A taste of Italy via the Schwabenland

My dear friend, Mrs. Rempfer, a Stuttgarterin who had a passion for Italy, was given this recipe for cantuccini by an Italian friend of hers some years ago. During one of my visits to see Mrs. Rempfer, she and I made cantuccini together. I thought they were incredibly good, so she graciously gave me the recipe. In the intervening years, I think I've made them a good dozen times, or so. If you're keen, here's the recipe:

Cantuccini

300g flour

150-180g vanilla sugar

1tsp. baking powder

150g nuts (Many folk seem to prefer almonds, but I'm a fan of hazelnuts.)

2-3 egg whites

30g butter

Mix together all dry ingredients in bowl (minus the nuts), then add the butter.  I tend to use my fingers to integrate butter as best I can before adding the egg whites.  Use a spoon to mix together, then add the nuts.  By this point I've set the spoon aside and am again using my fingers to try and distribute nuts throughout the dough.

A nice accompaniment to coffee.  Bene!

Divide dough in half and roll out with one's hands into two, long portions approx. 2cm thick.  Place on baking tray lined with parchment paper and bake for 30 minutes at 200C.  Remove from oven and let cool a bit before slicing into 1-2cm pieces.  I prefer a slightly 'chunkier' biscuit, but it's really up to the individual.  Return cantuccini to the oven and bake for an additional 10-15 minutes until golden brown.

Bernie

I was thinking of my old pal, Bernie, and wondering what he would be up to these days were he still alive. I then 'googled' his name and found this rather flattering and accurate obituary-- 

 

Bernard Stoffer -- union activist, jazz enthusiast

Bernard M. "Bernie" Stoffer of Oakland, a retired television cameraman, sound engineer, jazz drummer and union organizer, has died unexpectedly of a heart attack. He was 75.

He was struck down Nov. 30 in the midst of a benefit fund-raising party that he organized in El Cerrito for a close friend, pianist Tony Archimedes, who had been severely injured in a car accident.

Mr. Stoffer was born on June 15, 1928, in St. Paul, Minn., the youngest of five children. He was a drummer in a high school jazz band and became active in left-wing political causes, marching to support integration, civil rights and labor activists.

He moved to the Bay Area in 1952 and got involved in both politics and the local jazz scene -- passions that continued his entire life.

"His first passion was playing music," said his nephew Lincoln Bergman of Richmond. "But out here, he became more of a fan than a player. . . . In fact his last words were 'the band sounds great.' "

In addition to his avid and lifelong support for big-band jazz, Mr. Stoffer was one of the first employees when KQED-TV, Channel 9, began in San Francisco.

As an innovative sound technician and creative cameraman, he played an important role in many notable programs and interviews and later became a member of the special projects and experimental film team. He helped organize the first union at KQED.

After he retired from full-time work at KQED, Mr. Stoffer became a taxi driver for many years, saying he preferred the constant person-to-person communication and exciting adventures.

"He loved being sort of a tourist guide," his nephew said. "He loved to drive. But he loved the social aspect of driving. He loved to talk about nightspots and places, he loved to hear stories and tell them, too. He was extremely positive."

Mr. Stoffer is survived by a daughter, Robin Reisberg of Sonoma; a son, Woody Stoffer of St. Paul, Minn.; a sister, Dorothy Broms of Berkeley; and seven grandchildren.

His ashes are scheduled to be scattered today. A public memorial service and jazz concert will be held later.

I first met Bernie in 1994-5 through his granddaughter, my friend and then roommate, Rebekka. Wednesday nights he'd swing by our apartment in his large sedan in order to take us out for a night of big-band jazz music. Bob Enos's Soundwave was the name of the group we'd see and they had a standing gig at a joint in Alameda called Rooster's. The Soundwave played some of the best music I have ever had the pleasure of listening to. If you're inclined, then have a nose around YouTube and you'll find oodles of videos recording bits of their live shows.  

In addition to being a passionate music lover, Bernie was also a talented artist. He made sculpture out of recyclable goods, plywood and cardboard. During my study abroad year in Germany, Bernie and I exchanged letters. Enclosed in his missives were snaps of his current art pieces. I recall his writing to me that there was interest in his work from a gallery.  There had been an offer to exhibit his creations. He wrote to me wondering if what he making was good enough to be shown. I thought it was and gave him a hearty thumb's up.  In a subsequent letter, he thanked me for being supportive of his work. He made it seem as if I had somehow had a hand in getting him to have his work shown. That was the thing about Bernie--he always made you feel vital, included, and a part of things.  

3 inch piece; a study for a much larger construction

Photo of 3-D recycle art standing about two feet high

Memory and remembrance

Thursday's crossword was a wash. I knew the answer to only one, lousy clue. It was something having to do with Norma Rae the 1979 film starring Sally Field. I can usually be counted on to know a random film factoid. This knowledge made me especially good at answering all the pink cards in Trivial Pursuit. 

My dear friend Mrs. R has been on my mind the past couple of days. She died four years ago this upcoming January. I spoke to her last in December 2014 when I was in the middle of preparing to move back to the states from Zurich. I had rung her again on the 26th hoping to hear how she had spent Christmas and, for the first time in our 17 year friendship, not only did she not pick up, but also her answering machine didn't click on. I eventually got hold of her neighbor, a woman with whom I was friendly, and was told what I had feared: Mrs. R had recently entered into hospice and died. That was very hard to hear, but not entirely unexpected. She'd been unwell for some months. 

The last time I saw my friend, in May 2014, I could see she had greatly slowed down and come to rely ever more on her daughter for help. Still, her mind was fit & her humor intact. 

I was just looking at an old hotmail account and wondering why in the heck I still had it when I got the bright idea to look at all the images sent to said acount. I'm glad that I did because I found this picture---

A chance meeting in DE: Mrs. R and my bar pal from California

On the face of it, the above shot doesn't seem remarkable, but it is. In 2005, I had taken my yearly autumn trip to Stuttgart to visit Mrs. R. She and I were on the DB platform, having just visited a village flower show some 50 km away, when I spied a man I knew from back home. He was a regular at the bar where I worked in Berkeley. What were the odds we'd both be in 'small town' Southwest Germany at the same time? We three wound up taking the train to Stuttgart together, chatting all the way. 

Mrs. R was a teenager when the war started. After allied forces nearly bombed out Stuttgart, she and her 7 younger siblings were sent south to the countryside to sit out the war. Fortunately, as she had said, she and her siblings found themselves in the American sector. The soldiers were friendly and would ply the kids with chocolate. She once told me of how an American soldier took a shine to her three-year-old brother. The soldier expressed a desire to take the brother back to America and adopt him. This was not at all on the cards, but I guess the soldier was fairly adamant. It got to the point where Mrs. R kept her baby brother indoors when that particular soldier would come around. She also told me that the soldiers would often be outside 'playing ball' with tins of food. After one such game, one of the siblings noticed that the tin doubling as a ball had been left behind. He pinched it, bringing it back to the house. I will never forget Mrs. R's face as she described the thrill she and her siblings felt when the tin was opened to reveal chunks of pineapple! None of them had ever eaten anything so exotic. What a treat that pineapple must have been to them. 

The story of how Mrs. R and I met is a bit long and convoluted, so, please, bear with me. Mrs. R was the friend of a friend of an American acquaintance of mine I had made in the exchange program at the University of Tübingen. We bothed lived in the same dormitory and hung out loads together after classes. Unlike the rest of us foreign students, my dorm buddy happened to have a family friend living in the neighboring village of Wurmlingen. The family friend was a very welcoming sort and I usually got to tag along on outings to her place. My dorm mate's Uncle Geoffrey had been stationed in Germany after the war. During his time in Baden-Württemberg, her Uncle Geoff had been quartered by an artist and his wife, a former Red Cross nurse. Their daughter was the woman whom my dorm pal and I visited regularly just down the road from Tübingen. Mrs. R had been a neighbor of the artist and his wife and knew Geoffrey as well.  

During one of our village visits, Mrs. R rang the house and found out that the American soldier's niece was currently studying in Germany. Mrs. R invited us both (I think she was being polite) to Stuttgart for the afternoon. We set a date. On the day in question, my friend flaked out, so I headed to Stuttgart via train on my own. Mrs. R, as she would come to do in the intervening years, met me at the Hauptbahnhof. We took the tram back to her place for a lovely meal and a chat. My German was still fairly rough at that point and Mrs. R was very forgiving. That afternoon marked the beginning of our friendship. 

She and I spoke formally, per Sie, for the first ten years of our relationship until Mrs. R invited me to use 'Du'. We toasted the change in language with a white wine at hers. Even with the switch to 'Du', I felt most comfortable referring to her by surname. 

I remember when the film Das Leben des Anderen came out. It seemed to be a seminal film in German cinema. It was both beautifully shot and acted. She'd seen it as well and was less impressed. The film's protagonist, a Stasi officer, was protrayed as having had a heart of gold, to put it simply. Mrs. R didn't buy it. She told me that there was no way a Stasi officer would have been so empathetic. I think she referred to it as a 'Hollywood film'. She was probably right, to be honest. 

Although her life's trajectory had been knocked about by war--she'd had to quit school & watch after her siblings as a result of the evacuation--she was never bitter. She'd often say: 'What we Germans did...I don't ever dare complain.' The total capitulation and subsequent divvying up of Germany by the allied countries was talked about with a 'we deserved it' matter-of-factness. 

Mrs. R loved Bach and Barbra Streisand. She began learning Italian while in her 50s and regularly took solo trips to Pulgia. Her potato salad was tops as were her Maultaschen. She was a thoughtful person who could also be a bit cheeky. She liked to have a laugh. One of the last meals we had together when she was still ambulatory was at a pizzeria near her flat. We drank loads of red wine, eat pizza margherita and nearly shut the place down we stayed so long. I was lucky to have had her in my life for as long as I did. 

Here's a shot of us from around 2010-- 

Mimi

I absolutely love this picture of Mimi. She looks stunning. She's there with her fiance--they had just gotten engaged--celebrating his 23rd birthday at San Francisco's Playboy Club. The 1960s were swinging and they were young and in love. 

Mimi is one of my mother's two long-term friends. She and my mom met working as telephone operators in San Francisco. 

When I was little, I remember mom driving up to the city for regular afternoon visits with Mimi and Sweetpea, her pet cat. Sweetpea, named after Popeye and Olive Oyl's little one, was a very mellow kitty and let me pet her. I 'played' with Sweetpea while mom and Mimi caught up on things.  

At some point in the 80s, Mimi and her hubby relocated to the wine country. Although I no longer saw much of Mimi, she would regularly send me a birthday card & book. I looked forward to the birthday books every year. Mimi steadily sent me books until I reached high school age. After that, she continued to send me cards. I treasured her contact & always made a point to respond with a thank-you note.

When Mimi's husband died five years ago, my mom called to share the sad news. I sent Mimi a condolence card. After moving back from Switzerland in 2015, I was living in a suburb where, incidentally, Mimi's sister-in-law lives. Mimi often came down to stay with her in-law, and during one of those visits we were able to meet up for a coffee. I hadn't seen Mimi in about thirty years. It was wonderful to see her, but strange as well. As a child, I had literally always looked up to her. This time, I was looking down at her. -such a strange shift in perspective. I felt I could scoop her up in my arms if need be. The things you don't forget about someone were still there: same voice, same stunning blue eyes, same humor. We chatted for over three hours. I guess that's just about one hour for every decade gone by. It was a tremendous visit. 

When we moved to our current place two years ago, I invited Mimi to our housewarming. Long-term friends and family had been invited as well as a cast of newer acquaintances. Unfortunately, Mimi had fallen ill at the last minute and couldn't make it. I sent her a get-well card and filled her in on who all had been here and what folk were up to these days. Last year, I had another soiree at the house and again invited Mimi. She again fell ill and couldn't make it. I sent her another get-well card. 

I had lunch with my mom a couple of weeks ago. She told me that Mimi had just gotten over a bout of pnenumonia. I sent Mimi a greeting card letting her know that I was thinking of her and glad she was on the mend.

My mother rang me today to let me know that Mimi had died in her sleep last night. I certainly wish I could have seen her one last time, but I am glad that she did not suffer. And I will very much miss our correspondence.

Weekend visit with old friends.

It was really sunny outside.

We ladies in the photo all met back in '89 in California. This picture* was taken at a back garden gathering in honor of T. who was recently in town from London. I think the only reason we all do get together, at this point, is because of T., to be honest. Although we don't see each other regularly, we do seem to fall right back into place when we are together. The conversation flowed and lots of laughs were had. What more could one want?


The next day, the same group plus a few more folk met in Golden Gate Park to skate on eight! I may have been the only adult to have a pair of 'old school' wheels. Most of the others wore inline skates. I was too busy skating to even think of taking pictures. I think someone took a video, but I haven't seen it yet.

Post-skate, post-dinner pic.

The whole weekend was action-packed & filled with familiar, friendly faces. I was reminded of how social I once was & how much I miss it, to be frank. It was certainly easier to get together back when we were 'twenty-somethings' then it is now. Pre-proper jobs, pre-families we hardly needed an excuse. House parties back in the 90s were a particular favorite past-time. -don't miss the hangovers tho'.

I have an upcoming opportunity to learn the game of Bridge from a friendly retiree who lives in the vicinity. She's currently 'polling' those of us who are interested to see what days would work best. I'm keen to join in & I hope to both get the hang of the game & meet some nice women to boot!




*That's me with the crooked teeth up front.

Windows and visitors

This sweet kitty was keeping me company while I washed windows. She was especially keen to hang around when I opened the windows in order to clean the sills. I had one arm blocking her hasty escape attempts & the other arm stuck out the window in order to clean the muck off. The novelty wore thin fairly quickly.

We cleaned the one-room guest house which I saw was reserved for the, I'm assuming, 'revolving door' au pair who lives there. The children had their own individualized welcome mats at their back bedroom doors. Even the pet had a mat. But the au pair? Nah. Too many must come through.

We have had house guests here from London for the past week. -an old uni friend, her wife & their son. It was great to have them. I even managed to find a box of Tetley tea at a somewhat local market to give them a taste of home. PG Tips are easy to come by, but they don't fancy that brand. Fair enough, I prefer Tetley as well.

I ferried the Londoners up to Twin Peaks for the grand view of SF. I don't think they realized how great the view was going to be. I sort of had to convince my friend to go, her wife was keen for whatever. They all seemed duly impressed once we were up atop the peaks.

Partial view from atop Twin Peaks

The wide boulevard bisecting downtown and beyond is Market St. At its base is the Ferry Building(2). One can sort of make out a sliver of it way off in the background. Market extends up toward Twin Peaks, but the main portion of the commercial bit ends at Eureka Valley aka The Castro. 

Other points of possible interest are: the San Francisco Mint(1), the western span of the Bay Bridge(3), and the somewhat obscured Transamerica building(4).

The mint no longer produces coins for general circulation, but instead focuses on producing commemorative sets. -wonder if they were also responsible for producing this monstrosity? 

Philly Mint coins

The image of the Transamerica Pyramid, or as I called it when I was a child, the 'upside-down ice-cream cone', was used by beloved local writer, Herb Caen, in his column header. Herb's header would look a wee bit different today what with all the massive skyscrapers now being built downtown. The Transamerica probably wouldn't even rate, sadly. 

-had a laugh at the column snippet below. Keane's paintings, whatever one thinks of them, were painted by the wife, as we now know. 

New Year's

'Well, she should just have a glass of wine to warm up, but she won't do that!'

This is what my mom said aloud to no one in particular after I mentioned that I was a bit cold at a small New Year's dinner function at a family friend's house last night. The above sort of complaint-rant would have been fine, if I hadn't quit drinking last December. It's not that I won't have a drink, like some obstinate child. It's that I feel I currently should not drink. I didn't make a big show of stopping drinking, but did mention having quit at a party--where all these New Year's revelers also were-- I had given at my place this past August. The guests were well-stocked with beer and wine, but I wasn't partaking. The question 'why aren't you drinking?' came up a few times, so I answered.

Just before midnight it seemed to be thought that not drinking didn't include a toast with Sekt & someone tried to pour me a glass. 'Just a little bit is okay to ring in 2017, right?' 'Oh, no thank you.' One of the party hosts also doesn't drink, so we two toasted with juice. -quite nice.

I wasn't too phased with what mom had said although it bugged a bit. And I imagine that many who don't drink are faced with the whole 'won't you have a little glass of champagne?' on Dec. 31st. What did annoy, to be honest, was my mom's Trump-voting husband's commentary. He'd managed to squeeze in a few pro-Trump/pro-Russia opinions over the dinner table that no one cared to hear. He also apparently thinks that any car sticker identifying him as having been in the Navy in the 60s would make him a target for 'terrorists'. Such ID got him 'out of more speeding tickets' than he could count, but now it could kill him. All mom could do in response was to verbally jab at her husband in a really ineffectual way that wound up making everything feel just a bit worse. After he'd managed to gamble away their savings on a stupid house-flip scheme back in 2009, thus relegating them to renting in one of the most economically depressed areas in No. California far away from friends and family, I'd begun disliking him a great deal. I think that dislike has now spilled over into hate.

Oh, and the neo-Nazi brat that raged at my German group for not being right extremist a-holes like he is sent a mail to all the German club organizers on New Year's stating 'Das Reich kommt wieder'. From what I recall, he lives with his grandma. -wonder if she knows what's percolating in that head of his.

So how was your New Year's? Better than mine, I hope!

'Liberal' Bay Area

I grew up in a coastal town near San Francisco. At that time, in the 1970s, the population was made up mostly of Democratic working class, intellectual artist types, and what I like to call 'coastal rednecks'. My family was Democratic working class/lower (American) middle class that included people of color & openly gay folk. As far as I knew, we accepted everyone. -not so in other kids' families.

As a young teen, I began dating a guy a few years my senior. He was a sweetheart, but happened to have some friends who were anything but. One such friend, a real 'tough guy', was the son of a cop & seemingly had something to prove. I recall an outing to the city, a favorite destination for us suburban kids, where we drove around town while 'tough guy' alternated between yelling hateful obscenities & blowing a vuvuzela out the car window at men he thought were gay. I was about 15 years old at the time, and didn't trust myself to speak up about how mortifying & wrong I thought the whole thing was. My favorite Uncle was gay & died of AIDS related complications in 1986. I think he may have already been sick during this car ride episode, but I can't really remember. After Uncle Gerry died, I do recall telling off the homophobe for reciting some dumb anti-gay joke. I was sixteen & full of rage. He called me a 'kill joy'. Uh-huh.

I write this to tell you that I have never been under any illusions that California is truly the Land of Fruits and Nuts, as some in other parts of the country dismissively refer to us. I know we are a mix of people who are socially liberal, fiscally conservative & everything in between. Having said that, I do tend to sometimes forget that there are some awful, hateful people living here along side of us more tolerant folk.

Yesterday, my co-worker told me a story involving one of our regulars, A.C. Recently, A.C. had been shopping at Bloomingdale's in Palo Alto (a wealthy enclave in the Bay Area) & found herself in conversation with another shopper while waiting to pay. The conversation happened to be in Spanish. A stranger interrupted them to tell A.C. that she should be speaking English, 'we speak English in America', and if she didn't like it, then she could leave. There was also some reference to the recent election, as if the Trump win were license for the stranger to behave like a dick in public. A.C. told my colleague that she now feels afraid living here. Mind you, she's been in California for forty years, having fled Bolivia during that country's coup.

The a-holes seem to be coming out of the wood work, emboldened by the recent election to spout their ugliness. From what I've read in the news, this sort of thing has been happening in earnest across the country since the Trump win. Sadly, it's happening here as well in the 'liberal' Bay Area. I'm not totally surprised, but I wish it weren't so.

Kathy

Kathy on the left, a girl called Carolyn in the middle, and me on the right. 

It's only fitting that I listen to Ozzy while writing this post.

*cues Mr Crowley*

Our hero, Randy Rhoads & his polka dot Flying V

I first met Kathy around the time that the top picture was taken.  Kathy's friend, Carolyn, is sitting in between us. We were taking Polaroids with somebody's camera during lunch period & this blurry snap was one of the results.

Kathy and I became fast friends in 7th grade. I don't know if we had had a class together or friends in common. What I do know is that when we met we clicked. Kathy and I spent most of our free time together. Most weekends involved going to the mall, the video arcade, and the midnight movies. If we weren't hanging out, then we were glued to the telephone talking to each other for hours on end. My Mom got sick of my always being on the phone and instituted measures. Setting the kitchen timer and placing it by the phone she'd say, 'You have 45 minutes and that's it!' The timer buzzing rudely meant I had to hang up. When it was time for Kathy to get off the phone, her Mom would go out to the garage where Kathy stood talking into the phone receiver and yell at her.

Our second home for a time

We were in sync the way most young girls seem to be at the onset of puberty. We wore matching clothes; polka dots, leopard print, and checker board motifs ruled the day. Kathy, using a toothpick, developed a technique that resulted in being able to paint our nails in excellent checker board and polka dot patterns. And, as it was the early 80s, we shared a love of wearing tons of pink and grey eye-shadow and pitch black eyeliner. We also went through lots and lots of Aqua Net. Those feathers weren't going to hold themselves up!

Kathy, Xmas 1982/3

Kathy married in 1994, and, eventually, moved to Las Vegas to start a family. I continued living in the Bay Area, and, until my 40th year, stayed mostly single. Kathy and I kept in contact via telephone and social media, save for the very occasional visit. Ours was the sort of friendship that even if we hadn't talked for a while we could pick up where we left off.

Kathy, gettin' hitched

Kathy was smart, funny, driven, and loved her family deeply. Her absence leaves a hole that can't be filled.

-miss you always, buddy. x

Me and Kathy in SF, 2009

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.

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?