enjoyed water options. In America, bottled water is now everywhere. I am old enough to remember the laughter of soft drink distributors with their new lines of bottled water. These dumb people are buying water... in plastic bottles! What's next? Oxygen in a can? ha ha ha...
Here, there are water options even from a counter top dispenser. It seems the Swiss love their carbonated water. I do, too. I'm told it is best for digestion, or even a stomach ache, helps with gastronomic needs. For me, it creates certain problems. Room temperature, cold, and even soda water, or water with carbonation are the dispenser options here.
When I first started drinking wasser mit kohlensaure, I just thought it was a slightly salty soda water.
me: Wasser, bitte? (I am requesting a bottled water from someone behind a counter)
clerk: Mit Kohlensaure?
me: Uh... Sprechen Sie Englisch?
clerk: Mit gas?
me: I'm sorry?
clerk: Do you want your water with or without gas?
me: Uh, with, I suppose.
For my non-American readers, if you haven't already noticed, you should understand I have quite a juvenile sense of humor. My humor du jour is most often targeted at the age level of my children, because my delight is in making them laugh. This includes the easy-laugh bodily functions. Well, I'll just be direct, I never matured here because I still laugh uncontrollably.
So, imagine me at 3pm, having chugged cup after cup of carbonated water, and the noises my internals are making. If you multiply this times the super-strength dehydrating Swiss coffee I was drinking earlier in the day, the cacophony of accoustics rumbling from my insides are an incredible distraction to my co-workers. Not to mention my frequency of restroom trips. Even in the restrooms, I am faced with choices of being very loud, and laughing at myself, or trying to find ways of being discreet. I most often choose the former, because that's just me. Mit Kohlensaure.
Here, there are water options even from a counter top dispenser. It seems the Swiss love their carbonated water. I do, too. I'm told it is best for digestion, or even a stomach ache, helps with gastronomic needs. For me, it creates certain problems. Room temperature, cold, and even soda water, or water with carbonation are the dispenser options here.
When I first started drinking wasser mit kohlensaure, I just thought it was a slightly salty soda water.
me: Wasser, bitte? (I am requesting a bottled water from someone behind a counter)
clerk: Mit Kohlensaure?
me: Uh... Sprechen Sie Englisch?
clerk: Mit gas?
me: I'm sorry?
clerk: Do you want your water with or without gas?
me: Uh, with, I suppose.
For my non-American readers, if you haven't already noticed, you should understand I have quite a juvenile sense of humor. My humor du jour is most often targeted at the age level of my children, because my delight is in making them laugh. This includes the easy-laugh bodily functions. Well, I'll just be direct, I never matured here because I still laugh uncontrollably.
So, imagine me at 3pm, having chugged cup after cup of carbonated water, and the noises my internals are making. If you multiply this times the super-strength dehydrating Swiss coffee I was drinking earlier in the day, the cacophony of accoustics rumbling from my insides are an incredible distraction to my co-workers. Not to mention my frequency of restroom trips. Even in the restrooms, I am faced with choices of being very loud, and laughing at myself, or trying to find ways of being discreet. I most often choose the former, because that's just me. Mit Kohlensaure.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Italy
Kris is making plans for travel to Rome over the October break. Sarah just found out when Kris asked me a question about rental car insurance.
sarah: We're going to Italy?
me: Yeah.
sarah: When??
kris: Over your October break.
me: I love Italian food.
sarah: They don't call it Italian food there. They call it food food.
sarah: We're going to Italy?
me: Yeah.
sarah: When??
kris: Over your October break.
me: I love Italian food.
sarah: They don't call it Italian food there. They call it food food.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Size matters
Any non-driving co-worker who has attempted to enter the building where I work through the front door with a briefcase, a backpack, or their canoe will know the thoughts that follow.
A couple of days ago, I stepped into one of these security devices carrying my backpack. I don't carry much in my backpack. Some papers, my reduced-size German laptop. It's quite portable. The doors are a bi-directional revolving door. I am supposed to fit into one quarter of it as I enter or exit. Just entering into it is not enough. One is asked to coordinate a scan of one's security badge, mounted on the outside of the revolving door, while stepping inside to the one-quarter space. I can do this quickly as I step in, or I can step in and reach around, quickly retracting my arm before it is chewed off. This time, a couple of days ago, it just about got chewed off, luckily only bruised like a bottom-of-the-crate apple.
Now, most people who live and work in Switzerland are quite fit. Most are very attractive, very distinguished, polished. So to see me fold into one of these things, reach around for the scan, and then take 50 tiny baby steps until the door completes its one-quarter turn, now that's a sight. But to see me get chewed up and spit out on the other end like a side of beef becoming a hamburger, that's worth the CHF 8 for the Quarter-Turner With Cheese.
her: You should call that post "Size matters"
me: Hm.
her: Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha... I'm so funny, I should be writing your blog.
A couple of days ago, I stepped into one of these security devices carrying my backpack. I don't carry much in my backpack. Some papers, my reduced-size German laptop. It's quite portable. The doors are a bi-directional revolving door. I am supposed to fit into one quarter of it as I enter or exit. Just entering into it is not enough. One is asked to coordinate a scan of one's security badge, mounted on the outside of the revolving door, while stepping inside to the one-quarter space. I can do this quickly as I step in, or I can step in and reach around, quickly retracting my arm before it is chewed off. This time, a couple of days ago, it just about got chewed off, luckily only bruised like a bottom-of-the-crate apple.
Now, most people who live and work in Switzerland are quite fit. Most are very attractive, very distinguished, polished. So to see me fold into one of these things, reach around for the scan, and then take 50 tiny baby steps until the door completes its one-quarter turn, now that's a sight. But to see me get chewed up and spit out on the other end like a side of beef becoming a hamburger, that's worth the CHF 8 for the Quarter-Turner With Cheese.
her: You should call that post "Size matters"
me: Hm.
her: Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha... I'm so funny, I should be writing your blog.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Schnecken
My posts have been getting more and more intolerable, not just to me but also to the 4 readers of this blog. So I should decide to change, or continue the pattern.
Here's a picture of a Zurich slug. "Slugs" (or "snails") translates to "Schnecken" in German. This summer, walking to work or to home has been an obstacle course. These disgusting creatures are everywhere, sliming their way to rotting on a sidewalk, or just plain rotting. I don't see them anywhere else except in my path. I'm told they eat plants, usually the ones people like to eat, so they are also a nuisance.
Bear sniffed this one on an outing because it was in the way of us getting from here to there, at which point I had to wait an extra 3 minutes just for it to extrude its eyeballs again so that I could take this photo. I'm told every creature has its place. This one tends to be more on the bottom of shoes.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Awash in sh...
I now work daily in a building I've visited almost monthly for the past two years. The food in the cafeteria is really really good, as is the coffee. The restrooms are a bit different. In public, "WC" marks "water closet". In most cases, including in this office, they hide toilets in closet-sized rooms with locks on the doors. There's no need to listen to a gut blast in the stall next to you, nor ask the chap to hand you toilet paper from his spare roll. Here, you're in your own room. Just you, and a toilet, an annex from a sink room.
What absolutely shocked me yesterday about these rooms in this particular office building, what I hadn't noticed in two years, was a new sign. An instructional sign. Apparently, if one sits on one of these toilets, and uses one's elbow to press against the flusher, one finds oneself awash. Release it, and a happy blow-dry follows. After laughing out loud alone inside one of these rooms, just me, the toilet, the new sign, and a process I have never experienced, I walked into a shared space where someone was brushing their teeth. Of course, odd looks ensued, but it was a two-way odd exchange. Who brushes their teeth in a space where my post-process ass was blowing around???
What absolutely shocked me yesterday about these rooms in this particular office building, what I hadn't noticed in two years, was a new sign. An instructional sign. Apparently, if one sits on one of these toilets, and uses one's elbow to press against the flusher, one finds oneself awash. Release it, and a happy blow-dry follows. After laughing out loud alone inside one of these rooms, just me, the toilet, the new sign, and a process I have never experienced, I walked into a shared space where someone was brushing their teeth. Of course, odd looks ensued, but it was a two-way odd exchange. Who brushes their teeth in a space where my post-process ass was blowing around???
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Buffet
I complain a lot about the heat and no air conditioning. I am told my complaining will only last a few weeks. The nights are cooler. I leave the windows wide open, hoping to catch a breeze. We're high enough off the ground to not worry about possible intruders, and the Swiss believe in their very low crime rate. A couple of nights have been almost as warm as the day, and in the evenings we swam in the lake to cool off, or I took a cold shower before bed. This must be how my grandparents lived as children, before central air conditioning was widely available.
The first day we left our apartment with our windows open and a light on, we came back to a scary movie scene. We spent the next 20 minutes vacuuming live bugs off the ceiling, chasing moths around the rooms. I don't see "screens" on homes here. Just these enormous windows with big sturdy hinges. I'm guessing 9 months out of the year it's just too cold and rainy for the bugs to grow in numbers to be any more than a minor nuisance.
I've actually been considering investing in mosquito nets, but that would follow an expectation that these bugs are an ongoing problem. At the moment, my mosquito bites have mosquito bites. Either there's a really really fat and happy mosquito family in Ruschlikon, or one of these things told a whole bunch of its friends where there's a free buffet.
The first day we left our apartment with our windows open and a light on, we came back to a scary movie scene. We spent the next 20 minutes vacuuming live bugs off the ceiling, chasing moths around the rooms. I don't see "screens" on homes here. Just these enormous windows with big sturdy hinges. I'm guessing 9 months out of the year it's just too cold and rainy for the bugs to grow in numbers to be any more than a minor nuisance.
I've actually been considering investing in mosquito nets, but that would follow an expectation that these bugs are an ongoing problem. At the moment, my mosquito bites have mosquito bites. Either there's a really really fat and happy mosquito family in Ruschlikon, or one of these things told a whole bunch of its friends where there's a free buffet.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Cinnamon and cloves
I rode school buses to school for most of my student education. These are interesting inventions. A big tube of kids on wheels, no seat belts, a high center of gravity. When one is small, three can easily fit into a seat. When one gets to high school, and is still having to ride in one of these things, there's just not enough room to be sitting next to someone else.
There were several times on a bus, or at school, one of us kids would become ill and lose whatever contents we had in our stomach. Once in a while it would cause a chain reaction. A practiced bus driver would quickly grab a bag of whatever they used and would pour it onto the mess. The combined smell was something of cinnamon and cloves, with undertones of hork. It was so distinctive, one of my classmates wrote about this in a creative writing class some 7 years later, and I still remember it. I am occasionally flashed back into those moments when I eat a desert called "Apple Crisp", or anything with cinnamon and oatmeal. Wintery holiday seasons are good times.
When Kris and I were dating, she watched me sign a credit card bill for dinner, and asked me about my mysterious middle name.
her: What's the E of your middle initial stand for?
me: Exceptional.
her: No really.
me: Ok. Extraordinary.
her: Come on.
me: Fine. It's Eloquent.
her: Edward?
me: No.
her: Ernie?
me: No.
her: No? Not Ernie?
me: No.
her: Eric?
me: No.
her: Ezekial?
me: ...
her: Emily?
me: (blink)
her: Seriously, I give up.
It was a year before she finally found out by reading it on my new Arizona driver's license. I had forgotten I hadn't told her. My annoying behavior was more just a self-amusing game than anything else. It's a name that has been shared by a few members in my extended family, and I'm really quite proud to have it.
We've started to exhaust the American supplies we carried into Switzerland, and we're starting to slowly replace them from local stores. The other day, Kris bought me some new deodorant. I was of course over-using the old American antiperspirant because I'm a filthy sweat-beast at work these days, with no air conditioning, working in a sealed building located in an industrial district, a building with horrible circulation, and I have no hope of finding a refrigerator big enough to fit my dehydrating corpse.
I guess this is available in the States. It's new, and it has English words on it, so maybe that's why she picked it. I started using this new deodorant, and oddly the old memories of a short creative story titled "Cinnamon Yuck" came pouring back. It's not really what I want to smell like, considering this scent has a very specific trigger for me. Funny the power of what a simple smell can do.
I'm a curious sort. I read the label. All of the usual chemicals and additives with exaggerated names were recognized, save one. Eugenol. I had to look this one up on wikipedia. I learned it's extracted from the oils of cinnamon and cloves. Here's another purchased-in-Switzerland product I'm rubbing on my body that I am no longer comfortable with.
And yes, Eugene is my middle name.
There were several times on a bus, or at school, one of us kids would become ill and lose whatever contents we had in our stomach. Once in a while it would cause a chain reaction. A practiced bus driver would quickly grab a bag of whatever they used and would pour it onto the mess. The combined smell was something of cinnamon and cloves, with undertones of hork. It was so distinctive, one of my classmates wrote about this in a creative writing class some 7 years later, and I still remember it. I am occasionally flashed back into those moments when I eat a desert called "Apple Crisp", or anything with cinnamon and oatmeal. Wintery holiday seasons are good times.
When Kris and I were dating, she watched me sign a credit card bill for dinner, and asked me about my mysterious middle name.
her: What's the E of your middle initial stand for?
me: Exceptional.
her: No really.
me: Ok. Extraordinary.
her: Come on.
me: Fine. It's Eloquent.
her: Edward?
me: No.
her: Ernie?
me: No.
her: No? Not Ernie?
me: No.
her: Eric?
me: No.
her: Ezekial?
me: ...
her: Emily?
me: (blink)
her: Seriously, I give up.
It was a year before she finally found out by reading it on my new Arizona driver's license. I had forgotten I hadn't told her. My annoying behavior was more just a self-amusing game than anything else. It's a name that has been shared by a few members in my extended family, and I'm really quite proud to have it.
We've started to exhaust the American supplies we carried into Switzerland, and we're starting to slowly replace them from local stores. The other day, Kris bought me some new deodorant. I was of course over-using the old American antiperspirant because I'm a filthy sweat-beast at work these days, with no air conditioning, working in a sealed building located in an industrial district, a building with horrible circulation, and I have no hope of finding a refrigerator big enough to fit my dehydrating corpse.
I guess this is available in the States. It's new, and it has English words on it, so maybe that's why she picked it. I started using this new deodorant, and oddly the old memories of a short creative story titled "Cinnamon Yuck" came pouring back. It's not really what I want to smell like, considering this scent has a very specific trigger for me. Funny the power of what a simple smell can do.
I'm a curious sort. I read the label. All of the usual chemicals and additives with exaggerated names were recognized, save one. Eugenol. I had to look this one up on wikipedia. I learned it's extracted from the oils of cinnamon and cloves. Here's another purchased-in-Switzerland product I'm rubbing on my body that I am no longer comfortable with.
And yes, Eugene is my middle name.
Friday, August 21, 2009
An Italian, a Brit, and an American...
An Italian, a Brit, and an American walk into a Swiss bar and order three beers. I wish I had a good joke for that. I don't. It actually happened tonight. I was the American.
I can say I enjoy working with them, but can also say I reaaaally enjoy drinking with them. I learn very interesting things from different perspectives. Like no one at the table knew why Velveeta is orange. Or why in the world would Americans individually wrap sliced cheese? Or why do American steaks taste soooooooo different than the cows in Switzerland? They're the same species. A colleague's husband articulated it nicely to me. "They're quite proud of their fitness cows here."
I can say I enjoy working with them, but can also say I reaaaally enjoy drinking with them. I learn very interesting things from different perspectives. Like no one at the table knew why Velveeta is orange. Or why in the world would Americans individually wrap sliced cheese? Or why do American steaks taste soooooooo different than the cows in Switzerland? They're the same species. A colleague's husband articulated it nicely to me. "They're quite proud of their fitness cows here."
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Hez
I traded mz US laptop for a German laptop todaz. The US laptop needs to be returned to NZ. The kezboard on this laptop is different in too manz wazs to describe. The most obvious are that Zäs and Yäs are in traded positions, and an extra AltGr kez. The ä (apostrophe) is somewhere else I canät find. When I tzpe, it comes out looking like I donät know how to tzpe. I guess I donät.
One of mz colleagues said good luck with the question mark and the backslash. He said mz contraction of “do not”, which comes out looking like “donät” looks enough like the American word donut. I followed with a Homer Simpson: “mmmmmm donäts.” Heäs actuallz too cool to think that was funnz, but I laugh at mz own humor, and after all mz humor is reallz just to entertain me.
Another expat colleague who came before me received the nickname “Hez” because for a few weeks, thatäs how he started out his instant messaging chats to other people. “Hez”.
Itäs going to take some getting used to this. My boss said he has worked on US, Italian, and German kezboards. It takes a couple of weeks to adapt, and then I wonät have anz more problems.
Letäs hope.
One of mz colleagues said good luck with the question mark and the backslash. He said mz contraction of “do not”, which comes out looking like “donät” looks enough like the American word donut. I followed with a Homer Simpson: “mmmmmm donäts.” Heäs actuallz too cool to think that was funnz, but I laugh at mz own humor, and after all mz humor is reallz just to entertain me.
Another expat colleague who came before me received the nickname “Hez” because for a few weeks, thatäs how he started out his instant messaging chats to other people. “Hez”.
Itäs going to take some getting used to this. My boss said he has worked on US, Italian, and German kezboards. It takes a couple of weeks to adapt, and then I wonät have anz more problems.
Letäs hope.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Eat
When I first met Kris, I was a gaunt 23-year-old, and food was not a priority. It was only something I did when I needed, but I had poor eating habits and my diet consisted of McDonald's or Buddig sandwiches with extra mayo. It actually worried Kris. On occasion, Gma Betty would invite me to eat dinner with them. During those times, I am told I would eat like "an army". Betty even mentioned to me "I don't know how you do it. I couldn't eat like that and still look the way you do." I hadn't learned to cook yet, I mean really cook. I could do simple things, but nothing creative.
It wasn't until I landed my first table-side waiter job at EBT in Kansas City that I started to understand the value of cooking, and experimenting with different foods. This particular restaurant awoke my curiosity about food, opened my eyes to what was possible. I started to cook, to impress others, to appreciate the work that goes into a fine meal. I learned to identify ingredients so that I could try to replicate the dish at home. Kris loved it.
In 20 years of being married, I used to cook every so often. I don't much any more except for special occasions, like when a boss comes over. Sarah loves those times. It's more likely we will eat out, either just Kris and me, or we will go as a family and eat like horses. Kris will cook, but it is not her favorite thing to do. It is definitely a lot of work, pre, during, and post. We rely on staples, dishes that are easy, ingredients that are cheap and with the least amount of effort. This is something I understand. Food is a necessity, not so much a priority.
When we moved to Switzerland, our family cook became somewhat disoriented. The ingredients here are very different. The restaurants are very expensive. From necessity comes invention. We started to see what we perceived to be European-style meals, or at least Kris' interpretation of what that means... plates of different kinds of cheeses with jams, assorted meats, bratwursts, pastas... Last night, this creativity came to an end.
her: I just don't know what to cook here.
me: Did you before?
her: Pff. You're a funny man. A bowl of cereal for you.
It wasn't until I landed my first table-side waiter job at EBT in Kansas City that I started to understand the value of cooking, and experimenting with different foods. This particular restaurant awoke my curiosity about food, opened my eyes to what was possible. I started to cook, to impress others, to appreciate the work that goes into a fine meal. I learned to identify ingredients so that I could try to replicate the dish at home. Kris loved it.
In 20 years of being married, I used to cook every so often. I don't much any more except for special occasions, like when a boss comes over. Sarah loves those times. It's more likely we will eat out, either just Kris and me, or we will go as a family and eat like horses. Kris will cook, but it is not her favorite thing to do. It is definitely a lot of work, pre, during, and post. We rely on staples, dishes that are easy, ingredients that are cheap and with the least amount of effort. This is something I understand. Food is a necessity, not so much a priority.
When we moved to Switzerland, our family cook became somewhat disoriented. The ingredients here are very different. The restaurants are very expensive. From necessity comes invention. We started to see what we perceived to be European-style meals, or at least Kris' interpretation of what that means... plates of different kinds of cheeses with jams, assorted meats, bratwursts, pastas... Last night, this creativity came to an end.
her: I just don't know what to cook here.
me: Did you before?
her: Pff. You're a funny man. A bowl of cereal for you.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Post-worthy?
Every weekday morning I walk the same path from the apartment to the bus stop. It isn't a long walk. Maybe 10 minutes. On days where I don't look at my watch, I usually have an extra 20 minutes to wait because I just missed the last one by moments. On such days, I'll walk an extra 5 minutes to the Thalwil Starbucks, and order a tall skim cappuccino. My Swiss colleagues laugh at me because it's just so American to order anything at Starbucks. For me, it's as natural as ... wearing business attire in the summer. I've done this a few times. Sometimes I'll see someone I know there, but mostly not.
Today was like any other day. Make-me-perspire-warm, a very clean and shiny morning, Starbucks cappuccino, sit out front on the sidewalk and watch the people walk by.... except today people were looking at me funny. For the most part, I kept repeating in my head they were looking at me funny because I was obviously an American, sitting out front of a Starbucks, drinking a coffee that was not European, wearing a tie in the middle of August. How stupid.
Finally, two younger ladies walked by, laughing... and laughing... they couldn't stop laughing. I kept my attention on my BlackBerry, reading my iGoogle page for what might be going on in the States... at 1am. I mean, I'm a married man. I can't be bothered by flirtatious Euro-fems.
one: (something to me in German, of which I look up like "huh?")
two: (laughing laughing laughing)
me: I'm sorry?
one: Oh, you only speak English?
me: Yes. (now I'm certain they are making fun of me somehow)
one: I asked you if you dropped something. (she points at the ground, a few inches from my shoe)
two: (laughing laughing laughing)
me: Uh... (I look, and realize in horror, I am looking at what can only be described as... a discarded condom)
one: (laughing, walking away)
two: (laughing, walking away)
Hmm. To post, or not to post.
Today was like any other day. Make-me-perspire-warm, a very clean and shiny morning, Starbucks cappuccino, sit out front on the sidewalk and watch the people walk by.... except today people were looking at me funny. For the most part, I kept repeating in my head they were looking at me funny because I was obviously an American, sitting out front of a Starbucks, drinking a coffee that was not European, wearing a tie in the middle of August. How stupid.
Finally, two younger ladies walked by, laughing... and laughing... they couldn't stop laughing. I kept my attention on my BlackBerry, reading my iGoogle page for what might be going on in the States... at 1am. I mean, I'm a married man. I can't be bothered by flirtatious Euro-fems.
one: (something to me in German, of which I look up like "huh?")
two: (laughing laughing laughing)
me: I'm sorry?
one: Oh, you only speak English?
me: Yes. (now I'm certain they are making fun of me somehow)
one: I asked you if you dropped something. (she points at the ground, a few inches from my shoe)
two: (laughing laughing laughing)
me: Uh... (I look, and realize in horror, I am looking at what can only be described as... a discarded condom)
one: (laughing, walking away)
two: (laughing, walking away)
Hmm. To post, or not to post.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Billetten
I needed a train to get me from here to there. The first time I saw one of these things was in June, 2006. I stared at while in an airport. It's all in German. I thought maybe osmosis could somehow work. I kept staring.
Lucky for me, a Swiss person in a hurry was standing behind me, waiting for me to just get on with it. I looked at him, he looked at me, I looked at the machine, looked back at him, he looked at me again. It was pretty clear I was either an idiot in his way, or an idiot just about to no longer be in his way.
He moved around me, pushed a button with the word Zurich on it, slid in a 20 Franc bill, hit the jackpot with change, grabbed his ticket, moved on without another glance at me. I was the invisible idiot now. Another 20 minutes passes. I'm still staring at this thing, and this time I allow more people to get their tickets. The red Zurich button is popular, so I do the same. I have a ticket, I'm going from the airport to Enge, but how to get to Enge is still a mystery to me. Again lucky I find a train sign that has the word Enge on it. It's not that I'm a guy and can't ask directions, I tried that. The directions that came back to me were just in sounds I didn't understand.
Fast forward 3 years later. I still hate these machines. I know how to use them now, I know the rules. It's a very simple system once you understand it. Crossing that chasm takes no time at all if someone explains it to you. I'm always having to go somewhere, and these things take my money, so, they annoy me. "What? You haven't bought a pass yet???" "No. Getting to it, right after I meet with 3000 people individually who have something I need, or need something I have." In the mean time, I get these fun little pieces of paper.
They're no fun. The probability of pulling one out and showing it to a train conductor or ticket auditor is 1 in 90. That's how many times I have seen an auditor. I met one when I thought I had the right ticket, crossing the right number of zones. I misunderstood the person who told me what I needed to buy. I was short a zone, the zone I was in at the time the auditor checked. You see, in Zurich, they don't check for tickets very often. In fact, it's very very rare that they check at all. But if you don't have one of these things, or a pass of some sort, you pay CHF 80, and they record your passport info. That's what happened to me on one of my work travel trips here. Now I know the rules.
I don't know what to do with these things until I get my pass. Here you can see a few, nicely offset by the color of the wood floors in my bedroom. CHF 4, CHF 6.20, CHF 6.20, CHF 6.20, CHF 4, one way, full price. I'm an idiot.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Observations on quality
I am learning what is meant by quality. I feel the only way I can do this is to have something to compare. Not just chocolates or watches. I mean, these are givens because they are the most widely known reputation about Switzerland.
The following are a few observations I can readily think of, but also what I have observed within my first 10 days:
The following are a few observations I can readily think of, but also what I have observed within my first 10 days:
- If I compare the quality of my house with the quality of my rented apartment, I notice a few things. My house has lots and lots of shortcuts to maximize the builder's profits while also reducing his expenses. Lots and lots of shortcuts. I was so frustrated at how many shortcuts I noticed after we bought it, I now put home builders in nearly the lowest "trustability" category, just above Enterprise Content Management software sales vendors. My rented apartment has concrete floors that emanate heat in the winters, well insulated walls and windows (almost sound-proof when they are closed), stone tile floors in the bathrooms, a sunken stone tile shower floor where the water just disappears over the edge of something, and towel warmers in the bathroom. But the most curious of all to me is that all cabinets and drawers (and even some building doors) have these strange springs on their hinges or rollers that allow you to fling it to a point, and it closes the rest of the way on its own... very very quietly. Considering I used to awake early on weekends to someone opening and shutting cabinets without springs, constantly rummaging for something, this is a fantastic benefit. I can also understand why these are a necessity in Switzerland, considering QNQ ("quiet neighbor quotient") is a valuable score to maintain.
- I've noticed a difference in cheese availability. Though I haven't tried this in somewhere like Wisconsin, I used to pay tons at wine & cheese bars in NY or Kansas. I would seek them out, just for the opportunity to ask them for cheese flights, to experience various appellations while resting comfortably on my rump, and to read the interesting provenance always so neatly printed for me in colorful language (English!) ... Here, I can go to almost any grocery store and find variations of cheeses I have never seen nor tasted, nicely portioned and lain in order of stink level, from soft to hard, from very mild to horribly poopy. I am working my way through all, just not all at once. Refrigerator space is a premium, and I will never be able to put in a can of diet coke and pull out a diet-coke-ice-cube-in-a-can. At least not without the ozone police handing me citations.
- Everything here comes with a two-year automatic warranty. OMG - What? How is this possible?? I can just bring it back and get another one if it breaks? This must be built into the price of everything, because the actuarial hedging on something like that... either that, or these folks are very very confident about the quality of their purchases.
- I learned today from an expat colleague a ton of useful things, of which I now owe someone later as I am expected to pay it forward. They will deliver my groceries for a small fee. Price Chopper would have laughed me out of the store. Here, they have no expectation one will lug home a 25lb bag of dog food on a train, bicycle, or by foot. They'll deliver it. To your door. With other groceries, too. I'll be taking advantage of this, considering I'm the lady's pack-mule. I am coveting my calories lately more than my francs. NO WAY am I spending calories on lugging any more.
- Doggy poop disposal is paid for by the citizens, included in the taxes. Poopy socialism. All you have to do is utilize the bags they offer, and place the poop accordingly into the proper container. Every time. That's all. NEVER leave it. EVER... you disgusting uncaring imbecilic slob. EVER.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Styles
We opted today for the mall. As we were leaving the apartment, we met some Swiss neighbors. He is from the French side of Switzerland.
me: Oh, Kris speaks French.
him: I'll be the judge of that.
kris: (said something out of embarrassment in English, but I didn't catch it)
him: (something in French)
kris: Oui.
him: If you are planning on going to the Street Parade today, you will see some very unusual sights.
me: Like what?
him: Oh, like naked men running around everywhere, singing, dancing, drinking.
me: Oh. Then I'll need my camera.
kris: Probably wouldn't want to take our kids there.
him: I wouldn't advise it.
We walked to the Rueschlikon train station with our umbrellas (it is raining on someone's naked parade) and both Sarah and Gus wanted something out of one of the vending machines. Sarah picked the Swiss equivalent of a Kit Kat Bar. Gus picked the equivalent of chocolate milk, of course. We sit down on a bench and await the next train, arriving in 12 minutes. Gus is fixated on getting a cell phone, but for now he is happy with his treat.
One minute passes. Gus makes a noise. We look at him. He has somehow managed to blow half his chocolate milk onto his shirt. Now a choice. Continue the path, or go back home and change? We continue.
When we get to the mall, I notice something interesting about what I am wearing versus what everyone else is wearing. I am wearing jean shorts and a polo shirt. Everyone else is wearing long sleeve shirts, jackets, jeans... I am happy how it is finally a tolerable temperature. I don't know what it is because I haven't learned metrics and Fahrenheit conversions yet. Everyone else is chilled. It reminded me how my Swiss colleagues laugh at each other when they come to the offices in America, where our offices are air conditioned, and they have to wear parkas to meetings.
Kris looked whimsical in her flowery rubber boots and shorts. Sarah was styling high as usual. I was a weekend chump. Gus looked great in his chocolate milk.
me: Oh, Kris speaks French.
him: I'll be the judge of that.
kris: (said something out of embarrassment in English, but I didn't catch it)
him: (something in French)
kris: Oui.
him: If you are planning on going to the Street Parade today, you will see some very unusual sights.
me: Like what?
him: Oh, like naked men running around everywhere, singing, dancing, drinking.
me: Oh. Then I'll need my camera.
kris: Probably wouldn't want to take our kids there.
him: I wouldn't advise it.
We walked to the Rueschlikon train station with our umbrellas (it is raining on someone's naked parade) and both Sarah and Gus wanted something out of one of the vending machines. Sarah picked the Swiss equivalent of a Kit Kat Bar. Gus picked the equivalent of chocolate milk, of course. We sit down on a bench and await the next train, arriving in 12 minutes. Gus is fixated on getting a cell phone, but for now he is happy with his treat.
One minute passes. Gus makes a noise. We look at him. He has somehow managed to blow half his chocolate milk onto his shirt. Now a choice. Continue the path, or go back home and change? We continue.
When we get to the mall, I notice something interesting about what I am wearing versus what everyone else is wearing. I am wearing jean shorts and a polo shirt. Everyone else is wearing long sleeve shirts, jackets, jeans... I am happy how it is finally a tolerable temperature. I don't know what it is because I haven't learned metrics and Fahrenheit conversions yet. Everyone else is chilled. It reminded me how my Swiss colleagues laugh at each other when they come to the offices in America, where our offices are air conditioned, and they have to wear parkas to meetings.
Kris looked whimsical in her flowery rubber boots and shorts. Sarah was styling high as usual. I was a weekend chump. Gus looked great in his chocolate milk.
Friday, August 7, 2009
One week later...
One week has passed since we arrived. I have been pleasantly surprised by the genuine welcoming hospitality of the neighbors, the citizens, and my co-workers. I sense there was skepticism if I would appreciate coming to Zurich, and it was correctly assessed. I was skeptical. Now I am looking forward to experiencing Switzerland and Europe as I have received nothing but helpful and genuinely caring / friendly tips and ideas.
We are considering our options for tomorrow. We can:
a) go to the annual Zurich Street Parade.
b) go to Sihlcity Mall and shop for small appliances and electronics, then go swimming in a pool in the lake at Horgen.
c) take a train to Zermatt and have a look at something found in a photo on Grandma Betty's wall, taken by Grandma Betty.
d) or stay at home, and I can prepare for stressful work discussions (I work in the big gray building to the right, and people paraglide during work hours from the hills on the left) over the next few weeks, starting on Monday.
I'm thinking option "d".
In other news, add "air conditioning" to the things I terribly miss. I am miserably hot, and my mushy body shape adds heat when I walk, when I sit, when I breathe. I asked a very friendly Swiss colleague today (someone whom I don't know but sits in the same area) about the window vents.
me: I'm new here. No one seems to be opening these vents. Is there a specific reason?
him: (stare, seemingly with confusion)
me: ... I mean, it is kind of hot in here.
him: So, you're wearing a long sleeve dress shirt, an undershirt, a tie, and it's the middle of August. Maybe if you weren't dressed for winter, it wouldn't seem so hot to you.
me: (stare, seemingly with confusion)
him: ... otherwise, no, the vents won't help us since it is the same temperature out there that is in here.
Oh.
We are considering our options for tomorrow. We can:
a) go to the annual Zurich Street Parade.
b) go to Sihlcity Mall and shop for small appliances and electronics, then go swimming in a pool in the lake at Horgen.
c) take a train to Zermatt and have a look at something found in a photo on Grandma Betty's wall, taken by Grandma Betty.
d) or stay at home, and I can prepare for stressful work discussions (I work in the big gray building to the right, and people paraglide during work hours from the hills on the left) over the next few weeks, starting on Monday.
I'm thinking option "d".
In other news, add "air conditioning" to the things I terribly miss. I am miserably hot, and my mushy body shape adds heat when I walk, when I sit, when I breathe. I asked a very friendly Swiss colleague today (someone whom I don't know but sits in the same area) about the window vents.
me: I'm new here. No one seems to be opening these vents. Is there a specific reason?
him: (stare, seemingly with confusion)
me: ... I mean, it is kind of hot in here.
him: So, you're wearing a long sleeve dress shirt, an undershirt, a tie, and it's the middle of August. Maybe if you weren't dressed for winter, it wouldn't seem so hot to you.
me: (stare, seemingly with confusion)
him: ... otherwise, no, the vents won't help us since it is the same temperature out there that is in here.
Oh.
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