Designer Tape

Milan. As a tourist, spending a weekend there is plenty of time to see the highlights. The pan flute bands, the six Porches parked in a row on the main shopping street, not to mention the ladies carrying Versace bags.

Everyone in the town carries shopping bags, showing off their buys from this designer and that. The stores are all open late and on Sundays so there are no shopping restrictions like in Switzerland where nothing is open on Sunday or at night. But the highlight for me was seeing a lady carrying a shopping bag (can't remember which fancy designer it was from unfortunately) that was taped.

Yes. A mended shopping bag. Now to me, this really defeats the point. If you're that desperate to show off that you have bought something in one of the fancy shops and carry the bag around on more than one occasion to prove it, ok. If that's how you define yourself, that is your business. But please do not mend it with packing tape. It just looks wrong. I am so disappointed I did not manage to capture a photo of said bag, so you'll just have to imagine it in your mind.

But that, in a nutshell is Milan. And please enjoy pan flute band photo number two.

Native Music

You know them. They’re in every city big and small— filling airports, street corners, and bus stations with their pan flutes, native rhythmics, and CD buying options. And they must do ok. Because either they’re well traveled or there are just thousands of these bands. I don’t know. They all sound the same to me. But I plan to start documenting each one I see. So here’s the inaugural group for my project—The Natives of Athens. They even have a nice painting as part of their act. It really sets the mood below the Parthenon.

The Creative Americans

In a German class that consists of people from Belgium, France, Croatia, Britain, Scotland, and the United States it is very interesting to see the approach people from different countries have doing something as simple as describing a picture.

Yesterday, for example, we were each given an image of someone in a hospital to describe as we are on the “hospital” chapter.

The Frenchman described the picture very literally—“there is a man lying in a hospital bed. He has a broken arm.”

The Brit also described his picture literally but with a little more story—“there is a man who is lying in a hospital bed because he had a biking accident.”

Then the American guy read his description—“Herr Schreiner had a biking accident. He is being asked by the nurse where and when and how much beer he was drinking at the time.”

Another American guy read his “Frau Hessler has back pain and is at the doctor. The doctor told her it’s because she has been lifting too heavy of a purse.”

And mine was “Herr Helmut has visitors visiting him after his operation. They brought him flowers and cookies. He was so glad because the hospital food is terrible and the nurse was about to make him eat more.”

Obviously, there was no right or wrong in these descriptions. But the Americans’ definitely got the most laughs and kept the class engaged. Why did all the Americans name the people in the photos? And all give a back-story?

From a very young age, Americans are trained to be individual and creative. From first grade on, we are trained to give “show and tell”. We bring in an object and show it off and tell its story. I think Americans are natural storytellers because of this.

My husband was recently on a conference in Athens where he noticed a related trend. All the Europeans that gave presentations read off PowerPoint slides. Only the Americans and Indonesians did not just read the slides, but told stories and embellished off of them.

So while the American education system is often criticized for many things, I think they have won the game when it comes to teaching people to think creatively. And for that I am thankful to have been raised an American.

Zu Dick?

Apparently Switzerland has an obesity problem. This is news to me. But according to this poster seen in Ennetbaden at a bus station, one in every five kids is “zu dick” or “too fat”. So the Swiss recognize the problem, but are still continuing to build a Burger King 800 meters away from the “zu dick” poster. But why not? It will give the Swiss more of the three things they love best—construction, money, and an excuse to blame foreigners. After all, obesity in Switzerland couldn’t possibly be the fault of the Swiss. Cheese and chocolate will always be innocent.

A New Normal

When you move to another country, three things eventually happen:

1. If you work on learning the language, you actually begin to understand some of it and can even—after a long, hard year and a half--start to even understand at least the main points of office meetings and work-related things. This has been a major step for me that I’ve just started to notice recently. It is no longer so hard to understand at least the main points during meetings and discussions and read basic creative briefings in German as well as understand most feedback. I can ask basic questions in German without having to think through what I want to ask first. It just takes a lot of patience to get to this point without giving up first.

2. Your body begins to act like the country it’s living in. I naturally shove people out of the way, run for the door of the train before it stops, and keep my shopping cart as close to the person in front of me in line as humanly possible. I have also been successfully able to stop smiling at people I pass on the streets and look no one in the eye while jogging along the river. It’s strange how your body just starts doing these things before you realize it. It’s a whole other “retraining.” I can even control one cart while packing another, be ready to pay exactly when the cashier is done scanning my stuff, and successful push both carts at the same time, return the store one, get my coin back, and keep going with my personal cart almost without blinking an eye. I can also type on a German keyboard without making every "Y" a "Z" and vice versa. And pressing "ctrl" + "alt" + "2" to get the "@" sign no longer mystifies me. The lack of personal space here still creeps me out though. Once I get over that I will really have triumphed.

3. You adjust to the new standard of living. Twenty-five dollars for lunch? Almost three thousand dollars for rent? You just pay them and don’t even think about it like you used to. That’s just how much things cost. Of course, it’s still fun to go to Germany for the day and marvel at how much things should cost. But then you get back in the habit again of the paying too much for everything and forget to notice.

Taking down the tree

We took down our xmas tree a little differently this year. First off, we took it down (in the way normal people take it down--i.e. taking ornaments off, etc) before xmas because we didn't want it to dry out while we were gone for over three weeks touring the U.S. from Dec 21-Jan 14.

But the problem was, there was nowhere to put the tree except out on our porch. Since we missed the ONE tree pick-up day in early January, the poor tree has been hanging out on the porch since December. And since it's technically illegal (and you can be fined big bucks) for disposing anything that's garden waste in the regular trash, we had a dilemma on our hands.

The biggest problem is that we have no idea how we are supposed to get rid of "garden waste" legally. It's so complicated (think 15 page booklet in German) that even our Swiss neighbor doesn't even bother, and prefers to live on the wild side by disguising yard trimmings as regular trash in dark, black innocent-looking trash bags.

So we knew just what to do. The tree was going down. Literally. Last year, this was kind of a procedure. But this year, my husband was experienced. He got out his Swiss Army knife and got to work on the porch, cutting the tree into little bits. It was really quite impressive. A 6-foot tree cut into little bits with a small pocket knife. But like I said, he had practice from last year.

With the tree cut into bits we stuffed it into a garbage bag and threw it into our trash bin in hopes no one will notice. After all it is March. No one's expecting a tree at this time of year. We'll just have to hope the garbage police have better things to do this week. Like run after the little old lady that had the nerve to throw away a battery.

Francs, Dollars, and not much sense

I just opened my mail to find out that our Swiss bank has charged us another 80 CHF (77 USD) for the privilege of having an ATM card for another year. To someone used to free everything offered by U.S. banks, it can be crazy to think about the charges Swiss banks impose on their customers. The account we have is just a general account anyhow and we get about .1% interest. No, not 1%-- but a measly Point One percent. That gets taxed. Yes, Swiss banks are not cracked up to be everything people think they are.

And for the U.S. citizens trying to do the classic thing rich people do—hide money in a Swiss account—there is a new law in effect beginning for the tax year 2007 that says that all U.S. citizens must report money in foreign bank accounts or be fined $100,000. So needless to say, even though we have a Swiss bank account merely because we live in Switzerland—and not for any other crazy money laundering purpose—we’ll be filling out that form this weekend. Thanks for the extra work, IRS.

Looking at the U.S. from abroad though, I have to say I’m a little scared of going back. Since we moved to Switzerland, the dollar has fallen over 20% against the Swiss Franc. That is scary. We’ve only been here a year and a half. If I go back and work in the U.S. making dollars, will I ever be able to afford travel to Europe again? This is a question that must be difficult for many Americans right now. So on that note, it’s time to go buy my train ticket to Milan!

The One Leg Lift

The Greeks. They are known for the Olympics. They are known for muscular Greek Gods. Not to mention, they are known for the marathon. But what happened between ancient times and today?

The main exercise in modern Greece appears to be the one leg lift. Once on the motorcycle, there is no turning back for the average Greek. Who needs to walk down a sidewalk when you can motor down it instead? Everywhere I went in Greece I had to dodge motorbikes and cars—even on the rare “pedestrian only walkway”. There are still streets in Greece that actually still have lanes painted like running tracks, but the only things running on them are engines.

Motorcycle driving and also motorcycle parking take place on sidewalks, making pedestrians forced to walk anywhere but. Some places, like the island of Mykonos, don’t even bother with sidewalks, because really, what’s the point if they are just used to drive on?

It’s really quite the switch, after getting used to Switzerland, where, if there’s a pedestrian within 2 feet of a sidewalk, a car stops dead in its tracks to let them cross. And there are more hiking trails than roads.

But in Greece, even dogs don’t go for walks. They go for rides. See the above photo taken in Athens for proof.

And they start the kids driving young. As you can see by the first photo, taken on the island of Aegina.

If there’s a mom and three kids and only one motorbike, no worries. They all ride together, the youngest kid perched precariously on the very back of the bike. It makes U.S. seatbelt laws seem rather anal. I’d add a photo of this, but the bike was going too fast for me to capture it.

So if you want a muscular Greek, head to the museum. That’s the only place where you can do two things—see a Greek not on a motorbike—and walk a few kilometers without getting run over.

Top 3 Texas

At lunch yesterday, my German friend started talking about the time he was in Texas. The things that stood out in his mind (in no particular order):

1. The only people he saw outside were 10 Mexicans building a fence. Everyone else was in their climate controlled houses or cars.

2. The entire grocery store was kept at about 55 degrees to keep everything “fresh” with no thought to global warming or customer freezing.

3. People would drive 25 miles to go park in a big parking lot and eat inside a warehouse-sized, windowless Japanese restaurant.

To him, these three things constitute Texas. Since I have not been to this country myself (because let’s be honest, Texas is its own entity), I can only think it sounds about right.

Greece Again

Well, for the last four days I was in Greece for the second time. I was there last year for 10 days and visited Athens, Mykonos, and Santorini.

Needless to say, I wasn’t planning to go back this year, but my husband had a conference in Athens and thus one of us had a free ticket, so we headed there Thursday night and I came back last night. On Saturday we took a day trip to Aegina, the closest of the Greek islands (40 min by boat, 23 EUR round trip per person).

I wasn’t really that excited about the trip to be honest. That sounds terrible, but I like the excitement of stepping off a plane in a completely new place. There’s that rush you get when you have no idea what’s there. I already thought I knew Athens.

But I was wrong. You don’t know a place until you go where the tourists aren’t. Like the meat market, where pigs heads hang from display racks. Like a restaurant off the beaten track where old men drink beer, smoke, and listen to hand held radios at their table. And like the metro, possibly the cleanest part of Athens (and the only place where smoking appears to be banned). For the record, Athens is the smokiest city I’ve been to in Europe.

Greece was better the second time around. Because we had already seen the main sites of Athens, we had a very relaxing time. Of course, we still took a hundred photos of the Acropolis. But this time we knew where to get the best shots. And the best part of being there in Feb/March is that there are barely any tourists and you can get the best shots with no random heads in the way. Plus the weather was great—60s and 70s.

Now I will definitely be open to revisiting cities. You get a whole new perspective the second time around when you aren’t as much of a tourist running around like a chicken with its head cut off!

German. Useful after all.

We spent the weekend in Greece. And as most people know, they speak Greek there. And English is the second language. So what good is German? Actually, it's more useful than you would think. Imagine:

1. Two guys come up to you while you are waiting at the port for a ferry. They want money from you and tell you a sad story in English about how they are soldiers. They ask where you are from. You say "Schweiz". Then they ask, "but do you speak English?" You shake your head and say, "Ich verstehe nicht. Ich spreche Deutsch." They say, "50 cents?" You shrug your shoulders like you don't understand and say "Nein." They give up and move on looking confused.

2. You are sitting on a bench enjoying the 70 degree day in a park in Athens. See picture above for where you could be sitting. Two women approach you and say something in Greek. You stare back at them like they are crazy. But they can't tell you think they're crazy because you're wearing sunglasses. Since you don't say anything, they switch to English. "Do you speak English? We are Jehovah's Witnesses and we are spreading the word." You set down your English magazine and say, "Nein." They look at each other and say, "Oh, you are from Germany. Well we don't have any documentation in German, only Greek and English." They show their documentation. You shake your head, acting confused. They walk on and you get back to your English magazine and enjoy the sun.

End of the Night Shift

A friend of a friend is a radiologist who works for an American hospital but recently moved to Zurich to avoid working the night shift but still work for the same American hospital. Here in Zurich, due to the time zone, he works normal hours by continuing to work the U.S. night shift. And why not? All the work is done by interpreting medical images which are easily transferred via the computer. So perhaps the end of “night shifts,” at least for jobs that can be done via a computer, is over. Now that's globalization.

New York Food. Now in Zurich.

I have found the best restaurant in Zurich. It has an ice machine. I couldn’t figure out how to use it, but still. It is there. This naturally makes it number one in my list. The restaurant is called New York Food. It is right near the Central tram stop.

You can order a sub sandwich from the counter, just like at Subway, except here, you start off ordering in German and then they answer you in English. (Even my German friend got spoken to in English—probably because he was with me). You can even get your sandwich toasted Quiznos style. Sandwiches start at 5,90 CHF. With a small fountain beverage (where you fill it yourself and can attempt the ice machine), expect to spend 9-10 CHF total. There are plenty of places to sit inside. They also have pizzas.

My German friend was very excited to order a BLT. He didn’t know what one was until his first trip to California where he was educated accordingly. Overall, a great spot for a quick American tasting lunch.

Paper Recycling

About every six weeks, there is paper recycling day in Switzerland. It is always announced on a big poster in the middle of town, as forgetting this day means that your paper will pile up for 12 weeks straight.

Unfortunately, when I moved to Switzerland, I realized my garbage and recycling habits were underdeveloped. No longer could I throw things in one big bin and be done with it. No. Recycling in Switzerland is a timely project. Each kind of item has its own place and process.

Paper, for instance, must be tied with strings in neat bundles no larger than about 12 inches high. If you decide it is easier to put out your paper in a paper bag (because let's be honest, that makes complete sense) they will not collect it and leave you instead with both your incorrect paper bundles as well as a note detailing why it was not collected.

Above is a photo of the neat paper bundles that appear every six weeks. When I see these piled in front of my apartment on Friday nights, I always groan and go upstairs for my Friday night fun--trying to tie this stuff in neat bundles. Once, I ran out of string and had to resort to thread as the stores were closed.

What time is it?

For over a year and a half, we have depended on our trusty clock tower, which we can view from our window, to know what time it is. But now, we are in a state of distress as our trusted Swiss advisor has lost its face. But funny enough, it still dings every fifteen minutes 24/7. I just feel bad for the guys working up there. It must be awfully loud!

Shiny Gleaming Garbage Cans

No one else on the set of benches I am sitting on while waiting for the train in Zurich seems to notice that someone is actually scrubbing and shining a garbage can behind us. The Swiss are too busy looking at three things: their watches, the time the train comes in, and their watches. And if the train dares to be late, it will be a news item the next day. But to me, the real news item is that garbage cans are worthy of cleaning.

I saw the sun!

Well, the fog has returned to Zurich today, but for the last week we had bright sun and this is really something for a town that gets more rain a year than London.

Pictured below is the view from my office window in Zurich of the sunset last night. I like my new office because it's 3 sides window, 1 side wall! Glad I took this pic to remember the sky as I'm sure it will be awhile again before the clouds move out.

Valentinstag

Valentine’s Day. In German, it is “Valentinstag”. Naturally. Because the German speakers always manage to take many words and somehow make them into one.

Anyhow, it’s been fun to observe all the men walking around town carrying upside down bouquets because you don’t see that too often—buying flowers seem to be the women’s job. But in either case, whenever the Swiss buy a bouquet of flowers, they carry the flowers facing down. My husband and I ponder this every Saturday during the market that goes on outside our apartment.

Cards don’t seem to be a big thing in Switzerland. For example, on the Snapfish.ch website, you can’t order a photo card like you can in the US. The only things I notice for sale for Valentine’s Day are flowers and chocolate. And mainly there are tulips, not roses for sale. Things are seasonal here, just like in the grocery stores. Right now the only fruits for sale are apples, oranges, bananas, and pears. Others are few and far between, but the one fruit the Swiss did break out in honor of today is the strawberry. These have been in both grocery stores I was in today. And the one across the street from me also had strawberry shaped pastries so naturally I bought two of those.

Thoughts on the Election from Abroad

I have made history. I have voted in the first online primary ever for expatriates. Only those who registered with Democrats Abroad could vote online, there was no online Republican primary. But that was fine with me as I was planning to vote Democratic. Once registered, voting took about one minute. Just had to sign in with name and password and choose the candidate and that was it. Very simple, fast, and efficient. A good experience overall.

From reading the Swiss newspapers, it is hard to tell who the Swiss want to win. The few articles I’ve read in Heute, the local free paper, seem to simply say, “Anything will be better than Bush,” and leave it at that.

The one last week began—“Who will be the next American President—a woman, a black man, a Vietnam Vet, or a Millionaire?” I guess that’s one way to look at it. But aren’t they all millionaires?
The big question that’s been bugging me when it comes to the coverage of the race so far is: Why is it Hillary versus Obama? Shouldn’t it be Senator Clinton versus Senator Obama? Or Barrack versus Hillary? It doesn’t seem fair to use the woman’s first name and the opposing candidate’s last name. At least be consistent. We never had to hear about Bill versus Gore. Or John versus Romney. But even a paper in the UK had this headline last year: “Hillary and Obama vote to cut off Iraq funding.”

Women, like men, deserve respect. If we want change, it should start with a name. It’s something subtle and sometimes unnoticed. But really, something this small would be a huge step ahead for all women. Whether one becomes president or not.

The Vienna Opera House

A visit to the Vienna Opera House is one of the top destinations for any tourist in Vienna. But a better deal than just taking a 35-minute tour for 6,50 Euros is to actually see a performance for half that price. It requires no advance planning other than showing up an hour before performance time to pick up a standing room ticket. Available for either 3,50 Euros or 2 Euros depending where you stand (and they only take cash), it’s the perfect way to experience a more authentic flavor of Vienna. At the 3,50 Euro price, you can watch from right below the Emperor’s Box. When you get in the auditorium, simply do what the Viennese do—tie a scarf around the place you want to stand. And then you can mingle with the dressed up Viennese, watch women fix themselves in the hallway mirrors, and drink wine (that costs more than your ticket!) until show time. And if you’ve seen enough opera at intermission, there’s no guilt in leaving early.

Europe--Love is harder the second year around

At the beginning of this month, we visited Vienna--our first time in Vienna, but our second time in Austria. (We were there in November of 2006 in Salzburg). Back then, I sang along like any other joyful and amazed tourist on the Sound of Music tour, admired the fortress on the hill, and took in a touristy Mozart Dinner concert. All without one thought of, well, boredom.

Fast forward 14 months to Vienna. I liked Vienna--any city that loves and supports classical music has my admiration. But it wasn't love at first sight. And I don't know if any other European city can be any more. Because I'm tainted. I've been to 12 European countries so far (see visual of countries visited), many of them several times. I am no longer easily impressed by Europe. And this makes me sad.

It used to be any sighting of a huge gothic cathedral or a palace gave me goosebumps. But when I saw the cathedral in Vienna, I just thought: it's dirty. And it's dark.

When I saw the Hofburg palace, I thought, well, it looks just like most European palaces. And then I felt mean for being so critical. Shouldn't I be swept away by its beauty? Shouldn't I be taking 20 pictures of it from every angle like the other tourists surrounding me?

I feel guilty for not loving Vienna more. And it's really bringing me down.

According to my husband, I need to accept who I've become instead of fighting it. According to him, I've become a well-traveled person. I need to think of it as a good thing that I'm no longer amazed and impressed by everything. Because it means I've seen a lot. Learned a lot. Become a more educated and well-rounded person.

But somehow for me, that's not an easy thing to embrace. I don't want to be a person that's apathetic. I don't want to be a person that's bored. That always thinks, "Big deal, I used to live right below a 10th century castle."

My husband has a business trip to Athens in a couple weeks. He wants me to come along for the weekend. But I don't know if I want to. Because I've been to Athens. And somehow, I feel like the second time around won't have the same magic. I don't want to be there thinking, "Oh yeah, there's that Acropolis again."

But maybe I need to look at it from another viewpoint--one that says that I'll see the real town I missed on my first trip when my camera was an permanent attachment to my body. That this time I'll notice the people instead of the postcards.

So maybe travel is more interesting the second time around. I just have to convince myself of that. And fast. Before we decide the heck with Europe. Let's go to China.

Smile and Nod

Smiling and nodding. Can I tell you how tired I am of it? Before I came to Switzerland, I used the good ole smile and nod on various occasions—when I didn’t like what someone said but the person was of authority or someone you wouldn’t want to offend. Or to speed along a conversation that I didn’t want to continue. But I never used it to the extent and reason I do now—because I don’t understand what’s being said around me.

Now don't get me wrong. I want people to speak German to me. I want to learn German. But some days it's just really hard. You just want to feel normal again. And smile when something is funny or cute. Grimace when it's gross. Frown when it's mean. But as an expat, I have two main expressions: a blank stare. Or a smile and nod. And I'd really like to retire both.

For instance, it’s a very weird situation to be hanging out on a snack break in the company kitchen but barely understand a word about what’s being discussed. There are various strategies for this situation, such as smile and nod, look out the window, keep stuffing your face, drink enough beer until you don’t care, or a good combination of the bunch, but all are somehow weird. The fact that I’ve taken German for a year and a half only makes matters worse as I feel like I should be able to contribute something in a German conversation. And I really want to. But when 3 native speakers get going fast and are most likely using slang and Swiss German besides, I don’t stand a chance. And I feel like an idiot. Not to mention very lonely.

It’s not like I always felt comfortable in all situations in the U.S. But here, it takes much more courage and endurance to get through a day. Before I step outside the apartment I take a deep breath—one so I can hold it as I walk past the smokers on my step, and two to give me power to get through the day. Because after a day of smiling and nodding, sometimes all that's left are tears.

A Note to the IRS

Dear IRS,

As you well (and gleefully) know, Americans expats are the only expats in the developed world that are taxed by two countries. It is now 2008 and we are still being haunted by the state of Virginia for 2006 taxes as you claim that we underreported income by one hundred dollars. And because of that you are charging us an additional 580 dollars in late fees and interest. Even though we already paid you over 600 dollars in late fees and interest in December.

Ok. So maybe we messed up a little. But give us a break. We have two countries to contend with. And we can’t file US taxes until the Swiss ones are done. So therefore, we will always have to file late and pay penalties. Plus, we only lived in Virginia for 6 months is 2006. So maybe you could give us a break.

But my main problem is that if you expect your expats to pay taxes from overseas, then you should send all tax related items to our overseas address. Instead, you send them to my mother in Illinois. Who then has to forward them to us at great cost, but most importantly, at great time.

So by the time we receive for instance, a letter telling us we owe and additional 580 dollars in late fees, we are already too late for the late fee payment because it has past the 30 days from when the letter was written.

So we pay the late free, spend 30 USD to mail it, only to receive another letter, via my mother, that you are after us again for more fees and interest because we were late with the late fee.

There must be a better way. Please. If you’re going to tax me, at least have the courtesy to send my mail to me so I get it on time. Then if I’m late, it’s completely my fault. Or better yet, give expats the benefit of the doubt and let us file up to a year late penalty-free. Don’t we deserve a little credit? After all, we’re supporting two countries.

And please. Be sure to tell the election officials to count our votes. And that we’d probably vote for any candidate who would actually send us some mail. Because it seems we’re mostly ignored over here by any U.S. government official. Except of course, at tax time.

No Matter What, I Speak American

I have just about given up on learning German. It is pointless. No matter how hard I try to speak it (and I am finally to the point where I can say basic things and do transactions without thinking about it), I get a reply in English.

Ok. I know my German's not perfect, and I have an accent, but my language skills will never get beyond intermediate because no one gives me a chance.

Thus, while the world sometimes blames Americans for being so, well, English-speaking, I have to say: this is not always the American's complete fault. Because there are two sides to any conversation. And for me in Europe, one side usually consists of English. And this side is not usually mine.

Most co-workers, impatient with my slow speaking or stumbling (whichever may be the case depending how tired I am), talk to me in English. This weekend, both in Zurich and in Vienna, I spoke German and was answered back in English. At the Zurich airport, when I ordered a sandwich. At the hotel in Vienna when I said I had a room reserved. And at many other restaurants, cafes, concert halls and other places throughout Vienna. Despite the English replies, I would continue my German, and they would continue their English.

In German-speaking Europe, I'm always having a two-language conversation. Therefore my German listening comprehension never improves despite my best efforts.

So in conclusion, let's not always blame the American for not learning another language; the rest of the world is also at fault for one main reason: they know English. Because in most major cities in Western and Eastern Europe you don't need any other language to survive.

Even the hotel clerk in Vienna called the airport/train station to see if we could check our bags early. When she started asking about it in German, the person on the line said, no, "English only please." And she switched easily. But still. In her own town she can't survive without English.

So with that, I'll say "Auf Wiedersehen." And please answer back with a hearty "Good-bye."

Bad English

On coming to Switzerland, my English has gotten worse and worse. So far, I’ve found five reasons for this:

1. In explaining anything in English to a non-native speaker, I tend to simplify my speech so I end up sounding something like my neighbor: “It coming. I go to market. You too?”

2. I hear and see bad translations of German into English and somehow my speech seems to soak them up like a sponge. For example, in e-mails I get at work, the greeting is: “Hello, together.” Or, “No, she cannot just translate this. Her German is yet too young.” Or, on listening to the train announcer translate to English: “First class, sec-tone A. Second class, sec-tone C.”

3. The stress of English on demand makes me forget my entire vocabulary. For example, a co-worker will come in and expect, on the spot, that I can think of the English word for a group of boxes lined up together. I stutter and spew and finally, 10 minutes later after they’ve already given up on me I think, “oh, a column, what was so hard about that?”

4. Word order. The German word order puts things very backwards when you think of the English way of saying something. Instead of saying “they will get a translator now”, it might be said, “now get they a translator.”

5. The mix of British and American English and the confusion over each. For example, two German friends looked at an image of a woman in a magazine and pronounced that she had “goosepimples.” When I said they should say “goosebumps” they proceeded to say that both their teachers taught them “goosepimples” and perhaps it is a British thing. Anything I don’t understand about their English is never wrong, it’s simply “British”.

Squirrel and Spare Ribs

Two random events happened in the last two days. One, I saw my very first Swiss squirrel in the forest where I was running. It was black. You think with all the hiking we do that we would see more wildlife, but alas the Swiss wildlife seems as reluctant to make friends with foreigners as the Swiss.

Then today, at lunch, there were SpareRibs on the daily menu! Imagine my excitement. This is truly a first—me eating ribs in Switzerland. I wasn’t sure if I should pronounce it “Shhparh Reebs,” so I just said it the good ole English way. They tasted great and came with a baked potato. This was one lunch that was truly worth 20 CHF (18.30 USD). The restaurant was Palmhof, near the University in Zurich. To top off the excitement they even have a separate but equal non-smoking room. And free tap water. What’s not to love?

A typical Swiss Day

I wake up to staticy German radio. Spend two minutes in denial. Shower and eat breakfast, lamenting terrible Swiss milk taste on Fit Flakes cereal. Clock dings twice at 8:30. Leave for train one minute later. Train comes at 8:38. Swiss people flock to the doors, blocking them before people on the train can get off. I either fight my way through them or stand back so at least I can choose my seat partner instead of vice versa. On train I either: listen to music and sleep, read an English book or magazine, or attempt to read the nearest German paper as to block the person sitting directly across from me from staring/coughing at me the entire trip.

Once in Zurich I hold my breath as I get off the train and walk to the tram station to avoid breathing in too much smoke. If I’m lucky and the train’s on time I take the 8:59 tram to work.

I arrive at work at 9:11 or 9:12 depending on my final walking speed when I get off the tram. I brace myself for German.

I go through a mix of German, French, and English e-mails trying to make sense of them. (The English ones are usually just as confusing based on the fact they are written by non-native speakers and usually begin with the greeting, “Hello together.”) If I’m lucky I understand enough of them not to use Google Translate. Yet.

Have an e-mail for an urgent translation of a German press release. Try to translate it. Turn to Google for help. Have a colleague who speaks fluent English read it over to make sure I’ve done it correctly.

Go out to lunch with two guys from the office. One of the items on the menu literally means “bird meat”. But one of the guys reassures me it’s actually veal. Needless to say, I never know what I’m really ordering. I speak a little English and a little high German. They speak to each other in Swiss German but one of the guys speaks back to me in English. I don’t understand much of their Swiss German except I can usually determine the topic of conversation. I drink lukewarm water without ice and eat a so-so salad. All for the price of 16 CHF—a bargain for Zurich. The waitress masterfully lets us each pay separately and makes change for all of us. (You can only pay in cash).

On the way back to the office after lunch, the one guy goes to the grocery store to buy his dinner. (Stores close before we’re out of work in the evening).

The office has turned smoky. I shut my door and have two options. Breathe cigarette smoke or freeze. I choose to freeze.

Over the course of the afternoon I read a German e-mail telling me to fix an English headline from the previous day. I try to convey what final prints and jpegs I need for award shows to a woman that speaks very little English. And I try to explain the word “charm” to a colleague who doesn’t understand what a “wine charm” is as they do not have that concept in Switzerland. Needless to say this idea does not make it into the finals of ideas for a give-away.

I say my “chows” (the Italian word for good-bye adapted by everyone in Switzerland). And leave the office a little after 6. I walk to the train station in 20 minutes all down steep sidewalks and steps. As usual the 18.36 train is packed. When there is a free seat, someone has conveniently placed their large shopping bag or rubber recycled Freitag bag in it. I look for a seat that is bagless and 3 cars later finally find one and ask in my high German, “is this seat free?” I am given an affirmative “Ja” and a sideways glance to let me know they realize I am a foreigner. I bury myself in a German paper anyhow for the 15 minute ride.

I get home exactly at 7. I know this because the clock is going haywire. Luckily I bought things for dinner two days ago. Because the stores are now closed. Good night from Switzerland.

(Time) Zoning Out

I woke up in the middle of the night wondering where I was, and then reminding myself that I was in my sister’s bed in Atlanta. Then I opened my eyes and realized I was actually in my own bed back in Switzerland. This is what 3+ weeks sleeping in 6 different beds will do for you.

Not to say that the last 3+ weeks haven’t been amazing. They have been. To all my friends and family, I can’t express how great it was to see everyone. And to all the airlines I flew (Air France, American, and Delta) not one of them lost my two 50 pound bags! (Although Air France could use some better customer service. (when you choose a window and an aisle seat you expect to have a window and an aisle—not to be seated in two middle seats for your nine hour flight. But perhaps, upon discovering that you are not in fact, French, any seat choices previously selected are discarded.) And American could use some on time arrivals. But I have to say I was pretty satisfied with Delta, even though their in-flight entertainment was pretty lame—our plane did not have individual screens so I forewent watching any movies to avoid neck strain.

I celebrated my birthday this year in two time zones, another amazing feat. When my mother called as she usually does at 10.07 central time, it actually was 10.07 central time for me, and that hasn’t happened in years. Alas, during the conversation I ended up on eastern time, but it was nice while it lasted.

All this time zone and city hopping (or maybe it’s just the old age of 30 thing) has made me all the more sure I am ready to return to the U.S. next May and stay in one place for awhile. I am excited about our final hoorah in Europe and can’t wait to travel more, but after doing laundry all day yesterday in our shared basement laundry room and hearing Swiss German on the streets, I and am more and more ready for a house complete with a dog and English speaking neighbors.

Confiscation

I have been running around the US for almost 3 weeks now and I despite the fact that I am having a blast, I am also getting tired of living out of and constantly rearranging suitcases. I am so tired of it that I am making plently of mistakes.

The reaccuring theme of this trip is airport confiscation. So far I have had 3 things confiscated not due to the fact that I don't know the rules, but due to tiredness and stress to keep track of airlines, flights, friend's numbers, keys, hotels, etc I have lost the ability to remember changing airline rules.

So far I have had fondue forks confiscated in Paris and brand new hair gel and face scrub purchased from Target taken away in Richmond. I'm hoping Atlanta goes better! We did get away with an extra .5 pound over the 50 pound luggage limit without penalty thanks to a kind soul at American Airlines in Chicago.

Now as I am packing for my venture into state number 5 of this trip, I realized I have left the wedding music I need for tomorrow in the trunk of my sister's car in the one bag I didn't think I needed. I have the music memorized, but it is a bit irresponsible of me not to at least have a copy just in case the accompaniest doesn't have it for some reason...I am mad at myself for dragging the music from Zurich to Paris to Chicago to Richmond to Atlanta and now not having it!!

But that is life and hopefully I won't need it after all. At least I've got the bridesmaid dress. (It may be wrinkled beyond belief by now, but it's there...)

Until next time, long live airport security and suitcase living.

Back in the USA

I have been in the US now for over 2 weeks. This has caused a stir among many friends and family who have never heard of having more than 2 weeks of vacation. That being said, I have one more week to go and am enjoying my European time-off. Finally a long break where I won't be chided by my European colleauges who can't believe I would only take a week off to go to Spain. ("How can you see anything in a week?" they ask).

Today I had lunch with a friend from my old choir in Richmond, VA. I had pho ga, my favorite Vietnamese speciality and one I can't find in Switzerland. It tasted great!

So far other highlights have been:
1. Friendly people
2. People wearing smiles and brightly colored clothes (as opposed to the constant funeral procession in Switzerland of a sea of black).
3. People wearing their pajamas in public with no remorse. (sweat pants, flannels, you name it, people wear it! (see #2, bright clothes))
4. Cheap everything
5. Free water with ICE
6. 32 oz root beers with free refils
7. Being able to chat with cashiers
8. The girl at Target today asking for an ID before she'd swipe the cold medicine I was buying and it not being a huge misunderstanding due to language issues.
9. Having lunch with my mom
10. Remembering that the price for something is never a nice even number because the tax isn't included.
11. 70 degree weather in Richmond in January
12. Seeing the sun
13. Forgetting the rain
14. Doing huge loads of laundry and having them done and dried in an hour
15. English, English, English
16. Knowing exactly what I ordered at a restaurant
17. Shopping with my mom and sister who ask me why everything I'm buying is black (see #2)
18. People using credit cards for a $3 dollar purchase
19. Seeing my old house in Richmond that like me has gone black (see #17). The house now has black shutters and a black door. (It used to be blue).
20. Lucky Charms
21. Seeing my sister, parents, in-laws (yes it's true!) grandma, 92-year old grandpa, aunts, and cousin and lots and lots of friends!!

MUCH MORE TO COME

Angry Callers

Even after almost a year and a half, I still cannot master answering the phone correctly. No matter what, picking up a phone almost always seems to result in thirty seconds of confusion.

For example, yesterday I could see on my caller ID that someone from my office was calling so I just answered the very American way with, “Hello.”

Then the person said, “Madeleine.”

And I said “No, this is Chantal.”

And she said, “Chantal, this is Madeleine.”

And I thought. Oh, duh. Me and my crazy American brain again.

In the German language, typically you are greeted on the phone with someone barking their name at you. Often there is no “hello,” just a crude, “Herr Helmut”. Their tone usually sounds angry and/or serious so to a happy American used to a friendly “Hello?” it is very strange and I always do a second take and try to focus my brain to say my name and realize that others will also say theirs in a somewhat strident tone and expect me to say mine before they say anything else.

One time, a male called me and said “Ann-Charlott”. So I took the German approach and said my name. As it turns out it was the secretary, Charlie, telling me that he had Ann-Charlott on the line for me. After I made a fool out of myself for thinking a male could be an Ann-Charlott (hey, stranger things have happened around here), he transferred me.

In the US, if someone was going to transfer me, they might say, “I’ve got Ann-Charlott on the line. Can I transfer you?” Here, there is no such thing. Just a barked name said with a heavy accent and I never know who I’m talking to or how to react.

However, I am good at saying good-bye. Everyone here uses the Italian good-bye. Or in English, “chow.”

Another American Assumption

A week or so ago my husband spotted gifts that we thought would be nice for our fathers. We finally both had time to go to the store together on Saturday to check it out. But the Baden store didn’t have the one I wanted for my father in the right size. So I went to the store in Zurich on Monday to find even poorer selection. So I went back to the Baden store to find they only had a few left, none in any of the right sizes. I was too late. And it was too bad.

In the U.S. there is rarely an occasion where you cannot buy what you want—especially before Christmas. Stores are open 24-7 or at least most waking hours and have plenty of goods in stock most of the time. Having a full range of size choices and “running out” is not usually an issue.

Well, I learned my lesson yet again in this little country. If you see something, buy it right then. If you need spinach, buy it when you see it in the grocery store. Don’t wait until tomorrow—it might be gone. Groceries. Clothing. This rule applies to almost anything apparently. So I will try to remember not to take time to consider a purchase. Even though once you buy things, you generally can’t return them. The opinion here is that it’s the buyers fault if it turns out to be something they didn’t want or doesn’t fit. End of story. (See also the 1-800-PAY-ME-MORE entry on customer rights and services).

The Gambling Frau and her belching cat

Last night we had dinner over at our neighbor's place. She was so impressed by our Thanksgiving cooking that she set aside the raclette grill and made an elaborate dinner with three courses--(an apertif) salad, curry and rice, and dessert (plus grappa and espresso).

The most popular topics of conversation were gambling (we even got to see her "Casino Tasche" (Her special casino purse that is black with gold tassles.) We learned that she had spent the afternoon at the casino (losing 600 CHF) as well as the day on Wednesday there. She was very excited to learn that Brian knows how to play poker and so our next evening spent together will be a poker night so Brian can teach her the subtle art of poker playing. Then the three of us will at some point next year go to the casino together. Since I am the only one that has yet to visit the Baden Casino, this will be an interesting time. I've already labeled it "Gambling with the Frau."

The other popular topics were Swiss politics (got a little lost during this conversation), crime, and music. On the crime front, we got the alarm demo. Frau is very proud of her new alarm as she installed it herself on her door. It makes the loudest noise I have ever heard and the poor cat was beside herself. Anyhow, Frau informed me that she keeps a cell phone by her bed, so should anyone break in while she is asleep, she can promply call the police from her phone. We were also given a light timer as Frau is very concerned for our apartment since we will be gone for over 3 weeks during xmas. She informed us that people stand up on the castle that overlooks Baden and search the town for places to rob. We tried not to laugh and accepted her timer. We decided not to tell her how the street we used to live on in Richmond was a hotbed for various murders and break-ins. Baden, from her perspective, is just as scary. I guess it's all in what you know.

On the music front, our Frau has taken piano lessons for 12 years and can play Offenbach's Barcarolle and proudly started playing it from her electronic keyboard in the back room while we were finishing our salads. Between dinner and dessert, we all went back and she played it again for us. It was a very Swiss rendition. By this I mean, she played it to the exact tempo and with it's own background electronic waltz. This meant she could play a very full version by only using her right hand to play the melody. She was very exacting in her tempo, saying "Eins, zwo, dru" throughout. (The Swiss German numbers for one, two, three). It was very funny.

Then she wanted me to play some of her songs. Of course, they were about the level I played back in the 4th grade, so I had no trouble playing the right handed melodies along with her crazy electronically programmed left hand accompanient to Frank Sinatra's "My Way," and La Donne Mobile" and "Strangers in the Night". I sang too. I think she was truly amazed as she kept showing me every song she had in her entire binder. Some had crazy titles like "Something stupid," and "Frau Meier". Needless to say, I didn't know those.

Her cat, Schnoerli, threw up 3 times during our dinner on three different Oriental carpets (of course like any spoiled animal never once throwing up on the regular floor). Then she slumped over the couch for most of the dinner in the "woe is me" position, but by the end was feeling much better and got up into the drawer where Frau keeps little mice and she threw one down for all of us to realize she wanted to play.

So that, in a nutshell, was 3.5 hours of fun with the Frau. All in German of course, with certain points in Swiss German when Brian and I just shrugged at each other and let her babble on. And the guessing is over, as tonight she told us her age: 73.

Cry me a (Schweitzerdeutsch) River

The worst part of living in a country that does not function in your language is that you end up always feeling like a two-year-old. The other night I burst into tears because even after a year and a half of diligent German study I still cannot read most of my mail—especially the important stuff like details concerning our rent being raised, etc. These documents seem to consist of one 20-letter word after another and my English speaking mind just does not have the endurance to sift through such immense letter combinations.

One recent piece of mail I have pondered for the last two weeks. It was for heat and hot water. We pay 350 CHF per month (310 USD) per month in addition to our rent and then at the end of the year they determine if this 4,200 CHF (3,700 USD) was really enough. So we got our first note, and I didn’t know if we owed 250 CHF or they owed us 250 CHF. So I carried the note around for two weeks in my purse hoping to have someone help me with the mystery. I translated the words on my own, but it still made no sense. Finally, today my German teacher told me what to do—it seems they owe us the 250 CHF (should make up for the week we had NO heat and hot water)!! But they will send it to us via post minus 20 CHF unless we tell them within 14 days a bank number. Well it took me 14 days to understand the letter, so I guess we will lose 20 CHF because of it, but that is the price you pay for living outside your culture and language. You end up losing a lot of money in misunderstanding things or not knowing where to get the best prices (I used to spend 3,20 CHF on 1 Liter OJ before I realized I can get that same amount at a certain store in a non-refrigerated section for ,90 CHF.)

Another thing that is bugging me but I feel helpless about is our rising rent. A few months ago, they told us that in December our rent will go up from too expensive to really too expensive. But we just figured that was normal and accepted and are paying it.

Last night we received another note telling us our rent was going up again in April from really too expensive to really really too expensive…Anyhow, a German friend at work said he thought it sounded fishy and directed me to an organization that serves the rights of renters. Well, guess what. The site is all in German and I can’t for the life of me get up the enthusiasm to try to deal with any of that either. So here we go again, possibly overpaying but being helpless in the process.

I can’t wait to go back to the US sometimes. One country for taxes. Cell phone contracts in English that I still can’t read, but at least feel good about knowing for sure that it’s not my fault. A 15 page housing contract, no problem. For the first time in my life, I will revel in English legalese. I can’t wait. Bring it on, English-speaking lawyers. I’ll challenge you to outdo a German word on my latest piece of mail—Betriebskostenabrechnung. And if you think that’s bad, just add a few more words of the same length before and after it. And then you’ll have a real German sentence. And then you can move on to paragraphs. Or just take the easy way out-- Break down and cry.

Grocery Store Gripes

I am heading back to the states next Friday and I can’t wait. A whole year away and Switzerland is really starting to get on my nerves. It’s bad enough that now it’s rained for a week straight, everyone wears black and no hint of a smile, but then they also have to be pushy on top of that. Literally. Yesterday I was minding my own business trying to look at something on a bottom shelf in a grocery store. I just had a small basket as usually I don’t get a cart as it involves one, having the correct coin for your cart deposit, and two, because Swiss grocery stores are not built for heavy cart traffic.

My situation was classic. A woman wanted to pass by me with her cart, but the aisle is only big enough for one cart and NOTHING else. This did not phase her. She began pushing her cart towards me until I had the choice of either getting bruised or moving. Being less of an Anglo-shopping wimp than in the past, I held my ground until it was clear there was no stopping an impending doctor visit. Then I got up, gave her a dirty look and stomped out buying only a banana.

Last Friday was no different. Except this time I had the Swiss weapon of choice, a cart. The event took place as I was coming up the ramp (yes, this particular store has the smart design of two levels, so to get anything besides fruits and veges and chilled items you must go up and down a ramp with your cart). I got the creepy feeling that I usually get in most Swiss stores that someone behind me was about invade my American-sized personal space. I could feel this woman’s breath literally on my neck. But all she had was a basket and she wanted to get past me. Now I am all for the whole stand on the left, walk on the right concept of escalators, etc, but most Swiss ramps give no such option based on their size. And I was stuck like a statue on this ramp because it’s designed so that a cart can’t move once a cart is on it. (Alas, the Swiss designed the ramp to prevent accidents from carts, but they failed to consider the consequences from their impatient people stuck behind such a secure cart.) So as I get to the top of the ramp, it takes a second to get the cart to come out of its protective groove and back on the normal floor. Well the lady behind me couldn’t take it anymore and plowed her basket right into my back. I stormed off the ramp and into the produce section, only narrowly missing an employee throwing a rotten onion into a crate beside me. As I checked out, again my cart caused an older woman behind me angst, because I was not fast enough grabbing my items after they were rung up so she pushed my cart into a corner and blocked me from getting it and my 2 franc deposit back until she was done packing her things. I could have pushed her back, but I was trying to handle my own personal cart, the store’s shopping cart, and an additional bag full of groceries that wouldn’t fit in my personal cart, so I just grinned and beared it.

I went home dragging my purchases, another day, another grocery store escapade. And another night of wide aisle dreams.

The Language Learners

There seem to be certain "types" of languages learners in my experience of taking language classes for over 7.5 years. (Unfortunately these 7.5 years have included 3 languages making me not compentent in anything except analyzing how people learn a language).

Anyhow, language of the past year and a half has been German.

In my class there are various characters. But this seems to be the case in any language class, but here it's more interesting because the people in the class aren't all Americans or native English speakers.

Language Learning Types:

1. The guy that talks non-stop like he's fluent but still can't conjucate the verb "to have."
2. The Frenchman that talks perfect German most of the time but because of his accent, it sounds like he's speaking French no matter what.
3. The American guy who looks like a deer in headlights throughout the entire class and always has to clarify everything in English.
4. The constant dictionary reader--the language learner that can't read past one single word he doesn't know without looking it up.
5. The perfectionist that can spit out a difficut sentence in class, but then faces the real world and can't for the life of her remember how to say that very thing.

Anyhow, learning a language makes life interesting. Even if all you really learn is how others act!

Cooking Thearpy

I don't have much of a record as a cook. In fact, in previous years I have gone out of my way to avoid cooking. Frozen pizzas, Pasta Roni, Mac and Cheese, you name the processed food, and I ate it.

A couple weeks ago I was desperate as the stores had closed at their usual 7pm and I got home at 7:30p. We had nothing much to eat in our apartment. But I found some old packets of good ole US chicken noodle soups. I made it, thanking the US for its practical food. It was so easy, all I had to do was dump the packet of dried soup into boiling water. It even detailed how you could save time by microwaving it instead. But I made it the traditional way on the stove praising my patience in the act.

It was done in 5 minutes. And then I couldn't eat it. It tasted horrible. What happened? It's not like I could have mistaken how to make it as the directions were in English. Not to mention I used live on this stuff.

What happened was that while I became a foreigner, my American food slowly did too.

After living in Switzerland where pre-prepared, frozen, and boxed food is as prevalent as, say, a sunny day in Zurich (fact: Zurich gets more rain than London) I have been forced, along with all the other Swiss housewives to make peace with raw, unprepared food.

At first, we really didn't get along. I burned many things in my centigrade temperature oven. I couldn't figure out for the life of me how many grams made up a pound. Or how many liters a cup was. I went to the store and wanted to cry because there was every cheese on earth except chedder. Or I'd get home and realize the steak I bought was pork, not real steak.

But like my German, I improve a little in my cooking every day. Today, for example, I had to work on a really boring project for work. But luckily I could work from home. So inbetween the paragraphs I cooked.

I cooked French Onion soup and my husband came home for lunch to eat it. I cooked banana bread from scratch. And then for dinner I baked oven-roasted vegetables in olive oil, lemon juice, garlic, and fresh basil. There was no cutting corners. No buying already minced garlic (doesn't exist) for example.

I have been so upset at work lately, that I have used cooking to calm me, to get me praise that I'm not getting elsewhere in my life. It's easy now, as my husband is used to having a wife that never cooks, so anything I make he is amazed.

Going to 3 grocery stores for ingredients for one meal no longer phases me. I have made peace with cooking. And I'm going into the kitchen now to throw out the remaing pre-made soup packets. And then I'm unloading the dishwasher for the second time today. Cooking, you see, makes lots of dirty dishes.

I survived the holiday party

The evening began at the bar next to the theater. Then we watched the play Dom Jaun (by Moliere) in German. I actually understood a lot more than I thought as the play was in high German and the actors spoke very clearly. There were two scenes in particular that I understood almost all of. Towards the end I was zoning out, but overall I actually enjoyed the experience.

After the play we headed to a restaurant in Zurich's old town for dinner. We had a long table that seated all 20 of us. We were promply informed that the restaurant was a smoke free place, so the smokers had to keep getting up and going outside. This was bizarre, because somehow, all the smokers had ended up sitting all on one side of the table, so when they all got up one whole side of the table was empty. This didn't last long because one person just lit up anyhow, got yelled at by the waitress, but then they just let it slide, brought ash trays, and then 10 people were smoking at once (cough). I was very disappointed!

Anyhow, we stayed at the restaurant until about 12.15. My friend entertained us with some English songs--he brought an amp and mic and sang for the last 1/2 hour. I joined in a bit on "Let it Snow."

I ended up taking the last train to Baden at 1.06--had to keep speaking German until almost 1.30 as it turns out another lady from our office also lives the Baden area. Whew. But I did it. I heard myself make mistakes the whole evening and many people kindly corrected and helped me but I also surprised myself with some good speaking and listening (except at the times the conversation switched into Swiss German).

So, here's the after party conclusion.

1. My German held out for 6 hours. This is a new record.
2. Jerks at work remain jerks at parties.
3. Company parties usually end up being more fun than you think ahead of time. But I'd still rather have the money.

Cheers.

Holiday Fun

Today we went to two different Christmas markets-one in our hometown of Baden and one in Waldshut, Germany. We enjoyed both, but the one in Germany had many more exciting (and cheaper) food options as well as a carosel for children and some carolers singing Jingle Bells in English. I sang along.

In Baden, all the market offered to eat were sausages, raclette (melted cheese on bread) and mulled cider or wine. The garlic bread machine was broken (I asked since I'm not a big fan of sausage but have learned to eat a bit or two since usually there aren't many other options.) Anyhow, we ended up with one sausage and one mug of mulled cider.

At the German market, the food options were endless. Yes, many sausages, but also flammkuchen (a kind of pizza), mulled cider and wine, schnitzel with potatos, chickens, etc. Here a cup of mulled wine was 1.50 Euros. Compare this to Switzerland where a cup is the equivelent 3.60 Euros. (This is one reason there was a line of cars to cross the border back into Switzerland after shopping hours with no one going the other way!)

Both markets had about the same types of xmas items for sale--ornaments, candles, etc. but the Swiss market had more wooden toys for children.

While in Germany we enjoyed doing some shopping for some random items that are ridiculosy priced in Switzerland. For example:
1. applesauce (almost 4 times the price in Switzerland)
2. Qtips (2 times the price in Switzerland)
3. Soap bars (almost 4 times the price in Switzerland)
4. canned beans (3 times the price in Switzerland)
5. meat (2+ times the price in Switzerland)

It is so interesting to go only 12 km (Baden to the border of Germany is only 8 miles and have things change so drastically.) The other thing we enjoy is hearing real German. I understand people talking and can ask for things without getting "ah, you're a foreigner look." It was really refreshing to order some bread at a bakery and have the transaction go completely smoothly.

There are 2 new German grocery stores right next to the station in Waldshut and this is awesome. I may go back there more often because of this. It is only a half hour train ride from Baden but we hadn't been there for a few months. The other great thing about German grocery stores as opposed to Swiss ones is that they are huge and American feeling. They have many more choices of products and have many additional American food items Switzerland only has in their "speciality department store grocery stores". For example, I was excited to find a bag of mashmallows for .99 EUR just in an everyday store as opposed to an overpriced departmen's international grocery store--the same bag in Switzerland is the equivalent of 3.7 EUR--almost four times the price!

Company Christmas Parties

Since I am off to a company Christmas party and my husband is taunting me because he's glad not to have one tonight, I start to wonder about the point of company Christmas parties since I really have never known anyone that is really too excited about going (with the exception of the occasional delusional HR person).

I guess it's something companies feel they have to do, it's tradition like anything else. But a great new tradition would be to give everyone a portion of the Christmas party money instead. I'd much rather have say, 100 CHF to go out to dinner than my husband than to spend yet another five hours with my work colleauges. (In Switzerland spouses are never invited to company parties; a mistake I learned the hard way last year when I made my RSVP for both of us. Silly me to assume the company having us in double bedded hotel rooms meant your spouse was invited).

At least this year, the company party sounds much more appealing than last year's overnight drunk fest where employees were required to share hotel rooms. This year we are going to see a play at the theater. Despite the fact that it is in German, I am looking forward to not having to try to talk German for at least an hour out of the evening. Then we go to dinner afterwards where I will either understand 50% of what's being said or will smile and nod when conversation switches to Swiss German. I know I will be very tired by the end of the evening from the German alone (not to mention the cigarette smoke at dinner), but at least there is no overnight stay involved and I have the excuse that the last train to Baden is at 1:06.

Poor Brian has already had one Christmas party and has two more next week. He's organizing a dinner for his team and I told him they're probably all already moaning in secret about the fact that they have to go. He thinks so too, but is still organizing it! Some traditions never die, that's why companies mantras will always say, long live the Christmas party!

Thanksgiving Lessons

I guess I never reported the outcome of our Thanksgiving dinner.

It was a very nice evening. We managed to speak German for 1.5 hours and to smile and nod at German for an additional hour.

We learned the Swiss German word for cookie and various other words in Swiss German that we caught our neighbor saying inbetween her high German.

For the second time, I was able to pick out mistakes that our neighbor made in her high German speaking. (Mainly word order issues) Alas, I was the polite American and did not point them out.

During Thanksgiving we also learned a few things from our neighbor:

1. Too many English words are invading German and it is not good. (French was not a culprit even though the Swiss Germans say "Merci" after every transaction.)
-we pointed out that English has German words like "Kindergarden" and got a very surprised response.

2. Americans are to blame for stores in Switzerland having opening hours on Sundays in December.
-I decide not to say that my mother and sister were excited to do a 5am shopping spree on Black Friday.
-But then a half hour later we are told how our neighbor got a lovely orchid at a store in the next town over on a Sunday. Hmm.

3. All she knew about Thanksgiving before this was from the movies. She was a bit let down that Brian did not bring a giant cooked bird to the table. However, Swiss ovens cannot fit giant birds in them. (See entry about cooking one pie at a time).

4. She really liked the stuffing and the cranberries despite the fact she had no clue what they were before the dinner.

5. We were told to use both locks on our door. One is not good enough and we should also follow her example and install an alarm system because there are creepy teenagers in our buildling. I figured it was useless to ask if she had ever lived in New York. Heaven forbid if Baden is dangerous I don't know what she would think of our old place in Richmond). I held back my urge to tell her my DC Sniper stories. Not enough vocab for that anyhow.

6. Brian and I sleep until 11am the day after. Cooking with strange ingredients and appliances along with German really has a way of doing us in.

Happy Holidays!

Sexism in Switzerland

Switzerland may think it's neutral, but my experiences and facts prove otherwise.

Here are some facts:

1. Swiss women are paid 20% on average less than male counterparts. (swissinfo.ch)
2. Swiss women did not get the right to vote until 1971.
3. Swiss women that do work and are married are taxed at a higher rate.

Here are some personal experiences:

1. Being taken to a strip club for a meeting while the top boss laughs because he can't wait to see my reaction.
2. Having a top manager consistently say "hi" in a different tone of voice than is used with male colleagues.
3. Having a boss saying he was excited about employing a new female worker because she was "hot"
4. Watching as a top manager gives a stripper his business card so he can hire her as the new secretary.
5. Having a boss show me an "inspiring" movie clip on YouTube that is scantilly clad women dancing.
6. There are no Swiss women employed in anything other than secretarial positions in my office. All women in higher positions are foreign like me.

My husband has also seen poor behavior among men towards women in his office and other female friends who have worked here have similar experiences. Not that this kind of thing doesn't happen in the US, but because sexual harassement are grounds for dismissal, I just don't think it's as prevelant although I have some personal incidents from the U.S. as well. I'll save those for another time.

Don't Take My Groceries!

I had lunch today with a former German colleague. He always has lots of stories about the US to compare to my strange Swiss experiences.

The first time he shopped in a US grocery store he was in NYC. As he was checking out, he became very flustered when an African-American man started taking his groceries and putting them in a bag. He yelled at him, "Hey what are you doing, those are my groceries," before noticing that this man had a supermarket shirt on and actually worked for the store and was merely providing a service Europeans have never even considered--free bags and free packing services.

Thanksgiving Cooking

This year, we are actually attempting to cook a Thanksgiving meal. Never mind that we are doing it on Saturday instead of Thursday and that all the conversation during the acutal dinner, since we've invited our Swiss neighbor, will be in German. It will still be nice. I even got an orange pointsetta for the table.

So far, the cooking is actually going well despite a few desperate internet translations for strange German cooking words, figuring how much 200 grams of sugar really is, and doing the usual conversion of cups to grams to buy ingredients.

I am so advanced in my European cooking at this point that I don't even have to convert 400 degrees F to C because I already know the conversions. So right now as I write, the second of at least three pumpkin pies is baking in our microscopic oven at a well converted temperature.

Yes, at least 3 pumpkin pies will be made out of what is ingredients for one US pumpkin pie. This is because the Swiss don't eat pies, they only have tarts. So the only ready made crust I could find after looking in 4 stores is really a shallow crust meant for what else, to cook cheese in. So we'll see how it goes. My husband ran out to buy another shallow crust after I put in the second pie. We can't waste the precious US pumpkin mix!

Oh, and I can only cook one thin pie at a time due to the small oven. So baking what should be one pumpkin pie is a three-four hour process here as each pie takes about an hour. Thank goodness I made the cornbread yesterday.

Yesterday was actually the most difficult part--trying to find things like a ready-made pie crust and whipped cream. But I've learned to never expect to find what you are looking for in the packaging you expect it nor the place in the store you'd expect it. For example, the ready made crust can only be found in one store (Migros) out of the four I checked. And it's not in the freezer section (because the freezer section is actually a joke), it's refridgerated and near all the vegetables. And it's got a photo of cheese on it.

The whipped cream caused a lot of unnecessary pacing in an entirely different store (Coop). It was not with the chilled dairy products nor the butter, but near the bread section, high above a few boxes of warm milk. I had almost given up and bought a yogurt size container of double cream when I finally spotted it. Whew. It was a very tiring shopping experience yesterday--2 stores, 1 cart, 1 purse, 1 plant for the table, and me--with two hands! Not to mention I had to drag it all up two flights of stairs since our buildling isn't exactly handicapped accesible! No wonder the Swiss don't do actual gym work-outs, just shopping is more exercise than anyone should have to do in a day.

Anyhow, hopefully all will be worth it. I'll keep you posted!

Like Any Other Day

My Swiss friend Tom thinks there could be potential for Thanksgiving in Switzerland. After all, 10 years ago there was no Halloween here and now there's a few pumpkins here and there as well as a few crazy people that dress up and go to parties besides expats.

But for some reason, I just don't think Thanksgiving will work. There's not enough money to be made since Thanksgiving is all about eating. But then again I saw that the Marriot here in Zurich will cook a turkey for you for a mere 208 CHF. So who knows, stranger things have happened.

But for that price, I will be settling on eating raclette tonight. After I get home from work, of course.

Happy Thanksgiving.

My Glowing Pumpkin

Happy Halloween. Here is an image of our pumpkins. My husband did a cat face and I did a confused expat face. A confused expat consists of starry American eyes, a Swiss nose, and a stripe for a mouth. It's a face of someone that doesn't fit in in either place any more. Oh, could that be me?

Trick or Treat

Despite the fact that the Swiss don't celebrate Halloween, I wore my orange shirt and black pants all day and I'm about to light the pumpkins we carved on Sunday and enjoy them. But I did have my own set of trick or treating today--I met a friend who is moving back to the States in town and we walked back to her house and I got to go "shopping" in her house and choose any American food products I wanted to take. It was so great it felt almost more like Christmas than Halloween. Here is what was in my goody bags today:

2 bags of marshmallows
BBQ Sauce
Jello
Stuffing mix
Chip dip mixes
Seasoning packets
Cans of chili
Peanut Butter cookie mix
Crystal Light drink mix
Salsa
Corn Starch
Brown sugar
Maple Syrup
Pancake Mix
A1 Steak Sauce
Gatorade Mix
Vanilla
Mac & Cheese
Ritz Crackers
Dryer sheets
Pumpkin Pie Mix
Bleach Sticks
Fajitia Kit

Wow. I guess it was a good Halloween after all! Thanks to my friend for the generosity!

A Shiny Certificate

Last week in class, our German teacher announced that after completing the next course, we could go to the city of Aarau and take the official Goethe Institute German test and upon passing receive a shiny certificate that says we have mastered German.

After being in the real world for over 4 years (gosh, how have I survived) I find this whole test/certificate thing a little funny. Especially because what one can do on a test seems to be about 6 months ahead of what one can do in real life. For example, about four months ago, we learned to use sentences with "weil" (because). I got 100% on the test from that chapter. But it wasn't until now that I'm starting to actually be able to use "weil" in normal speaking circumstances without stopping to really ponder the word order.

On paper, my German looks great. In the hardware store, it appears I have not taken German at all. So while I'll go and take the test to say I've mastered the German language, I'll come home and show my certificate to my Swiss friend Tom and pronounce in English that I've now mastered German.

Jumbo Breakdown

Every time we go to the Jumbo there is always some kind of crisis. Yesterday we took the bus there to buy an electric heater/fireplace since our apartment buildling can't seem to provide guaranteed heating services. Once in the Jumbo, we found the fireplace we wanted on the display but couldn't find it on any shelf in the entire store and we searched every department in order to avoid the worst case scenario--having to talk to someone.

Finally we gave up looking and I wrote down the name and model of the unit we wanted to avoid any kind of misunderstanding due to bad pronunciation. Then we went to the customer service desk and I managed to get across my point. I understood the woman when she told us that the last one left was the floor model and we could have it if we wanted it. We thought we understood that someone would bring it up for us (hopefully in a box) so we waited near the desk. And waited. And waited. Finally, annoyed and frustrated we went and got it ourselves. But first we wanted to test that it would actually work. So we plugged it into an extension cord and plugged the extension cord into the wall. And then we blew a fuse.

Actually I was glad about the fuse as I was annoyed with the service we had received anyhow. So after that, we pushed the electric fireplace up the ramp on our little orange cart. The size of it was very awkward--especially without a box as it couldn't fit in our cart, but rather set precariously leaning against it. At the check-out register, the woman looked at us strangely with this out of the box fireplace leaning against our cart and asked us something unidentifiable in Swiss German. We pointed to the woman over at the customer service desk. So she called that woman and made sure it was legal for us to be taking their floor model.

In the US, normally if you buy a floor model with no box or instructions, you get a discount, but like I said in a previous e-mail there is no such thing in Switzerland. So we paid full price and hoped for luck dragging the fireplace, boxless and vunerable, 3 blocks to the bus stop.

My husband has had a lot of practice manuvering strange objects on an IKEA cart and his previous expeditions paid off as he expertly leaned the fireplace on the cart and held on to it when we had to go over curbs. When we got on the bus he expertly lifted the entire thing along with the cart it was resting on, onto the bus and then off, down an elevator, across a busy road, and then up the steps into our building and finally our apartment.

Of course, when we got home 2 hours after the expedition began, our heating was working again. But I didn't care. I was happy to have my little fireplace, even if it is just a glorified glowing hairdryer. To me, it's beautiful and makes me feel more at home. And hey, anything in this strange country helps.

Wincasa is terrible

We still have no hot water or heat after a week now. And the problem has really been going on since March. All I want is a hot shower. Is that too much to ask? I feel like I'm living in Africa not in Switzerland! Check out the link below on Wincasa.

http://www.englishforum.ch/housing-general/14218-dont-rent-wincasa.html

Pumpkins After All

Today while I was dragging my cart of groceries home I passed a small market and eyed two large pumpkins. Well, let me revise that and say two large Swiss pumpkins. This means small American pumpkins, probably the smallest size possible you could carve without hurting yourself. Finding a pumpkin of this size--and two no less--is very unusual--I had been checking for a few weeks now, but this was perfect timing. But my cart was full, so I ran home, dragged the cart up two flights of stairs, unloaded, and returned to the market with an empty cart.

I asked in German how much they were, knowing I didn't care anyhow, that this was my final chance for a decent sized pumpkin before Halloween. I have never spent so much on pumpkins before, I think in the US maybe we paid 5-7 dollars for one? These were 36 CHF total for two small American-sized pumpkins. But I didn't care. Somehow this week I've been missing home more than usual due to 5 days of no hot showers and the failed attempts to communicate something greater to our landlords than "the hot water is not working again. this is not good." And work has been hard too, with briefings for projects entirely in German that take me so much effort to figure out that I have no energy left to actually do the work after I've finally understood the assignment.

Anyhow, as I was buying the two pumpkins the seller switched to English and asked, "Are you from England?" I guess who else would be buying two large pumpkins. The Swiss just buy them to cook with. I said no, I was from the US and then the guy asked me if I went to Pickwick's Pub (the English pub in Baden) a lot because he had never seen me there. I said no, I never went to Pickwick's. Then he smiled and asked how long I had lived here. It was really amazing just the fact that he was friendly as most people around here never smile let alone talk to me, so all-in-all it was a good exchange. It was almost American in style.

1-800-PAY US MORE

A couple of years ago, I might not have been too excited about the greatness of customer service in the United States. Especially after being on hold for what felt like hours listening to bad elevator music only to have my hopes dashed by a human voice that transferred me to another set of musak. But, hey, the call was free, so what can you expect?

In Switzerland, there is no such thing as free. It doesn't matter if the company you are giving business to messed something up, you will still pay them more for the privilage of trying to resolve it. There are no toll-free numbers, rather special extra toll numbers for issues like this.

For example, with the SBB online ticket ordering, they send you an e-mail stating that if you have a problem with your order you can call them for only 10 cents a minute (plus whatever outrageous rate your phone company charges you) for the pleasure of trying to get to the bottom of your unresolved order. They put it so nicely, like they are doing you a big favor by making you pay to call them.

However, despite the overpriced calling scheme, (the Swiss will make money off of you no matter what!) you never have to wait for someone to talk to and there is only one short automated menu to get past which asks which language you prefer--German, French, or Italian. So I just stay on the line and hope for the best. Both times I called I got someone to speak with me in fairly good English and today, the young woman I spoke with acutally called ME back within ten minutes after having solved my problem. So despite having paid I don't know, five dollars, I did not waste 20 minutes like I would have on a toll free number in the U.S.

So while there is no perfect customer service in the world (and I'm a cheap person, so I can't believe I'm saying this) I'd rather pay a little for service. Even if it's to resolve an original service that was non-existant. After all, time is money. And I deserve a raise.

Cold and Helpless

This morning I woke up to a freezing apartment and got into the shower, thankful to warm up. But only cold water came out and I had no hope for improvement as this is a recurring problem at our apartment. I was too cold to even attempt washing my hair at this point so I wore a hat all day at work thinking that when I got home it would all be fixed since my neighbor, wearing the thickest sweater I had ever seen, told me the experts were coming to take a look. Between her nagging to our building maintenance guy, and my husband's cute attempt at a German e-mail to our leasers, I decided it would be taken care of.

At home at 7pm, I finally took off my hat, my head itching from the long hours of wear. The apartment was warm, so at least the heating was fixed. But still no hot water. To me this was unbelieveable. It's been on and off since Saturday, not to mention on and off since March. We pay a staggering amount for rent (think over 2,000 USD a month--this is the norm in Switzerland, it's not like we would choose to pay such an amount). And our neighbor is very angry as well--she went out and bought an electric heater--and given prices in Switzerland, I'm sure it wasn't exactly a bargain.

But believe it or not, the most frustrating thing isn't the lack of hot water, it's the feeling of powerless to do anything about it. In the US I would have been on the phone, I would have been writing e-mails or even letters using my persuasive copywriting skills to get across my disatisfaction. While the problem may not have been fixed right away either, I would have at least felt like I was getting my feelings out.

In March, when our hot water went out, I had to deal with it myself since our neighbor was on vacation. I wrote out a German script and read it over the phone. But I never understood what was said back to me so I just kept repeating my script. Then I'd call another number and repeat the same thing, wondering the entire time what the final outcome would be.

Six months later, my German is much better, but I still can't get across something like issues concerning building maintenance and anger. I want to write a letter of dissatisfaction, and I'm going to try it out--using the few words I know like "unbelieveable". I know it won't be what I really want to say, but maybe I can get a little closer now that I can write sentences greater than 4 words in length. Tomorrow morning is German class, so I will have my teacher check it and we'll see if I can shake my helplessness away--at least with a few tedious hours of work.

I no longer fit in anywhere

When you live abroad, you see new places, but you also see where you came from in a way you never could before. When I visit home now, I question the people that drive from one store to the next in a strip mall, waiting as long for the closest parking spot to the next store as possible when they could have walked much faster. I question the big cars with one driver in them. I question the necessity of 24-hour shopping. I will never be able to live in my own country again as a blissful citizen, one who knows no other way of doing things.

But I cannot become Swiss either. No matter how good my language gets, I will never speak like a local. I will never feel comfortable barging in front of people in lines, even though my skills are improving. I will always complain about the lack of choices in grocery stores—there is no such thing in Switzerland as an aisle of only soda and no concept whatsoever of root beer. I will always want to call someone by their first name the first time I meet them, not have to wait a year while we politely size each other up. I will always start a business meeting with a topic like what I ate for lunch instead of the business at hand—small talk is in my blood.

In both countries, I have seen the good and bad, and understood each by separating myself from them even though I have lost my old identity in the process. But I still hope that when I return to live in the United States—even though I may question many things I never would have before— that I will never question that I am home.

Currencies

Despite the fact that I haven't gotten a raise in over a year of working in Switzerland, I am making more money than before, at least in US dollar amounts. The falling dollar only makes the Swiss Franc worth more--despite the fact that both currencies are struggling against the Euro. When we arrived in June 2006, 1 USD was about 1.27 CHF. Today 1 USD is 1.18 CHF.

My Swiss friend Tom recently returned from a trip to the US where he practically bought out the US. (All this week he was dressed Ambercrombie and Fitch style--jeans, converse sneakers, button down and zipped sweatshirt). He didn't check the rates beforehand and was just assuming the amount from that last time he went, which was 1 USD to 1.5 CHF. Boy was he happy when he returned and saw he had spent much less than he thought!

Posh in Poland

This morning when I checked my voice mail, there was a message from last night from my husband. He had complained all evening about having to go to Poland for a couple days for work to drink whiskey with clients. But the message was a very enthusiastic, "I've got an amazing room! It's a corner suite and I've got a huge bathroom!"

Where was he? Where else? At the lap of luxury in Warsaw, the Holiday Inn. I can't wait to hear about the breakfast.