St. Mateo and the Mountain

One time, while living in Zurich, I got to chatting with a supermarket employee called Mateo. I write 'one time' because in the three years that I lived in ZH, I think this truly was the only time I got into a casual discussion with a supermarket employee. Small talk, in this scenario, is fairly unusual. I initally approached him to ask where I could find the dairy section. Upon hearing my standard German, he asked me where I was from. I told him that I was from a place called Pacifica in California. As it turned out, we were sort of from the same place as his parents had been living in San Mateo County when he and his brother were born in the 1960s. Indeed, his name is derived from the city of San Mateo. He also told me that his brother, Bruno, is named for the neighboring city of San Bruno. I found this story especially amusing and rather sweet as I have never met anyone here named for either place.

San Bruno is also the name of a small mountain that stretches from Brisbane to Daly City, situated just south of San Francisco. Up until last weekend, I had never visited the mountain, now an official part of the parks system, although I had grown up only some 10 miles away. The mountain boasts a stunning bit of scenery and I can't believe it took me thing long to get up there. 

Here are some photos from the excursion--

From the Daly City streetside entrance--

The mountain is home to some rare and endangered plant and butterfly species. Additionally, massive eucalyptus trees are also plentiful. The eucalyptus were first planted in this area back in the 1850s, and although now known to be an invasive species, the sight and scent of them always remind me of home. 

 -walking along the trail that eventually leads to the vista of the southern portion of San Francisco, bay and beyond.

Coastal scrub in the foreground.

View of SF and Daly City: The famed Cow Palace flanked by a massive parking lot, center of shot. The bay and East Bay in the background.

 --making our way back along the path toward the entrance.

Fern on fallen tree trunk. 

Wind speeds on the mountain can reach up to 30 miles an hour. On my visit, I'd say that the winds were a-whipping something fierce once one reached the far side of the mountain facing the bay. I looked somewhat in vain for some of the rare butterfly species that inhabit the area, but darn it if the wind didn't keep them from venturing forth. Fortunately, I live very nearby, so there will be a subsequent visit! 

Medium-sized fish in a very small pond

It was ten o'clock on a Wednesday night and the annual Zug stier festival was in full swing.  Ten o'clock marked the end of my shift.  After fourteen hours of work, I was glad to be done.

'Who told you you could leave?  Everyone else is staying late.'  I had had a feeling that there would be some confusion around my leaving at the scheduled time, given how impromptu I felt the training for this event seemed to have been and how bungled the communication re: work hours for the event via email was.

I produced a copy of an email in which the assistant to the Big Boss had written to me very clearly: Work hours--Mittwoch: 8.00-22.00; Donnerstag: 8.00-22.00.  The floor manager's face twisted into what appeared to be a mixture of anger and frustration as she began to walk away.  'I don't have time to sign you out right now.  I'll do it tomorrow morning.'  With those words she disappeared into the crowd.  I walked in the opposite direction out the service door knowing full well that there was no way I'd be returning the next day.  Without her signature, I would not see one Rappe of 350 CHF, but I couldn't care less.  The waitress nightmare come-to-life that I'd lived that day was over.  Tomorrow's shift, what was sure to be another stressful experience, could FUCK OFF.

I had arrived Wednesday morning ready for the scheduled 2-hour training.  After dealing with all the back-n-forth via email hammering out times and days of catering gigs, I was encouraged by the idea of having a training.  I thought it meant that those in charge actually cared to have us be prepped for what would be two very long and, as I would soon find out, grueling shifts.  Indeed, I had hoped to be part of a well-functioning team.  My hopes were soon dashed.  The training consisted of  approximately 15 minutes' worth of how one uses the hand-held ordering device.  The festival food menu was pretty extensive with many drinks, appetizers, entrees and desserts.  We were shown how to punch in a drink order.  For example, if one wanted to order clear apple cider, then one pressed the 'apple cider' button.  Cloudy apple cider was 'shift' + 'apple cider' button.  Glassware was just 'shift'.  From that brief description, I wasn't really sure when and how many times we were supposed to hit the 'shift' button if we wanted to order a few bottles of cloudy cider with glassware.  (As the evening picked up, it was clear that glassware was just a quaint notion.  Bottles were brought to tables in a hurried rush sans glasses.)  When I asked for clarification re: ordering procedure I was told that 'none of this pertained to me' as I would be in the VIP area.  Well, that was news to me!  Moreover, I had no clue what being in the VIP area meant.  I quickly found out it was a brunch for 'promis'.  I wasn't given a time frame for the brunch, but it was all over within a couple of hours.  The main event, where I would be running food, was 'general admission' and it would seem that residents from far and wide came out in full force with one thing on their minds: eat, drink and be merry!

The low-lights of the evening were as follows: food being constantly sent out to tables where there was no cutlery.  Drink orders disappearing into thin air.  The angry: 'We've been waiting 30 minutes for our drinks!'  The confused: 'We ordered drinks...?'  The obnoxious: a chorus of whistles, the constant chant of 'over here!' and 'hey!' 'hey!'  A few dudes felt it prudent to stick out their arms like Gong Show hooks and try to corral those of us walking by them, arms laden down with plates, en route to other tables.  I kept expecting Bratwurst and french fries to fall on someone's head.

The high-lights of the event came in the form of that sometimes really lovely 'matey' camaraderie that one builds with one's co-workers.  It's like, hey, we're all here in the trenches, let's try to have a laugh and keep things moving.  Carla, a stout and friendly woman was always up for a quick chat and a smile.  Then there was Daniela who was a bit sassy and every time I saw her she'd say something to make me sputter with laughter.  Most of us, however, just looked harried and stressed.  There was, honestly, no time for anything other than GO-GO-GOING at top speed from the kitchen to the tables to the wash-up area.  And, hurry up, while we were at it!

This poorly executed event was put on by a 'successful' catering company from the area.  If what I participated in was a 'success', then I would certainly hate to see failure.  I'd imagine that there is hardly any competition for gigs in this area, so this particular catering company gets all the really lucrative yearly festivals.  What a sad state of affairs.  Festival goers and those who work them deserve better.

The fest took place in that massive, white tent. Think: Oktoberfest on steroids. 

Film geek abroad

I had a hard time keeping up with new film releases while living in Switzerland. That was partly because films I might have wanted to see weren't yet playing in Switzerland, if they ever were. And if a particular English language film I was interested in watching happened to be playing in a cinema near me, then I then would have to contend with a slew of subtitles, in both French and German, that I found visually distracting. Add to that a mandatory intermission in the middle of the movie that was just down right annoying. 

Fortunately, I was able to rent movies at home via my cable provider thus bypassing subtitles and mandatory breaks. Having heard very enthusiastic opinions on the film Silver Linings Playbook, I decided to rent it. Of course, the fact that the film was up for a number of awards, and, indeed, the lead actress in the film won an Oscar for her performance helped sway my selection of film. Part of the problem with watching films seemingly after every one else back home has watched them is that one can develop certain expectations based on having heard SO much feedback from friends and family. Everyone spoke about Silver Linings in superlatives:  that's my FAVORITE movie; her performance was the BEST; his portrayal of _________ was MOST convincing. I almost expected to be bowled over, but I wasn't.

I liked the film, but I didn't LOVE it. I thought the pacing was good and the story flowed fairly well. The performances were good, but not stupendous. I was, however, pleased to see Chris Tucker (The Fifth Element, anyone?) back in action after what feels like years and thought that his character was very well executed. Jennifer Lawrence is a good actress, but I would not say that her performance was Oscar-worthy. I mean she's hardly Meryl Streep in Sophie's Choice.

The incomparable Jacki Weaver who played Cooper's mother in Silver Linings...

I am not sure whether the film dealt accurately and sensitively with the issue of bipolar disorder, but I would say that those who suffer from said disorder would not necessarily be prone to violent outbursts and verbal diarrhea as Bradley Cooper's character, Patrick, was. Also interesting was the therapist's involvement in Patrick's private life: his partying down pre-game in the parking lot, his showing up at his client's house after being ejected from the game, and, finally, attending the dance contest with his client's family. One last niggle would be the issue of the restraining order. The estranged wife attends the dance contest, and, in doing so, Pat unwittingly breaks the conditions of the R.O. Patrick then sees his wife from across the room, walks to where she's sitting and engages in a tete-a-tete. The cop, who is seen throughout the film as someone trying to uphold the law, is sitting directly behind the estranged couple while they have their intimate chat and does not react. Really?

As far as rom-coms go, it's a clever take on an old formula with a groovy soundtrack as backdrop. I don't know if one 'totally has to see' this film, but for those of us who still haven't seen it, Silver Linings is worth a sit-through, if inclined.

Dahlia Garden & other things

The dahlias area back at the garden plot adjacent the Conservatory of Flowers. When I think of dahlias, I tend to think of a big bloom with many, long, thing petals. -sort of the plant version of a sea anemone. This garden reminds me that dahlias come in many shapes and sizes.

Here's a selection of what I saw yesterday--

A highlight of last week was getting to cruise in my buddy's '67 convertible Corvette Stingray. Man, what a beautiful car! And fifty years later, the clock still works. I was impressed with the whole affair.

Anyone digging attention from strangers needs a vintage automobile. So many people waved, smiled, honked & flashed the peace sign (go figure) at my friend while we were out and about sans top. Of course, I wore sunblock for our jaunt.

Cleaning windows last week temporarily transported me back to CH. 1 August is Swiss National Day & these folk down in Belmont were representing! I wonder if they had a huge (unattended) bonfire in their back garden in celebration? ;)

Neuland

I went to a screening of the docu-film Neuland the other evening at the Goethe Institute. In 2013, Neuland opened in Basel, and, although I was still living in Zurich at the time, I didn't manage to see it. The film highlights the lives of a handful of younger refugees living in Basel-Stadt & Basel-Land who are attending a two-year training course as part of their language and cultural integration into Swiss life. Without this schooling, I dare say these young people would be lost. The film deals with the refugees' anxieties around finding employment, understanding Swiss German (the courses are conducted in Swiss German-inflected standard German), and, of course, understanding the Swiss mentality.

Some students fared better than others, in terms of integration, and that seemed to be down to a combination of personal drive, the ability to learn German fairly quickly, and by their not being too hampered by current circumstances. One of the school's instructors was also featured prominently in the film. He seemed such a caring sort, but he was also 'no bullshit'. At one point, he told a student (who'd been cutting class to work any menial job he could find) that in order for him to continue on with his schooling, he needed to sign a contract stating that he'd both be in class Monday through Friday & also not be late for said class. No exceptions. What he did at the weekend was, of course, up to him. The student owed a huge debt to his smugglers who were now seeking repayment, and, were they not to receive it within the specified time frame, were threatening to take away his family's land back in Afghanistan as punishment. The pressure this young man must have felt---I just can't imagine. The teacher told another student, a bright & lovely girl who had dreamt of becoming a teacher in her native Croatia, that her German was simply not good enough for the teacher training track. He encouraged her to find work as a carer instead. She did & she excelled in the position.

The end of the film also marked the end of school for this particular group of students. And, as is the Swiss way, graduation was celebrated with a lively lunch at a restaurant. There were many hugs, many tears & many expressions of both congratulations & gratitude.

The film is well worth a watch. Check it out, if you're inclined.

Integration through language acquisition is key.

During our short trip to CH & DE in November, my husband and I were fortunate to have spent time with dear friends, A. & N., who are currently engaged in helping Syrian refugees integrate into German society. They are a married couple, he is German by way of Syria & she is Swabian.

N. does translation work (some gratis and some paid) at court, with social services, and for the occasional doctor visit. A. helps run a city-sponsored, weekly Sprach Café (language group) at a local community center. She bakes cakes and other treats to go along with the coffee normally served. Both A. & N. assist in finding accommodation for the newly arrived, and, in some cases, employment. To hear my friends talk about it, they find the work not only rewarding but vital.

The concept of a Sprach Café intrigued me & I wondered if there were anything like that happening in areas of the US where newly-arrived refugees are living. Off the top of my head, I don't think we've any 'language cafes' running here in the Bay Area, or, if there are, I'm not privy to them. (More to the point, do we even have any Syrians asylum seekers in this part of the country?) Tying language learning with social engagement only makes sense. One has to get a sense of language used in context in order to successfully progress in language acquisition. The whole thing just seems like a great way to improve language skills while, hopefully, expanding one's social circle.

After visiting with A. & N., we spent some time in Basel, our favorite Swiss city. I found this wee flyer on the counter by the espresso machine at one of our old haunts, Frühling, in Kleinbasel.

It reads:

Do you want to improve your German, meet other people & get to know other cultures? If so, then come to our language cafe. We're looking forward to having you!

Every other Friday at Café Frühling...

It's good to know folk in Basel are also getting in on language support for those in need. The difference between what A. is involved with and what's happening at Frühling is that the Swiss effort is privately sponsored. I know this because I asked the gal making my espresso drinks ALL about the flyer. She explained that the Sprach Café is organized by two women who foot the bill for filter coffee for the 20 person+ group. -such a great idea. Honestly, I could have benefitted from one such group during my time in Zurich. There were a few language meet-ups around, but they were held at fairly busy pubs, and, often, it was just plain hard to hear what was being said. For a language practice group, a raucous bar environment just isn't ideal. I get that some of us language learners like a bit of 'liquid courage' when practicing a foreign tongue, but if you can't hear what's being said, then it all just amounts to a night out drinking.

Here's to those new arrivals finding their footing in German & Swiss German society. May their language acquisition be as enjoyable as possible! Viel Spass und viel Erfolg!

Moving...again.

The kitchen is nearly packed as is the dining room. There's the clothes, bath items, nic-nacs, and bed linens to be dealt with next. We've averaged schlepping 6 boxes per trip in our wee car over to the new place the past two nights. Tonight will be no exception. On through into the weekend and we'll, hopefully, have all but the biggest items left for the movers next week.

The above shots are of the living room and office areas, respectively, of our last place in Zurich once we'd moved out. Note the 'port hole' window in the office and the slate floor in the living room area. The quite elderly architect and owner of this building of flats had had a long career designing civic buildings in his younger days. From what I understand, this was his only foray into creating an apartment house some twenty years ago. I loved it.

The dining area is lined on three sides with floor-to-ceiling windows (you can see a snippet of them in the top photo). I loved sitting at the dining room table, staring out toward the block of flats down the hill, lush green trees behind it.

Up a flight of stairs from the living room is a cosy sitting area and attendant deck. During the warmer months we spent a majority of our time out here grilling and lounging. On August 1st, Switzerland National Day, and on New Year's, one could just make out the firework show put on at Lake Zurich through the tops of the trees across the valley.

The curious jay and ample back yard are the only two things we'll truly miss about the place we're moving from, to be honest. I'm not sad to go. The new place has no yard access, but does have a wee deck. No view of fireworks, but we will have a view of the landlord's citrus trees.

Five things you should know about returning home after living abroad.

Home should be a familiar place, one where you understand the people, the culture and how you fit in that framework.  However, moving back home after living abroad might be more of an adjustment than you would think.

1. You might feel like you can't understand your native language.

After living in a country where your native language isn't routinely spoken, speaking it again could feel strange, almost like you're speaking a second language.  In Zurich, I spoke German with most everyone except my American husband.  I had become used to receiving very direct answers to my fairly direct questions.  My German is conversational, but I don't do 'beating around the bush', and the Swiss that I regularly dealt with were fairly direct as well.  I worked at a market hall in Zurich that had had a florist stand.  Customers would occasionally come to my work asking where the florist shop was and my boss would simply say somewhat curtly 'it closed' and turn away.  In my part of German Switzerland, the question-and-answer exchange seemed fairly cut and dried.

Dealing with service personnel in California has often meant that I've needed to ask at least a couple follow-up questions to make sure I am understanding them correctly and receiving the clearest possible answer.

I was at a kitchen store a few weeks ago and asked if they offered knife sharpening services.  The employee mentioned a shop in town that I should visit and then she handed me a flyer for a farmers' market in a neighboring city before going back to work.  Confused, I asked if the store was near the farmers' market.  'Oh, no, the guy from the shop is at the farmers' market (on Sundays) and you can bring your knives to him there.'  It seemed like she felt I should have just known where to go.  I wondered why she hadn't told me to visit the farmers' market in the first place.

Hollowed out glass bauble with 'airplane' inside.

Yesterday, while inspecting a gift shop display table with my back to the counter, the shop owner, some twenty feet away, bellowed, 'Let me know if you have any questions!'  There were on display decorative, solid, glass spheres meant for, I guess, assembling in a bowl.  -attractive, but not my bag.  I prefaced my question with 'I see you have these glass baubles'.  I picked one up and asked if she ever came across other glass baubles meant for hanging. 'You know the ones I mean, with a loop at the top?' and made a motion with my hand.  Her response: 'Oh, those are too heavy to hang.'  This is one of many 'No shit, Sherlock' moments I've had since returning to California.  'Yes, I can see that.'  She then told me of a florist just two doors down, that sold 'airplanes', or so I heard.  She kept talking about these 'airplanes' and I finally had to say, 'I'm sorry.  I didn't catch that. Airplanes?'  Turns out the word in question was 'air-plants' and I had no idea what those were. 


2. Cultural aspects of your home country that previously may not have bothered you, might really get on your nerves now.

Here in California, it seems that supermarket checkers, by way of greeting, ask: 'Hi, how are you doing today?' or 'How was your weekend?'  When asked this I tend to think, I don't know you, have never seen you before and you're asking about my weekend?  I just want to buy groceries and not have a conversation about my leisure-time activities or how I'm feeling.  I'm not impolite.  I smile, give appropriate eye contact and say 'please' and 'thank you'.  I just don't want to have overly intimate chats at the check stand.  Perhaps, five years ago, before moving abroad, I had blithely engaged in this sort of behavior, but I don't want to now.

On one of my first trips to the market after moving home, I was in the check-out line behind a couple who'd been asked by the checker how their weekend was going.  They began to chat at length about their Saturday afternoon trip to the beach.  They mentioned how they'd brought the dog, and what a wonderful picnic they had had.  The checker seemed really enthused, and kept saying things like: 'Cool!'  'Awesome!' and  'That sounds great!'  I thought that they all knew each other.  Maybe they were long-standing friends, even.  Then I heard the couple say that they had just relocated here from out-of-state and that this was the first time that they had ever been to this particular market.  Of course, this very same checker then asked me how my weekend was.  I kept it brief. 

3. Just because you aren't asked about your experience living in a foreign country, doesn't mean that no one is interested.

Friends and family might not know what to ask or simply aren't burning with questions and that's all right.  If someone does ask, it might be a very broad question like: 'So, how was {insert country name here}?'  Your abroad experience is rich and multifaceted and can't really be summed up by saying 'fine' although that's how I responded when my Aunt asked how Switzerland was.  If I find an anecdote from my time abroad relevant to the subject at hand, then I'll bring it up.  If not, I don't.

4. Feeling like you don't know how to 'do life' in the place that you grew up doesn't make you a freak.

It takes time to re-adjust to the rhythm of life in the home country.  You've been away for a while and things have probably changed a bit in your absence.  You might not feel like you know what's going on when everyone else does.  Feeling like you have to have a handle on things right away isn't realistic.

I was at an SF coffee shop a few weeks after coming home where it seemed that everyone in line in front of me was paying using a small, grey computer screen/keyboard at the counter.  I saw no cash being exchanged and panicked.  Had we gone cashless?  That might sound a bit crazy, but I thought of my recent experience at a number of cafes and markets in Amsterdam that now only accept card payments.  In one Dutch market, I had to step out of line because I couldn't pay (with cash) for my groceries.  The checker had felt sorry for me and was prepared to pay for my groceries with his bank card had I been able to give him exact money for the bill.  I couldn't and left the store grocery-less.  Perhaps this particular cafe in San Francisco had gone the way of the Dutch?  I dreaded not being able to pay for my fare as I both didn't yet have a debit card and had no idea what was happening with the grey keyboards.  'Do you not accept cash?' I asked the cashier.  I was relieved when the cashier told me that, of course, cash was accepted.  She looked a me a bit funny and said rather slowly, 'No, we take cash'.  I then felt compelled to explain the situation in Amsterdam.

5. Just because people don't have time to visit with you right away, doesn't mean that they don't care.

Some friends and family will make time to see you as soon you're back in the country and some won't.  A dear family member of mine kept telling me when I still lived in Zurich how she was absolutely going to make more to see me once I'd moved back home.  I was touched by the sentiment as I love spending time with her, but hadn't held my breath.  We live about sixty miles from each other in a state that has a poor public transportation system.  I don't have a car and she's quite busy with work and child-rearing, so in the last three months of my being home we've seen each other once (at a group function).  

I had a 'groundhog day' experience with a friend and his partner when I first moved home.  I'd receive regular texts from them at the weekend expressing interest in meeting up for drinks the following week.  I'd always respond in the affirmative, suggesting a date and time and get no response.  The very same query would come again at the weekend, I'd respond and then silence.  This exchange went on for four weeks.  The trick is to not take anything personally.  And, finally, I did reconnect with this couple and it was grand.

Mostly, I'm glad to be home, but it doesn't always feel like home.  After a six year absence, it seems that I have a lot to (re)learn before I'm totally comfortable with living in California again. 

Abmeldung, quick and painless.

When it is time to 'de-register' from life in La Suisse, then one must go directly to the Stadthaus/City Hall and not to the Kreisbüro as I had originally thought.  Had I actually read the print on the small 'district ID' that comes with living in a particular area, then I would have known.  It states clearly that one must visit the Stadthaus for 'de-registration'.  What could be clearer?  Once at the Stadthaus, proceed directly to the windows marked 'Abmeldung'.  They are located on the ground floor to the right of the entrance.  There one may encounter orderly lines or a cluster of people all jockeying for position.  Do not be deterred.  Have both the Kreisbüro ID and formal ID at the ready.  Once processed, one is sent to a tax office.  All unpaid taxes must then be paid.  After that, one returns to the initial intake person, for what exactly I don't know, then one is sent to the final office.  It is there one receives the very important piece of paper showing one is to leave CH.  With this paper, and, I am told, this paper alone, one is able to cancel insurance policies, phone contracts, etc.

The whole affair lasted around 20 minutes.  We were dealt with in a professional and courteous manner.  It's not easy shutting one's life down and moving country.  At least the process of 'de-registration' was easy-peasy.

Stadthaus, ZH

Mistakes were made.

Ich: 'Entschuldigung. Ich habe mich getäuscht'.  I'm sorry. I made a mistake/I was wrong.

Sie: 'So ist das. Die Deutschen täuschen sich oft.' That's how it is.  Germans often make mistakes/are wrong.

I'd say homegirl made a mistake as I am not German.  I always find it interesting when Swiss Germans think I'm German.  I don't flatter myself by thinking that my German is so stellar that I can pass for a native speaker.  It would seem that some Swiss Germans don't have much contact, I guess, with actual native German speakers from north of the border, so that they confuse me for one.  It's either that or they must think I'm from some part of Germany where people make a lot grammatical errors and have a funny accent.  Where would that be?  Fehlerstadt?   In the land of Amistein? 

I thought her response to my admitting fault humourous.  What prompted the above short exchange is not so funny, however.  Toward the end of my shift today at the Chleider-Lädeli a couple of very intoxicated women came in to look for winter garments and sleeping-bags.  The two were a bit volatile and, truly, did not give a fuck.  My co-worker and I thought it best to let them browse on their own and we returned to unpacking the mound of donations piled high in the middle of the floor.  At one point one of the women came to me and asked if she could take a wheelie bag for shopping that she'd found.  I had mistakenly thought that the bag was part of the mound of donations and gave her the affirmative.  Some time later I returned from taking out the trash to find a bundled-up, bespectacled, older woman, head covered in a scarf, crying by the front door.  Beyond her I could see one of the drunk ladies yelling that the wheelie bag was HERS and that this woman had tried to take it from her.  Instantly, I knew I that that bag belonged to the woman with the head scarf and that I had made a mistake.  Trying to rectify the situation, I told the Swiss woman that she could not have the bag as it belonged to the other woman.  'NO! It's MINE!' came the response.  As I tried to shepherd out the woman with her wheelie bag the outraged, intoxicated woman thought it best to stop us.  Getting as close as she could to the crying woman, for I was standing between them with one arm raised in order to block the interaction, she began to rant.  That only produced more tears from wheelie-bag woman.  I then called for back-up from the main office.  Help came promptly and the irate woman was made to go outside and 'talk it out'.  Before talking came yelling and, occasionally, pounding on the glass door to be let back in.  All the while the woman whose bag it was sat and quietly cried.  I patted her back gently and told her that it would be all right.  I don't think that she believed me.  Worse for her is that she is one of a few clients who don't speak German and there was no one in the shop at the time who could speak with her.  I switched from German to English, as I do when I am stressed, and kept repeating 'it's going to be all right'.  It probably did me more good than her.  Poor thing.

In the end, all was all right.  The woman left with her wheelie bag after the Swiss woman was made to apologise.  A co-worker sat with her at the bus stop while she waited for the no. 33 to take her home. 

Goodbye, Snow!

Well, if not 'goodbye', then certainly, 'farewell'!  Last year's winter saw two days of light snow.  -just two days.  I hardly wore gloves or a scarf and was able to ride my bike consistently throughout the months of January, February and March.  It was what I would call a 'Bay Area winter'.  So nice it was, really, all around.  This winter has started out completely different.  Today, marks the third day of mostly constant snow fall.  I love looking at snow, say, through a window, or briefly through a camera lens, but I don't like having to navigate my way through it.  I haven't really left the house in 72 hours save for a couple of trips to the store.  A girl needs milk for her hot cocoa, after all!

Come the new year I'll be back in sunny California.  There will be no snow as far as the eye can see and I'll be glad.  Snow is nice to look at, but I have a hard time living with the stuff.

Have a gander at today's snowy bounty:

Take a seat!

Outside my door.

Keeping the trams running.

Flat-viewing, III.

This is our third weekend of showing the flat.  Results: one no-show; one 'if our first choice doesn't pan out, then we'll try for yours' couple; one re-view to measure the apartment, and one cancellation due to illness.

In spite of the odd flake, folk are really great about committing to a time and showing up accordingly.  I am very impressed with people's punctuality.  Thank you, flat-viewers!

Sorta tidy bedroom.  The trick is to, of course, cram everything under the bed!

The upshot to all this constant flat-showing is that I'm forced to keep the place clean.  I have never kept a very tidy house, so coming home to a decently ordered apartment has been really nice.

Flat viewing, II

As they left, they thanked me for both responding promptly to their email of interest and for providing a short description of how one finds our flat.  I thought, why wouldn't I want to make it easy for potential renters to come and look at our place?  I said to the gal as she was putting on her shoes, 'you're welcome' and 'why not respond promptly?'  They had just come from initially trying to rent a flat in Lausanne.  'You wouldn't believe it.  We'd email asking about a place and if we could view it and NOTHING.  Or maybe they'd get back to us after a week.'  I can't imagine that making people wait is an effective model for renting out flats.  If you're keen to have your place seen and, ultimately, rented, then you're making connections with folk as quickly as possible, or is that just me?

Out of the fifteen, or so, visitors we've had viewing our digs, a few have thanked me for providing directions, a few have thanked me for my prompt response, but today was the day I was thanked for both.  -made me feel good.

Sadly, the 'thank you' couple didn't seem terribly interested in renting our 5-room wonder.  The had a decent look around the apt. and then bade us farewell.  If someone passes on seeing the Waschküche, Weinkeller and Garage, then I know I've lost him.  The Waschküche, large enough to be a second storage room, is really a must-see.  Heck, even if you don't want the flat, you should really see what not a lot of folk in German CH have: private wash facilities.  No schedule, no sharing, no worries.

WTF

I had a lovely and chatty woman came to the view the place this past week.  As I was showing her the Waschküche she told me of an almost brawl she had recently had with her seemingly haughty neighbor who found it perfectly acceptable to use the washing machine outside of her scheduled slot.  'I came down to the wash room and there she was washing on my day.  I said, 'hello, this is my day!'  The Italian apparently shot back with, 'you fucking Germans!  Always you and your rules!'  The Italian went straight to the big guns.  I guess it didn't seem to matter that the rules imposed on them were by the Swiss Germans and not the German Germans, but no matter.  The fight almost ended in fisticuffs, the woman told me as we stood inside my spacious wash room, my clothing having been left in the dryer over night.  'I wanted to take my fist and smash her in the face with it.'  This from a seemingly mild-mannered person.  Being denied one's weekly wash day is not a trifling matter.

I expect more visitors as no one has yet jumped up and demanded we rent them the flat.  I don't expect more 'thank you's' but certainly would be happy to receive them.  I'm off to respond to a few more emails of interest.  -mustn't keep them waiting!

Edison bulbs

They light up my life!

I'm a huge fan of these energy-sucking bulbs as they bath any room in a soft, warm glow.  Astoundingly, one can still find them for sale here in Zurich, but don't tell anyone.  It's our little secret.

Flat viewing

Of the 11 interested parties only 1 was, or so I thought, a 'no show'.  Wires had been crossed and I had made an appt. with him to view the flat on Friday, whereas he was sure I had made an appt. with him for Monday.  I waited in vain for him last week and he, apparently, waited in vain for me this morning.  -should have had clearer communication from the outset via email.  A short and somewhat casual phone convo doesn't really cut the mustard when trying to find a suitable Nachmieter.  As we are moving out of the flat during an unscheduled period--ausserterminlischer Auszug, we are responsible to find the next renters.  -not a fun chore.  We've put up a rather good-looking ad in online want-ads and have received a rather favorable response.  The next hurdle is to have the landlord to approve of the interested parties.

I have been largely very impressed with the punctuality of the visitors.  I hate to say that I have been impressed because, really, everyone should just show up when they say they will, and, if not, call to reschedule or cancel.  It's not really that hard, is it?

The range of folk visiting has been quite interesting.  -families, pairs, solos...younger, older, but mostly Swiss German and German.  There was only one native English-speaking couple who came to view the flat.  They seemed quite keen.  I do hope they have a 'fighting chance' as the woman then said to me after she and her partner decided they would like to live here.

I am waiting on another afternoon visitor just now.  He's just shy of being late.  An actual 'no show', perhaps?

Frauenartz, again.

Cautioned about buying yeast infection meds over the counter by the pharmacist on duty, I was told that if the treatment doesn't work, then I must make an appt. with a gynecologist.  Well, the treatment didn't work, so I set about getting a doctor's appt. asap.  That was two weeks ago and I haven't been seen yet.

Ob-Gyn #1: I rang on a Monday and, after telling the receptionist my story, was told that there weren't any appts. that week and that I could come in at the earliest the following Monday at 14.30.  Seven long days to wait before being seen.  What joy...no, thanks.

Ob-Gyn #2: This place was a recommendation from an English speaking friend.  She said that the staff is bilingual, helpful and she felt comfortable at her appt.  Great!  I called the office only to find out that they are CLOSED the entire week.  The answering message let potential patients know that there is a small window on Wed. during which the phones would be manned, for what I don't know because the practice is closed.  It also gave the handy information: in the case of an emergency, one should call a hospital.

*Menstruation break lasting five days

Ob-Gyn #3: I related my story over the phone to the receptionist only to be told that the Dr. didn't handle yeast infections and that I had to do a three day therapy---she practically SPELLED out what that meant, and, indeed, told me what I had just TOLD HER I had undertaken.  I had to interrupt her to repeat that I had done the therapy and it hadn't worked and that was why I was calling.  She asked me how long did I do the three day therapy.  Um, what?  It felt like a trick question.  Five days?  What was I supposed to say?  Maybe she's used to having people not finish the therapy.  I dunno.  The question perplexed me and I became tongue-tied which led to her only querying me more.  The therapy hadn't worked, I told her.  She then asked if I had been seen by this practice before and I said that I had.  She asked for my birth date.  I was confused because I thought I heard her say that the doc wouldn't see me.  She asked what my symptoms were and then, as a prompt, went over the possible symptoms slowly and succinctly, so that I had no room to actually respond.  Very frustrating.  When she finished I told her what my symptoms were.  She then put me on hold before coming back to tell me that the doc could see me either today or tomorrow.  I'm going tomorrow.  Ugh.  Wish me well, s.v.p.!

Friends, how many of us have them?

Tending a fledgling friendship can be a tricky thing.  I had just returned from a short trip to England and was keen to touch base with a new-found acquaintance.  She and I are both confirmed Blighty lovers, so I wanted to share with her some of my English adventures.

We confirmed for an evening date at a newly opened bar I had neither been to nor heard of before.  Prior to leaving the house, I plugged the address of the joint into my mobile then set off.  Wanting to be punctual, I gave myself PLENTY of extra time to pedal across town.  I was confident I'd show up on time at the cafe, but not too terribly confident in the directions I had been given by the business website.  A link on the bar's website lead me to a map of the neighborhood.   There was a blue dot fixed at a point along a main road.  The blue dot marked the bar's location.  The red dot, showing my current location, was only a zig-zaggity line, about 2 miles, away.  I biked the course in about 20 minutes.  Once arriving at the street where the business in question should have stood, I became confused.  Addresses 1-3 were clearly seen.  No. 6 was up a flight of stairs.  8-10 were hidden from view.  The cafe was supposed to be at no. 10, but where was it?  Over a bridge I pedaled to another patch of the same roadway.  #22...#44...what?  Where the heck was #10?  I pedaled back down the road to where I began.  Standing at the corner of the street of our meeting spot and a main thoroughfare, I decided to text my date and tell her that I was a bit turned around, couldn't find no. ten, but was at the corner near the bus stop and standing in front of the cafe whose address was #3.  There were ten minutes until our appointment.  I still had time to find our meeting spot without being late, and, from all the pedaling and panicking I had gotten pretty thirsty.  I popped into the cafe in order to buy a mineral water.  The folk at the cafe, unfortunately, were too busy to notice that they had a customer, so I pressed on.  Time was ticking.  Thinking that, perhaps, my date had not yet received my text (we often communicated via text and the response time was usually fairly quick), I decided to ring her.  I had five minutes until our scheduled meeting time.  No. ten could not be far from no. 3, I reasoned, so there was no way I would be late.  Would I?  She didn't answer my call, so I left her a message reiterating what I had sent in an SMS to her: confused, seemingly only a stone's throw from our meeting place, at the corner of the street by the bus stop.  I then asked if she wouldn't mind coming to the corner of the street where the addresses 1-3 were located and fetching me from the bus shelter as I just couldn't seem to navigate finding her.  I hung up and kept looking around my immediate area.  I poked my head around various corners, walked up a flight of stairs, strolled along both sides of the street perplexed.

My phone rang as I was hunting around.  It was my date.  'Where are you?' she asked.  'I think I'm nearby, but I can't seem to find you,' I said.  'Where are you?' she asked again.  I gave her the names of the businesses around me and the street addresses.  I told her that I was also right by where the bus no. 56 goes.  The very same bus that, incidentally, my acquaintance relies on to travel around town.  I asked if she wouldn't mind coming to fetch me.

'I'm already here and I can't just come and find you!  Can't you just ask someone?'

Tense from feeling confused and lost, and, somehow, that I had done something wrong by not finding the bar straight away, I began to cry on the phone.  I apologised for not being able to find her and said that I'd keep trying.

'I can't just leave now that I am here.  I'll be waiting for you.  Try not to be so upset.  It's not a big deal.' 

I waited a few minutes in order to collect myself before ringing the bar--why I hadn't thought of doing this right away I don't know--and asking for directions.  I had told the person on the phone basically the same thing I'd texted, messaged and said to my acquaintance.  His response was short and succinct.  It turns out that before going over the bridge I should have made a sharp right along the river.  The bar stood just beyond a large mid-century modern furniture store.  One can't quite see the bar from the road and it would have been real handy had the bar's website made mention of the fact that their business is well recessed from the street.  Come to think of it, it would have been a great help to me had my date also thought to tell me that.  In any case, I was at the bar in about two minutes after hanging up the phone.

As I approached the bar I could see my acquaintance sitting outside.  She was at one of the many empty tables; her back was to the street and her was drink empty.  Surely she could have walked the 20 feet back out to the street in order to collect me.  Alternatively, she could have mentioned to me on the phone that our meeting spot was somewhat hidden from sight down along the river just beyond a large furniture store.  I felt like going home.  I didn't.  We met.  -turned out she didn't want to stay at the bar, so we walked around the corner to another place serving food and had a light meal.

That was over a month ago.  I haven't seen her since.

Brocki 'find' #4

Swiss-made Embru industrial furniture ca. 1960-1970.  The chair is both height and depth adjustable.  The hubs will now have a more comfortable sitting experience in front of the computer.  At 45 CHF, we paid about the going rate.  Given the craftsmanship and materials used (all metal and lovely wood), I truly would have expected a higher price tag, but, hey, I'm not complaining.

Rainbow break...

As someone who grew up in California, summer storms still freak me out.  Rain for us comes wrapped up in a neat, little box that is delivered only in the months of Spring.  This evening's storm sounded as if it were going to take the roof off such was the magnitude of the thunder and lightening.  Fortunately, the snarl of rain and wind seemed to leave as abruptly as it hit.  In its wake was this:

Rainbow bright!

If this is the result, then I'll happily sit through another gruesome-sounding storm soon, please.

Meeting new people as an ex-pat

To be frank, I'm perplexed about how one goes about forming acquaintanceships/friendships in a foreign country.  The one friend I did succeed in making, and, boy, was I glad I did, just moved back to the UK.  Rats. 

After almost two years of living in CH, here are some highlights of my experience in the 'buddy department' so far:

Met a German woman last year through work.  We hit it off and she gave me her number, suggesting that we met up for coffee at some point.  This was after I had mentioned my challenges in meeting new people.  On our coffee excursion, she mentioned her own difficulties in getting closer to people here in CH.  Her example was that after five years of living in Zurich, she and her partner had yet to be invited to a Swiss person's place for dinner/apero/what-not.  Thinking that they might like to be invited, at least, to an American's place, I invited her and her partner over for a bbq some weeks later.  We all ate, drank and were merry.  I then never heard from them again.  Did they contract food poisoning?

Met a Briton at a party back in December.  We hit it off and she suggests we swap nos. in order to meet up again at some point.  After a few texts sent back and forth, we met for drinks.  It turned out that she's a bit more established here, and, after eight years in Zurich, she's set with a solid circle of ex-pat and native friends alike.  We chatted about the usual ex-pat stuff: language and culture challenges, the pros and cons of living in a foreign country, etc.  I had a good time and sent her a couple follow-up texts.  They must have fallen into the abyss as I never heard from her again.  -guess her roster was already full.

Met an Irish woman last year again through work.  We went out for a drink and a chat and seemed to hit it off.  We then conducted a text correspondence over some number of months.  She suggested at least a few times that we get together again.  When I then tried to hammer out plan with her, she stopped responding to my texts.  I bumped into her by chance at a pub about a month later.  She was friendly and profusely sorry for not having been in touch, but, hey, she said that she had about '50,000' other texts to sift through and can't be expected to respond to them all.  After that night out, I neither heard nor saw her again.  It's been about six months.  One can imagine I haven't sent her anymore text messages.

Met yet another ex-pat at a party a few months back who has been in ZH for just over two years.  We've been pretty active about keeping up regular coffee dates and I enjoy hanging out with her.  A week ago, I texted her suggesting that we meet today at 12.30 at one of our regular spots.  She responded by asking if we could meet instead at four.  That was no problem.  At three o'clock today, she texted me too ask if I could come instead at 3.45.  I did my best to arrive at the newly appointed time.  Upon my arrival, I could see that she had already had a coffee date with someone else and that it seemed to be winding down.  No biggie, I thought, I'm always up for meeting new people.  After about 45 minutes of chit-chat between the three of us, it was time for my ex-pat buddy to leave.  She had another engagement.  Goodbyes were exchanged and I went home a bit deflated.  It had taken me about thirty minutes to get to our meeting place.  In total, the commute time to the cafe and back home took longer than the coffee date itself.

Sometimes it's difficult to muster up the inspiration to go out and meet new people, but staying home doesn't make one any friends or acquaintances now does it?