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.

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.

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.

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???

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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:

• 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.
  

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.

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.

800 Pounds

Ok, so 800 pounds looks like Kris' stuff that has been moved from there to here. I had forgotten what it was like to shove my work suits into 1/3 capacity of my own closet space, while my 50/50 partner takes 166%. Fair is fair, I suppose.

We now have lots and lots of towels, shoes, last year's wintery clothing to stuff into storage, pots, pans, and boxes. More boxes than anyone will ever need. I think we might have even boxed boxes, for the times when we will need boxes.

her: So you and the kids get the award for most efficient travelers.
me: Why is that?
her: Because I packed your things for you.

Things I miss

Tomorrow we are scheduled to receive our shipment of belongings. It is a small shipment, just the most important 1000 pounds we could not live without for one year. For me, this includes my keyboard, my running shoes, hiking boots, winter outer wear, and about 15 other pounds of biblos (that's Turkish for "knick-knacks"). For the kids, it's about 100 pounds of toys and things they wanted to see in Switzerland, like Gus' verbal-command-accepting robotic R2D2 he really really needed. The rest is... well... 800 pounds of boxes Kris somehow directed to be packed.

So because we are receiving these things tomorrow, now is a good time to describe the things I already miss... in my 5 days of being here.

I miss:

• Cool TV shows in English - I used to watch a lot of mind-numbing shows that left me feeling fulfilled and happy. Now I fall asleep by 4pm Kansas time, and have not yet figured out how to record at a later time through Slingbox, like DVR / Tivo. 4pm Slingbox in Kansas means I watch Oprah or Spongebob. I also haven't tried hulu or youtube yet since only last night I was able to setup my wireless router. I'm determined and motivated enough to figure this out.
  
• Driving a car - I used to spend 2 hours a day driving a mind-numbing freeway back and forth to work, a drone. I would listen to CNBC and catch valuable info I could use in stock trades. Now I walk at least 10 mins to a bus stop, ride a bus for 12 mins, walk another 10 mins to the office. An ex-pat colleague walked the first day with me as we ended up on the same bus by coincidence. It was very refreshing to hear her describe her joy with picking flowers on a weekend, hiking the paths in the hills, modifying her values of life quality. This morning I noticed for the first time in decades the dew on the unmowed grass while walking a paved path from the bus to the office. I pictured my colleague describing again these values, and thought "my feet hurt."
• My down mattress - omg that thing was comfortable. I'm swallowing Advils every day to unlock my spine.
• My friends - I texted my buddy this morning and told him I need a lid reduction, and that he needs to fly over immediately. I have trouble talking to my barber in NY who speaks broken English filtered through NY neighborhood Italian (not authentic). Imagine trying to carry a small talk conversation if I can't even speak the language here. "No, I part it on the right side... No, MY right side!"
  
• Cheap food - Uh, yeah, CHF 9 for a bratwurst wrapped in paper. This is a staple here. It is also quite delicious. All the outdoor events have these things. How does the US do it? There's more people there, and soooo much food. Yummy huge plates full. I'm not going to make it a year. I have a mushy body shape to manage. I can't afford the food, but I can't afford to be wasting away either. CHF 7 for McD Filet-o-Fish! Yes, they have McD here, and you won't catch a Swiss local inside one of those disgusting holes. Only we outsiders are trying to catch our fix, guilty and ashamed to be slinking away from the McMethadone clinic.
• Being loud - "Shh" is every other sound out of my mouth when I'm at home. We are the Louds. We like being loud. My laugh is loud and obnoxious. The TV is on loud. Sounds echo in our apartment because we have no rugs or carpeting. Our loudness reverberates throughout the apartment complex, bouncing back at us from beautiful 18th century chalets. Our relocation agent told us "You'll love this apartment complex. It's very International." That's a polite Swiss way of saying "You won't get a lot of complaints from the loud people in this complex." After about 9:30pm, even the other Louds in the complex are very very very quiet. Given our jetlag, and staying up until strange hours, and because we are the original Louds, I have a sense we will hear some polite complaints.
• 120 Volts - All of our stuff that plugs into anything is rendered useless. They have 240 Volt sockets here with the wrong plug shapes. We did buy adapters which convert the plug shape into a Swiss plug shape, but everything pops and smokes. I tried it on everything, and it's true, it doesn't work on anything. I thought I'd keep trying to see if I could prove myself wrong, and that I was just a moron. But nope, I was right. It doesn't work at all. When I described this frustration to one of my ex-pat colleagues, he laughed. He said "Yeah, I did the same thing. Nothing worked. These people don't know what they're doing here."

Looking forward to seeing what 800 pounds of not my stuff and not the kids' stuff looks like.

Day 1 & 2

Day 1:

We landed, we went through passport control, collected our baggage and dog (who really had to go, really really), and headed toward customs. We paid CHF 80 at customs as an animal entry tax. We exited customs into the airport lobby and we were greeted by our relocation agent, Barbara. Barbara is awesome, and I am exceptionally grateful for her being assigned to us by my employer.

She puts the kennel into the back of her rented station wagon while Kris and Bear find a private spot where he can take care of his business. I pack 8 bags, 2 kids, and myself into a mini-van-sized taxi (CHF 100). Barbara takes Kris and Bear. We drive to the new apartment, drop off all the bags. At this point, I'm feeling the lack of sleep, the time change, and the Swiss love for exercise.

Rather than napping, we all get back into Barbara's car (including Bear), and drive to the Rueschlikon town hall to register (at the Kreisburo). We must do this at the time of our arrival, before we do anything else. It is the rule. Each of us have to a have an extra passport photo, which we prepared in Connecticut. We used these photos on our travel visas in NYC, and they are now embedded into our passports.

The Kreisburo official tells us only my photo will work for this very official registration. I am only half smiling, with of course the look of omg-I-have-to-live-in-Switzerland. Kris, Sarah, and Gus are all smiling happily, showing their teeth and their happiness to be moving to Europe. The official explains to us these photos are not acceptable because the Swiss government cannot accept people who are laughing at them in their photos. If I'd only known...

We pay our CHF 450 in whatever fees to this lovely office. I guess it includes a pet registration tax. But we still must provide three more photos. We proceed to the local bahnhof (train station) where there is a cheesy photo booth. We pay CHF 8 per person to have our new photos. Gus has a look of utter shock and surprise. Kris has a look of "I just traveled overnight, slept only 4 hours, and haven't brushed my teeth" for her new photo. Sarah's is quite cute and reusable. We go back to the Kreisburo, hand in our photos to complete the proces.

We then walk to Die Banc (UBS) to open an account. They inform us that all Americans must open an account at the central quarters, conveniently located at the airport. Oh well. We'll try this some other time. Instead we walk next door to Die Post, to pick up our Cabelcom items for Internet, phone, and cable box. I walk back to the car and drop off the box. Kris, Sarah, Gus, and Bear walk to Migros, the local grocery store. Bear is allowed to go anywhere except for places where food is being sold. Even some restaurants will allow dogs in. They haven't met Bear yet. I guess here, the German speaking dogs understand the importance of discipline. Bear and I wait outside while Kris, the kids, and Barbara go shopping. Only Kris knows how much she spent. She won't share that with me for some reason. They drive back to the apartment while I get the opportunity to walk with Bear, all the way back. Had I known that we could leave, not sure I would have stayed, waiting with a thirsty dog in the sun.

Barbara leaves us at the apartment, to return later in the evening. Kris and I shower. I have to become used to the idea that I'm using something called gel-douche, and that it's ok to be rubbing this on my body. I also have to get used to the idea that each cleansing product looks the same blue hue, smells the same, but is somehow formulated to be different for hair and one's body, and is packaged and labeled differently, in German. Or maybe this was just Kris' choice at the Migros.

Since our belongings don't arrive until Wednesday at exactly 3pm, and we have nothing to cook with or eat on, Barbara offers to bring over a few things until we receive our stuff. Barbara returns with these things in the evening, and then takes Kris shopping again somewhere. I don't know where since Gus, Bear, and I stayed behind. Kris returns with more stuff we'll give away at the end of my assignment.

Kris decides we need to eat at Au Gratin's, across from the main train station. We arrive at 10pm, return by midnight, to find that one does NOT leave the lights on if the windows are cracked. The moths were plentiful.

Day 2:

I am awakened at 7:15am to guns or fireworks. Not sure. I close the windows and go back to sleep. All of us sleep until noon. Today is Swiss National Day. Nothing is open. All of the boats that exist in Zurich are on the lake. Kris takes Bear for a walk on the lake. She returns to find me, Gus, and Sarah eating Coco Krispies out of coffee cups. Her frustration is visible because she had a European breakfast in mind she wanted to prepare... of scrambled eggs, fresh cherries, sliced bananas, soft cheese, bread, and ice-cube-free diet coke. We eat breakfast. The eggs are a little over-salted. The kids give their eggs to Bear.

We unpack, move stuff around. My new favorite phrase: "Has anyone seen my _________?"

Later, we will go watch whatever is in store for Swiss National Day, and spend more money on food.