A Well Kept Man

(Sung to the tune of "We're off to See the Wizard")

We're off to see the center, the financial center of Switzerland.
We hear it is a really nice place, to go and see some cool museums,
If ever, oh ever there was a center, filled with goblets and trinkets and golden fleeced sweaters, it has to be Zurich because;
Because, because, because, because, becauuuuuuse
It's Swiss National Day and Alli has the day off (barumpy dee dadumpy dum)
We're off to see the center, the financial center of Switzerland.

My apologies to fans of the Wizard of Oz for my attempt to rewrite the lyrics to fit our weekend travel plans. I'll keep my eyes peeled for flying monkeys with fancy watches and unnumbered bank account statements. We'll try and do something interesting so I have something to write about when we get back. Have a safe and happy Swiss National Day everyone! (It's true, other countries celebrate their "birthdays" too)

You may be asking yourself what does Coke signify with respect to being in a foreign country too long? Well, I'll say that I drink a lot of it because it's tasty and refreshing. Please look closely at the picture. You'll notice that the bottle has some condensation (meaning it's cooler than the ambient environment...kind of like I am with respect to the citizens of Europe, Obama included). I'll also let you know that I just poured the Coke into the glass (meaning it hasn't been sitting there since yesterday). You may also like to know that I am currently enjoying this tasty beverage as I type (don't worry, I'm not violating any laws of surfing the internet while under the influence of Coke...although you have to wonder if intoxicated web surfing should be considered a misdemeanor. I mean, who would spend time actually making a MySpace or Facebook profile unless they were under the influence of some foreign substance, such as Nutella?).

Also notice what is missing.

That's right, no ice. I don't even miss it anymore, and I am also to the point where I would think it to be ludicrous to pollute my perfectly crafted boisson (that's French for something you want to drink, a beverage perhaps). Actually, I can go either way...ice is great because if you don't drink too fast the whole drink will stay cold, on the other hand ice seems to have this uncanny ability to melt leaving my Coke tainted with liquid water (as opposed to solid water...by the way, did you know that technically ice is a liquid? So is glass. Look it up.).

If you plan on visiting please understand the lack of ice in this part of the world. It's not that it is unavailable, they just don't believe it's necessary to the overall satisfaction of your boisson drinking experience.

I just got back from a nice long bike ride (it was uphills both ways, and I was carrying my camera and a map in my backpack which added an extra 300 pounds) through various parts of our city (and neighboring towns). I just calculated my route on Google Earth and it indicated I only went 14 km (about 8.7 miles); something must be wrong with Google Earth because it felt more like 14.5 km. The route (as seen in the picture at right..click on it for the version that doesn't require an electron microscope) was very much a climb at the beginning (230m climb on the way up to the top of the map), but as they say 'What goes up, must come down"...the breeze was nice on the way down (it was also nice to work off those six bretzels I've eaten over the last three days, they go straight to your ribs....the bretzels appeared to reform once in my gullet and I thought I heard polka music).

This route was similar to the one I attempted earlier last week when I wound up narrowly escaping death, flash flooding, and the hooting and hollering of construction workers (that's what I get for wearing man capri's...just kidding, I haven't purchased any...yet). This time I stopped occasionally (like when I could see my lungs squeezing through my rib cage looking for extra air) to make sure I was going where I intended to ride. Eventually I made it to where I was trying to get to the first time, the Tour de Sauvabelin (I giant wooden tower in the middle of the park of Sauvabelin...the one with barnyard animals and authentic barnyard smells). It is quite the impressive structure, and if you appreciate torque you'll really enjoy this tower as it looks like a giant screw on the inside. It also tends to twist a bit at the top when new people arrive...not for those that are afraid of heights or easily affected by uncontrolled motion (such as roller coasters or driving in the mountains with me behind the wheel).

The view was quite impressive, although the trees in the forest seemed to get in the way of my attempt to become the next great architecture photographer. It was so impressive that a Swiss couple found it necessary to make sweet, sweet love for the entire time while I was up there (not really, but they were kissing A LOT; this is something I've noticed here, people stop randomly and just starting swapping germs. This isn't France people, it's not nearly as romantic as you think! I wonder if they are tourists from Eastern Europe who think they've made it into France, but their GPS had them turn off the motorway too soon)...I was convinced they thought they were the only ones up there until a family came up (I feel for the dad as he apparently lugged his two kids up the entire way sans baby carrier...he must have biceps of steel) which caused them to wipe the slobber off their faces and pretend they were just practicing their resuscitation techniques.

After climbing back down (35 meters both way, so 115 feet high), I got back on my bike and went looking for more photo opportunities (when in doubt, look for tour buses or masses of people in seemingly uninteresting places...another clue is look for the dude with the giant camera with the telephoto lens taking a picture of something 3 feet away; because everything looks better zoomed in). It was also at this point I realized (or rather my stomach) it was lunch time but I decided that could wait (after all I'm busy, my watch tan is almost gone, and it's not like lunch won't be waiting for me at home). I found my way into the center of the city near the cathedral and city square (museums, Wednesday farmer's market, Starbucks, etc.) where I snapped some more photos (while receiving dirty glares from people who apparently don't agree that the Ohio State Buckeyes are the best football team in all the land...or maybe they were mad because I was riding my bike in and out of the fruit and flower stalls in the cobblestone street) and proceeded back home (again with the gentle breeze blowing my sweaty stench upon some unsuspecting lass on a Vespa behind me).

The city is quite magnificent and beautiful, and if you are in the right spot you can see Lake Geneva (Lac Leman in French), the Alps, and the smog/haze/fog/whatever prevents me from getting an excellent mountain photo. Our apartment is about 0.5 km (0.3 miles) from the lake, so we get down to the water pretty much every night. It is amazing how quickly the landscape changes from flat to hills to mountains, and how the city disappears a few kilometers outside the city limit and you get beautiful vineyards and quaint small towns. Aside from the foreign languages (French mostly, some German/Italian, and misc. other) and price of gas ($8 per gallon equivalent) and food (a boneless skinless chicken breast is ~$12 per pound equivalent, ice cream is around 2-3x more expensive than in the States, and good luck finding things like peanut butter), it really is the perfect place to live. (All of the pictures can be clicked and you should see a larger version, if that doesn't work blame Al Gore, he invented the internet.)

Hi Abby, it's really your brother Mark in Switzerland. I just went on a long bike ride and got really sweaty and gross. I probably need to go to sports camp like you did to get in better shape :)

I am taking Alli to Zurich on Friday for Swiss National Day (it's like the 4th of July in the United States, only it's for Swiss people). There will be fireworks (I am sure all of the dogs here will be hiding during the festivities), weird food (like sausages and fondue), and lots of fun adventures.

One month left until you have to go back to school...enjoy the rest of your summer (and have fun at Art camp...by the way, who is Art and what kind of things do you do at his camp?) I really am writing this blog, so I put pictures of myself in here to provide evidence that I am the author of this blog. If you still don't believe me then you'll just have to come over here so I can prove it to you. Give my dog a hug and tell her I miss her!

P.S. My hair is getting really long (long by my standards anyway) as I don't know enough French yet to tell the barber to give me a mohawk and dye it purple, I'll let you know when I get it cut and how it goes.

After trekking the hills of Lausanne in search of a bicycle tire repair kit, I finally found what I was looking for at a small sports shop. After successfully locating the patch kit, I proceeded to the cashier (caisse) where I attempted to pretend to be a local.

Clerk: Bonjour Monsieur
Mark: Bonjour (I hand him the kit)
Clerk: (Scans item, totals the price) Huit francs et quatre-vingt-dix centimes (8 francs and 4 twenties and 10 cents...or 8.90 CHF...at least that's how much my receipt says, again, I'm not fluent yet, so this may be incorrect)
Mark: (I swipe my bank card, punch in my pin...life is good)

At this point I'm expecting the transaction to be over, maybe getting a Bonne Journée (Good Day), but I'm pretty sure he doesn't know I'm American (maybe the fact that I was super sweaty from walking up to the city distracted him from my Ohio State Buckeyes football t-shirt, causing him to mistake me for an exercising European)


Clerk: Voulez vous un sac por le kit? (or something close to this "Would you like a bag for your kit?")
Me: Uhhhh (I didn't have a clue what he was asking. It's interesting; I'm to the point now where I can understand some basic questions, and if I listen closely I can understand some words, but if I'm expecting to hear one thing and hear something else, or if I'm not expecting anything at all, I turn into a deer staring into headlights)

Clerk (in perfect English): Do you want a bag for your purchase?
Me: Non, merci beaucoop.

Why is this interesting? Because when you pretend to know French and get caught not knowing how to respond, people notice the fact that you are wearing white socks and running shoes even though you aren't working out, and that you are sweaty because you are out of shape, and that you probably only speak English. He didn't bother repeating the question in French, nor did he switch to German or Italian (2 of the more common languages spoken around here); he went straight to English. I guess I need to keep learning.

For those that were wondering, I patched the tire on my bike so I am mobile again. I tested it out with Alli last night on a pleasant bike ride down to Lutry (10 km ride = 6 miles). Today, I am going to be attempting laundry, although I have only been cleared to wash towels, sheets, pillow cases, and my underwear. I still haven't been forgiven for shrinking and/or changing the colors of previous loads of laundry in our first couple weeks as a married couple (which is fine if you ask me).

As you can see from the picture at right, it's one of those days. I hopped onto my bike for a ride (I wanted to feed the ducks and swans in the lake some old bread that wasn't fit for the queen's consumption) and noticed something funny about my bike (no, it isn't that my butt feels like it has a shoe wedged between my butt-bones, that's normal). Remembering some old tricks from my days as a stunt double for MacGyver (I had to wear a wig because I refused to grow a mullet) I proceeded down to the lake where there's a fountain that the little kids play in (don't worry, I was upstream from the warm areas).

I put the tire in the water (of course it was clean), and slowly turned it in the water looking for drowning gremlins jumping out a hole. Voila! (that's a French word, I think it's a wooden instrument with strings)...bubbles! Me thinks I have a hole in my tire. Sure enough, there was a large thorn sticking out of the tire, most likely from my off-roading adventure near the flash flood zone (I wish there was a warning sign for flat bike tires).

So I am now going out (on foot, I wouldn't be caught dead riding a girl's bike; at least not without my man capris, man purse, and little pink basket on the front with streamers on the handlebars) to try and find a repair kit as I don't want to purchase a new tube (when you are unemployed, err, on sabbatical you try to remain as frugal as possible... which is really nothing new for me).

On the plus side it's beautiful outside so I am going to take off my watch and hope the sun gives my wrist a little tanning action...I just need to finish my beer and bretzel (it's bread, it's pretzel flavored...it's a bretzel!) first.

Have you ever found yourself in a new place and just wishing to eat something that reminded you of home? Two weekends ago when we were in Italy we both had that "I miss America" feeling and decided the best solution to our problem was to go eat at McDonald's. Thankfully it worked, (although I don't think eating at McDonald's regularly is a good idea) but there were some unique observations that I feel obliged to share with all of you.

First, the menu is different over here. Not so different you're wondering what the heck is a McFoie Gras sandwich, but dissimilar enough to make you notice that something is odd, like you're in a Bizarro McDonald's. The menu is familiar enough to most, Big Mac's and cheeseburgers, french fries and Cokes, but as anyone who has seen the movie Pulp Fiction knows they don't have a Quarter Pounder with cheese (remember, metric system). So instead they have the Royal Cheese. Not so weird, just different.

Another difference is how the menu works. First you pick whether you want a burger or salad. Then you pick the type of side item you want, then the drink. I went with the Big Mac, although I almost got the Cripsy McBacon. I applaud this McDonald's for putting a 1,000 calorie sandwich on the menu, and had Alli not been present I would have obliged them and ordered it, but instead I opted for the "healthy" choice. The sides items included the standard fries or small side salad, but the unique thing here was curly fries (patate vertigo = fried potatoes with a balancing problem). Again, I chose the American version of french fries but the curly fries had me intrigued.

They also had items such as McToast (which is basically a Croque Monsieur = Hot Ham and Cheese on Toast), donuts, croissants, Greek Salad and a Caprese salad (just basil, tomato, and mozzarella).

Our Coke's came without ice (standard) and free refills were nowhere to be found. The Happy Meals had a toy cell phone that plays music in them, and the restaurant looked more like a swank coffee shop than a McDonald's. So if you are in Europe, and you need to feel a little bit of America then run over to McDonald's...just don't expect it to be a perfect American experience.

We found a church near our apartment and decided to check it out. The name of the church is Christ Church, the Anglican (Episcopal) Church of Lausanne. We decided to check it out because they have an English service, which is not to be confused with a service in English. I doth wish to honour the service with commentary, however, thou dost protest to my ability to discuss such matters. It was a peculiar service...although they spoke in English it was proper English (as in the Queen Mother herself would be proud). We were lost especially during the Nicene Creed as in Lutheran church we tend to mostly use the Apostles Creed and haven't really committed any other to memory. We didn't know any of the hymns save the last one (The Church's One Foundation) which normally wouldn't be a problem as Lutherans are good singers, but when the melody is unknown (they don't print the music in the English Book of Hymns) it makes it difficult to sing. Most of the prayers were the same and the liturgy was fairly comfortable. The part I found most interesting was how leftover consecrated bread and wine were dealt with; the Priest-in-charge had to drink it all before we left, which she did quite admirably.

I always find going to new denomination's worship services intriguing because of the nuance of interpretation. Who's right and who's wrong? The short answer is who cares; because as long as we're all believing in the same God and accepting the same truths of life everlasting and salvation, then it isn't important. I often feel out of place when I'm at a new church but I eventually find comfort in the mutual love for our Savior, Jesus Christ. I strongly encourage those out there who feel out of place and uncomfortable in their current spiritual walk to know that Jesus Christ's love transcends all of the implications and impugnations of society. Even if you can't understand what people are saying, have trouble singing along; or can't make sense of the thee's, thy's,and doth's, know that Christ is there and He is with you wherever you may go.

I apologize for the lack of interesting stories today. You see, I started my morning by going to the Hotel du Police (which is apparently the police station) to get a parking permit for our car (this will let us park our car and not have to move it every hour to avoid getting a ticket). So as you can imagine this required me to bicycle up into the city and back down to our apartment after this adventure. Of course nobody there spoke English and my French is only useful in the grocery store, but for some reason I felt it necessary to speak Spanish to them (fun times). They somehow knew I'd be coming because they knew my name before I told them ("Mr. Seeber? Mr. Seeber? Ah Yes, blah blah blah blah" ... the blah's were in French).

As we all know in the States when you need to do something at the city offices (like get license plates, or marriage license, or stamps) you need to produce ten forms of ID, fill out a two inch thick stack of forms, all while being stared at by an unpleasant city employee; Now imagine me trying to get a parking permit in a foreign country where the forms are in French, and the city employee not only is offended by my lack of French speaking ability (she didn't seem to care I did know Spanish, and a little German for what it's worth), but seems somewhat conspicuous of my American uniform (or maybe it was the sweat permeating through my shorts and t-shirt...thankfully being American I chose to wear deodorant). Ugh.

Actually, it went fairly smooth, and after getting the temporary pass I proceeded to the post office to pay for the permit (the Swiss apparently are trying to avoid directly paying the police for favors, unlike certain jurisdictions in America). I would guess I biked another 8 km today, which combined with my earlier adventures adds up to more exercise than I attempted since college. Unless you count mowing my city size yard in Minneapolis which is just large enough to cause a drop or two of perspiration (and 15 minutes of my time).

Needless to say when I got back to the apartment I decided I needed to rest by planning our late August vacation to Ireland (we'll be going 21/8 through 27/8 so don't steal our stuff while we're gone - In case you're wondering I used the European date system, that's August 21-28 for those not yet initiated). After this and a light lunch (consisting of two Jambon, Gruyere, and Dijon mustard sandwiches, a peach jaune (yellow flesh peach), some chips and cookies), I decided I needed a nap. Well, when you haven't regularly exercised for a while and you all of the sudden start again your body gets tired much faster.

I slept for three hours, maybe more as I wasn't looking too closely at the clock. Thankfully I was up in time to run to the store to pick up some dinner items and have it ready by the time my boss came home, although she apparently called me (and supposedly we chatted) during my nap. Can't say I remember much of it, but with all of this exercise hopefully my brain function will improve as well.

It's supposed to rain tomorrow, which means if the weather people are anything like they are in the states then it will be beautiful and sunny. I think we're going to hit the Lausanne city market in the morning and then maybe go out to Broc to the Nestle Callier Chocolate Factory tour if we are so inclined.

After a long day, Alli and I like to unwind by taking a nice stroll down by the lake or by riding our bikes through the hills of Lausanne. Tonight, we took some leftover bread with us to feed the ducks. It took a while to find a good spot but when we did we were able to feed four wood ducks and a beautiful swan. The spot was on a jetty in the harbor, and it was a picturesque evening on the lake. During the feeding of the ducks and swan, we kept hearing a weird screeching noise emanating from somewhere either under or near the large boulders where we were sitting; I just thought it was the ducks squealing with delight at the two day old baguette upon which they were feasting.

A short while after the ducks swam away (such finicky creatures, they didn't even say thanks), we kept hearing the noise but it was getting closer and closer (thus, it wasn't the ducks). As I kept my focus on the serene lake, I heard Alli make a horrendous sound that probably caused temporary hearing loss...I wasn't sure what was going on but I figured it couldn't be good as I turned to see Alli running away yelling to me to get up and go.

I thought maybe a little spider or something as that tends to be what gets Alli excited; unfortunately it was a rodent about the size of a chihuahua (I am not exaggerating). Of course I didn't get a picture, but I am sure you can ask Alli about it sometime.

After yesterday, I have a new found admiration for the riders of the Tour de France, as well as those who choose to exercise on a regular basis. For those of you that don't know Lausanne is quite hilly. I am thinking the word hilly isn't strong enough but it would be an insult to the majestic Alps to call it mountainous. According to my Michelin guidebook Lausanne is "built on uneven ground," which is like saying flying from New York to LA gets you there a little quicker than if you had decided to do crawl the route on your knees instead.

I haven't been to San Francisco, but I'm pretty sure Lausanne has it beat. For geographical context, we live very close to the lake (less than 800 meters by pigeon ~ 1/2 mile). From our apartment to the water the elevation change is roughly 50m (160 feet), which isn't bad unless you were playing a game of soccer in the street and you miss the net. I had planned on riding my bicycle about 5km up to a park on the north side of Lausanne, spending the afternoon there (maybe grabbing a beer and sandwich, or just soaking up the rays) and then coasting back down to our apartment. Ask most people who ride their bikes somewhat regularly and 10km isn't all that hard (6.2 miles), even when you throw in some slight elevation change.

I however failed to note the elevation change that I would encounter on my trip. The first kilometer of my trip I experienced a 75 meter climb (250 feet), followed by another 50 meters through the next kilometer. No problem I say to myself, I made a short stop in a nice park along the route, but decided I was fine to go on. Plus, I had brought along my GPS which showed I had not quite 3 km left to my final target (I can choose whether I'm walking, driving, or biking so it changes routes and speeds to tell you when it thinks you'll be there). Needless to say the GPS figured if I was stupid enough to bike up through Lausanne, I must have calf muscles that were featured on the cover of Muscle Fitness magazine. The GPS showed that I should be able to knock off the last 3 km in about 20 minutes. I figured the beer would be the perfect reward.

But as I referred to earlier, the only thing physically I have going for me is that gravity has to work a little harder to keep me on the ground since my bone to muscle ratio is like 3 to 1; of my 82 kg (180ish pounds), I'd say 60% is bone, 20% is muscle, 10% skin, and the rest is gristle. The rest of the trip did not take me 20 minutes. For the next 2 km I completed a climb that could be described as grueling, but that would be polite. It was over a little over 100 meters (325+ feet) and I still wasn't even to the stupid park that looked so close on the map. I got out my GPS to see how long it thought I was from my target when I found out I missed a turn somewhere and was actually further away than when I started the climb.

I think it was at this point I started sweating pure salt. I started to ride again only this time with the GPS out of my backpack to make sure I didn't miss another turn. Fortunately I was able to go downhill for a bit (800 m) which provided a nice breeze; this enabled me to outrun the vultures and flies. Now I found myself getting extremely close to the park, but due to the topography of the park I was on the wrong side (the park features a valley with a river on the far east side that flows south towards the lake, and I wanted to be on the northwest side even though it was on the complete opposite end).

My GPS assured me that I was under 1 km to the finish, although the map it displayed didn't take into account the fact that construction began on new roads through the park about 6 months ago which left me trying to decide if I wanted to go all the way around the outside of the park (um, no) or through the construction zone (why not). The road on my GPS no longer existed so I was forced to use my skills from two years of Cub Scouts to determine which way to go. Unfortunately we hadn't learned navigating before I decided baseball was more fun so I had to guess.

The GPS indicated there was a route called Chemin de Cascades, which if my French were better would have known meant Dirt Path by Waterfalls. Silly me, I thought it was a real paved road. Only the dirt path might have been more aptly portrayed by a picture of Indiana Jones holding a machete and some ancient Swiss amulet being chased by wild guinea pigs or something. I probably should have known to turn around when I saw the sign which thankfully I could translate due to the universal picture for this area is prone to flash flooding. To the right you will see the sign, I think it's a pretty good one as far as trying to get across a point as clearly as possible.

What made matters worse was I was apparently at the base of the river bed and I needed to get to the top...80 meters up, and it's a dirt path, that's overgrown with every possible Swiss plant that either would hurt alot if I hit it, or would leave nasty thorns in my arms, legs, and face. So I did what I had to do and carried my bike the whole way. I don't know if you've ever watched one of those outdoor adventure challenge races they sometimes have on TV on Saturdays where people kayak, mountain bike, hike, climb, kill woodland creatures, and run up mountains to win t-shirts, water bottles, and other great prizes, but that's what I was basically doing. Except my prize would be someone finding me alive.

I eventually made it about 2/3 of the way up when I came across a woman and her two dogs so I figured at least I won't die alone, but I obviously spooked her as they quickly vanished and I was again left alone. But as luck would have it my Cub Scout skills came in handy as I heard a faint noise that could neither be described as organic...cars. I realized now that I was close to a real paved road and I could probably get a decent GPS signal to find my way out. Sometimes the GPS gets confused when it only sees a couple satellites and starts to try and figure out where you are, so the dense canopy above me was making the GPS think I was capable of time-shifting or something.

Once on the road, I found that I was only 500 meters from my destination, which on the map looked like a nice park; in reality it was a weird lake surrounded by barn animals (goats, sheep, cows, chickens, etc.) which I noticed before I could see it if you catch my drift (I certainly caught theirs). Anyway, I spent about 10 minutes up there trying to catch my breath (which was very hard to do, not because of altitude or anything, remember, there are goats, sheep, cows, chickens, etc.), and then I decided I had enough fun for the day and decided to head back home.

I gather I spent about 2-3 hours biking up to this park, and about 15-20 minutes biking down (I can't be sure on the exact time going up as I think I lost consciousness for a while or at least it felt like time was standing still). I guess if I want to develop some muscle, then I should definitely bike around here more often. If you do come visit, I promise we'll take a car or public transportation at all times, especially if you want to go see the city farm.

As seen outside the grocery store nearby. You can't tell but he is actually in compact dog parking. Typical sports utility dog driver...just parking wherever they want.

After processing our registration this morning in Lausanne (marriage license, passports, misc. other forms) we decided we could splurge and grab a Starbucks. There are two in the city, and thus we decided we needed an American creature comfort after last night's laundry excitement. (I'll post on that later)

Let's just say that our Starbucks costs more than your Starbucks. But it is so tasty and makes us feel normal (at least today). In addition, Alli was able to get her latte with skim milk, which is no small accomplishment in Europe where the milk is not in the refrigerated section of the grocery store and the closest thing so far we've found to skim milk is 1.7%.

In case you're wondering, yes the Swiss Franc is roughly equal to the dollar right now making our two drinks $14 USD, and the barista spoke English, and she had a tip jar.

Interesting adventure...so Alli decided when we first arrived that she needed a hairdryer. Never mind waiting until we actually made it into an apartment to see if there was one already present, Alli needed one immediately. As fortune would have it everywhere we've been has had a suitable hairdryer (apparently there is such a thing as an unsuitable hairdryer but when your hair is rarely longer than 2.54 cm [1 inch for all the Americans reading this] you don't really have use for a hairdryer).

So today I found myself in the position of having to return the unopened hairdryer we purchased two weeks ago at Media Markt. Yes, that's the name of the store I didn't forget the 'e' or add a 'k'. Unrelated, but when you order a Coke here, it's not a Coke, it's a Coca...or Coca light (for the Diet Coke lovers in the house). But back to my story.

So I arrived at Media Markt with my awesome 1800W blow dryer, unopened, with the original receipt wondering how on earth I am going to communicate with the equivalent of a American teenager about how I need to return this because my crazy wife couldn't wait a couple days to see if she even needed the hairdryer. (Have you ever tried to communicate with a teenager, I am sure parents everywhere will roll their eyes when the read this but kids these days, are they capable of forming complete sentences without the need to txt their bff, OMG!)

So I walk up to the Media Markt and there's some sign about Merchandise blah blah blah and I think ok, I have this language thing figured out...this is where returns are supposed to go. Wrong. It was the loading docks. But for 100 CHF (Swiss Francs) I could have gotten some real nice equipment that "accidentally" fell off the truck. Try #2. I go inside the store this time (brilliant idea by the way) to find a counter where they deal with such things as exchanges, returns, refunds, complaints, but mostly just blank stares from the Swiss teenager who can't wait for her shift to be over so she can go watch Laguna Beach or The Hills or whatever the popular tv show dubbed in French that kids watch these days.

After patiently waiting the hired help comes up to me and says "Bonjour, blah blah blah blah blah" (I am so close to learning French I can taste the baguette). So I reply back "Parle-vous anglais?," which is of course the French version of the American question "Do you speak English because in America, we don't feel it necessary to learn anything other than our language and maybe one other, randomly chosen depending on which class the hot girl in homeroom told you she was taking your Freshman year of high school".

I patiently smiled as I figured that she would appreciate my gesture of international participation and reply back in English that of course she knew it because America rules. Sadly, she did not know English.

OH NO! How the heck now am I going to get my 19 CHF back? Alli will surely have me tarred and feathered for such insolence...perhaps I can draw her a picture. Everyone can understand pictures, or maybe I can give her the universal sign for "I'd like to return this" which involves me pointing to the receipt, giving her the hairdryer, speaking a little louder, pointing back at the receipt and her nodding in agreement while giving me back my money...guess what...didn't happen.

Thankfully there was a worldly gentleman in line behind me who volunteered to translate, disaster averted. I calmly explained the situation, he said something to her, then she proceeded to look at me and speak French. Apparently I spoke such perfect French the first time that she figured I could understand and possibly speak French, just not the phrase, "I'd like to return this, I never used this, give me my money back."

After I got the translation through my intermediary, I spoke back to him, and we had our own little mini United Nations party at the returns desk. She gave me a slip which he then informed me I'd need to take to the place where I purchased the hairdryer to get my money back. Um, I don't mean to point out the obvious, but this IS where I bought the hairdryer. Nevertheless, I wouldn't let this sudden turn of events foil my attempt to retrieve my 19 CHF. I went to the exact spot in the store where we found the hairdryer and Voila! there was a clerk who I could give my slip to and surely he would know what to do.

Again, he muttered something to me in French, to which I responded, "Parle-vous anglais?" Figuring I had no other choice except for making ape-like gestures and/or stealing the cash register, I held my breath as he responded "A little."

Clouds lifting, angels singing, the vision of me sleeping on the couch slowly fading away. I explained that I needed to return this hairdryer and that nothing was wrong with it, I just didn't need it because we already had one (apparently the first slip was just to let me take the hairdryer back into the store because hairdryer theft is the number two crime in Switzerland after failing to use the proper fondue fork etiquette). I spared him the agony of telling him about my wife's need for the hairdryer safety net in case our new accommodations lacked a hairdryer and we hadn't enough time to get to the store before they closed to avert a hair drying emergency.

After some nodding on his part and typing into his computer (which knows French by the way, even the keys have all the weird French symbols and the Windows key is replaced by one with a picture of St. Bernard dog - very cool) he produced two slips of paper to be taken to the cash register to get my money back. I thanked him in French (Merci, Au Revoir) and off to the counter I went.

Naturally, wanting to avoid another United Nations conference I walked around the store for a bit until I found someone else carrying a slip of paper similar to mine. I figured I could just stalk them until they left and watch how they get their money back and I would be in the money (pun intended). I quickly found a line with a paper holding Mademoiselle (French for 'my little lady,' if you don't believe me look it up on the internet, Wikipedia is never wrong.)

After watching her go through the motions and seeing that her slip was merely a note to have something delivered to her car in the parking lot, I became a bit worried. It was my turn and the queue behind me was too long to go stalk someone else. I handed her the slips hoping she wouldn't notice that I was incapable of replying to any question she asked me with the exception of whether or not I wanted coffee, tea, or dessert. She looked at the slips, looked at me (probably thinking to herself that she could probably send me down to the loading docks to get my refund knowing that this time that I would just give up and she would have my 19 CHF for a night of Fondue on the unfortunate American), then pointed to the bottom of the form and handed me a pen.

I think she said something but I was on autopilot and figured she thought I was some kind of celebrity from America and she wanted my autograph. Either way, I signed the slip, she gave me 19 CHF back and I was out of that store faster than Superman out of a phone booth. Although the curious thing was that she scribbled out the purchase on my original receipt like it never happened. In America, you usually get a whole new receipt, plus a shiny staple that hooks the new receipt to the old one. I guess the rest of the world has figured out one more way to save the world from excess receipts and staples...if only America would catch up.

"Prior to Positive Steriod Sample"
After leaving Turino on Sunday morning, we headed down towards (towards being the operative word) to go watch the end of the 15th Stage of this year's Tour de France. The finish line was in an Italian ski village, Prato Nevoso. We stopped briefly in Cuneo, another stop along the Tour (Cuneo will be the start of Tuesday's Stage 16) where we snapped some pics, walked around, and couldn't find lunch (everything is closed on Sundays in Europe, including McDonalds in some towns). We eventually got out of Cuneo and ate at a hotel along the way. It was at this point that Alli suddenly learned Italian and was able to successfully communicate with our waiter that I was a moron, but to bring me a Coke and some risotto anyway. Yes, they charge you for the bread on the table so unless you want to buy it, don't eat it.

It was a fairly easy drive with some pretty country-side scenery, winding through village after village until we made our way into a little town about 20km from the finish line. It was at this point that we realized that we would probably not be witnessing the finish of this stage.

At every possible point from this town on there were road blocks, police, and barriers preventing any automotive traffic from going to the finish. It appears that if we wanted to see the finish we would have had to arrive at least one day prior to the stage as our mere four hour cushion of time wasn't enough (or more likely there wasn't any room at the mountaintop judging by the reports from TV). Thus, we were forced to park our car and walk up a Grade 1 climb (the hardest with the exception of the hors catégorie climb which means (beyond classification). So you can see what we were up against 20km for the finish with three hours until the peloton arrived.

Needless to say we decided that walking 20km (or running for that matter) was out of the question so we walked about 6-8km (not exactly sure) up to a little town at a decent spot along the route that was relatively uphill (to provide better photography). After reaching our spot we waited for about 1.5-2 hours for the excitement to begin....

So now the croud is pumped. Mind you the riders are merely another half hour away. Occasionally you think the riders have made it until you realise it's just a Tour Wannabe who is trying to show us how awesome he is by making the climb slightly faster than I can walk. As the time approaches we can see helicopters coming up the mountain. There were eight. You could hear the helicopters before you could see them, causing further excitment and wonderment as you figured with each helicopter would come the riders. Finally the excitement peaked as the last helicopter slowly made it's way overhead and hovered while the motorcade of AP photographers, video guy strapped to the back of a motorcycle, police motorcycles and cars came wizzing by at quite a pace. Had I not had been taking photos one would have barely noticed the four real Tour de France leaders in the midst of all the craziness. These guys cruised up the mountain faster than I think I could ride down it. These guy's calf/thigh/abs of steel/Alli could comment on the buns/stamina was amazing. They had been riding for about 170km when they reached us, ~105 miles, through unbelievable climbs (which included 1800 meters of elevation gain over the first 60km climb to start the day, yea, that's over a mile) and yet still seemed to fly by.

My big moment was when the leaders came through and I yelled GO USA! (as did my wife) to the Team Garmin/Chipotle rider Danny Pate, who at the time looked like he was melting with the amount of perspiration running down his body. Hopefully the unexpected American supporters were enough to give him the energy to finish the climb (although I think he wound up 3rd on this stage).

It was probably about 5 minutes or so before the bulk of the riders came through...it was quite the site. Following them were cars with spare bikes, tires, water, more police, and then another 10 minutes later they bulk of the remainder of the riders. We walked back down after all the riders went by and decided we'd try to drive to the top. (Although at first I thought I lost my wallet and ran about a km back up the mountain where my wallet was not, which made me panic a bit, but after Alli settled me down and told me it was probably still in the car, we thankfully found it back in the car where I left it...I always lose stuff, it's a neverending battle. M: Where's my keys Alli??? A: Did you look in the door honey? M: Why would they be there? You must have moved them foul temptress! Fine, I'll look in the door...Thanks honey, found them! - And that's the story of how I lost argument number 8,389; current score Alli 8,387 - Mark 2)

What can I say about driving in Italy, except I STRONGLY discourage it. Take the train, take a bus, fly in and walk, but getting into a car and trying to navigate roundabouts in Italy is not for the faint of heart. Driving in Chicago is a treat compared to the white knuckled, Readiness Level 5, Terrorism watch Red alert that we experienced this weekend.

I knew we were in trouble when we got into the outskirts of Turino and proceeded into a roundabout. Before you think that maybe I'm just a bad driver, hear me out (and please don't talk to my wife, she's not very patient with my driving skills). Picture me going into the roundabout after carefully studying the traffic flow and patterns and such, as well as waiting for an opening that is ample in size to allow me to merge into the traffic circle. I give the car gas and no problems yet as I merge into the circle when all of the sudden a van comes flying into the circle from a different spoke at about 80 km/hr (the speed limit is maybe 50 km/hr in the circle) and nearly T-bones me. Thankfully nobody was hurt, damaged, crunched, impacted, etc., although I think I am no longer welcome back in that traffic circle.

Anyway, we are driving along following the directions of Susan, the lovely computer generated voice in our TomTom ( a lthough I had to turn her down because she says roundabout weird, she says "round-did-about-t"). When you select directions sometimes you can pick options like "avoid toll roads" or "fastest route". Well, when you pick "avoid toll roads" you might end up in the middle of the Saturday market where about 30,000 people are shopping for fruits, veggies, and gelato and somehow they still allow idiots like me to drive through.
In Italy, apparently a red light is more of an opportunity to show how creative you can be while freaking out foreigners. For example, let's say you are approaching an intersection with a dedicated left turn lane that is currently red (but doesn't have any cars in it) and you are in the adjacent lane which is currently green (and is full of cars going slightly slower than the posted speed limit). What do you do if you are an Italian at the end of the line of cars in the green lane?

A. Wait in line, you'll get there soon enough
B. Honk your horn at the people in front of you for not going fast enough
C. Put down your cigarette, finish your third shot of espresso since the last traffic circle, accelerate into the left turn lane, blow through the red light, merge over into the green line in the middle of the intersection hoping a space opens up for your Fiat, and then continue on as if nothing happened

If you guessed A, you are from Minnesota and have never been further away from the Cities than Duluth; B, you've driven in New York, LA, or Chicago, but certainly not Italy; C, well, that's what we saw so that's what I say Italians do all the time (seriously, this happened more often than not).

Quiz #2, pretend you and your Mama-cita have just finished grocery shopping at the market where the crazy American with Swiss license plates almost ran you over and you need to unload your 10 kilos of tomatoes and 5 kilos of ricotta (when you say kilos instead of pounds, it makes me think of watching a bunch of cops talk about the sting they are setting up in the abandoned warehouse down by the river). If you are Italian, what do you do?

A. Park your car in the nearest available parking space on the side of the road out of the flow of traffic
B. Park your car in front of your apartment, in the flow of traffic, with your blinker on indicating you have stopped
C. Park your car in the middle of the road
D. Drive halfway onto the curb, leaving the back-end of your car in traffic

Correct answer: B, C, and D are all correct choices.

As you can see from these limited examples, driving in Italy can be very interesting. Don't even get me started on the fact that within 20km there are 3 separate streets in Turino with the same name and same address (and yes, the third one was our hotel, after driving 10km to the first one, 15 back to the second, and 17 to third). Maybe it's best to leave driving in Italy to those who have had an espresso IV permanently attached.

Oh, and another thing, when crossing the border from Italy into Switzerland, make sure you read the signs. My Italian is rusty, but it seems the word ALTO means stop. Completely. Rolling stops are not advised (unless driving in Italy then they are suggested to protect your momentum).

The normally mild-mannered Swiss borders guards get a little testy when you kind of slow down and say "Bonsoir" and keep moving. It may be ok going the other way, but not from Italy into Switzerland. Example conversation we had with the Italian border guy as I kind of stopped but not really going into Italy: "Where are you going?" Turino. "Turino? Then where?" That's it, we're coming back tomorrow. "Um, ok, Arrivederci". (Apparently nobody goes just to Turino, so it required a follow up question...which we passed)

Example conversation with Swiss border guard after I finally stopped upon the specter of having to spend the rest of my life driving in Italy: Points to sign that says STOP in Italian and French. "Move your car over there." Intense waiting begins with me and Alli feeling like the Von Trapps in the Sound of Music figuring we could just make a run for the Alps. When he comes back about five minutes later, I have my plan figured out of how I'll open the door right as he approaches, knock him down, and speed off in my station wagon. Only before I can attempt my Jason Bourne impersonation on him he hands back our passports and tells us we are set to go (which he grabbed from my hand as I rolled through the stop sign ~ side note, don't think about outrunning the law when they have your identification and you wear white socks with running shoes, they'll find you!).

Um, yeah...this apartment is so much better than the other one. I think we'll stay here. This apartment understands what year it is...I must say, we were pretty close to a disastrous year in the Studio 54 apartment; thankfully we were able to get into this place. I'll post pictures after this weekend, but let's just say we are MUCH MUCH MUCH happier and can relax now, move in, the wine has been poured, lasagna is in the oven, chocolate chip ice cream in the freezer (it says Straccietella, so we hope it is chocolate chip), and we are unpacking our suitcases finally.

We will be heading down to Italy tomorrow morning (Saturday) to see the Tour de France (on Sunday) which will come into Italy (www.letour.fr). We are going to spend Saturday hanging out in Turin (Turino) and then Sunday drive down to Prato Nevoso to watch the finish of the 15th Stage, with a late drive back to Switzerland (we'll probably leave around 7 or 8pm and be back in Lausanne around 1 or 2am). Nonetheless it should be fun. I am excited to see the Shroud, although I hear it's just a copy. Turin is also home to the Fiat car company, Juventus football (soccer) team, and the 2006 Winter Olympics. Watch for us on TV. I'll try to figure out something to do to attempt to make it on TV, although I will NOT take performance enhancing drugs.

Yesterday was eventful, in addition to the sun coming up (I often wonder if it will some days) I was able to see the outside of the potential new apartment. We have received positive descriptions from a co-worker of Alli's that lives in the apartment directly below (she has seen both). It is in a much quieter area of Lausanne, there is a community pool/skating rink (they freeze the pool in the winter) across the street, and in general there is nothing obviously obnoxious about the place. Alli and I will be headed there this afternoon around 2pm (Europe time) to inspect it and if we like it, move in immediately. I am busy packing up our bags, books, skis, bikes, etc. so that I can minimize the trips that I will take back and forth from the current disco lounge, er apartment, to the new one should it pass the test.

One good note is that we now have electricity in the current apartment. When we first moved in, half of the apartment didn't have electricity...the electrician (I shall call him Guiseppe, as that is what I pretended his name was...I feel like I saw him on a Sopranos episode) that was called in said there was a very huge problem that needed immediate attention. The situation was very dangerous (at least that's what he said) and indicated that the repairs would easily top $2000. Well, yesterday a "city inspector" (I shall call him Tony because he looked like a troubled youth that escapes the problems of his life by dancing the night away at a local discotheque) came over and in about 30 minutes "solved the problem" and now there is electricity. I'll let you draw your own conclusions but something fishy is going on.

I will post pictures of the new place should we move in...maybe I'll do a little juxtaposition with the current apartment for fun, it can be like one of those "Choose your own Adventures" books to see whether or not you choose the same adventure as we do.

So I have an interesting story that I simply must share.

Most of you know what I look like; ruggedly handsome, well dressed, typical American boy, scrawny physique, awkward movements, etc. And in your minds out there you're probably thinking, he could pass for an Italian, or someone of Hispanic decent, possibly a German, or even an individual from the cradle of civilization (sans facial hair). Nevertheless, for those of you who have been overseas Americans tend to stand out from the rest of the world.

Even in the land of lots of Caucasians (although I can't seem to find a travel guide for this magical place, Caucasia), Americans are the only ones wearing shorts, t-shirts, white socks, and tennis shoes at all times. If there was to be an official American outfit (I think Congress will be introducing a bill on this soon as in an election year they try to avoid anything too scandalous), this would be it, except in winter when the shorts are replaced with blue jeans (not too tight, but not too baggy) and the t-shirt is layered with a sweatshirt indicating where all of our parents money was spent (thanks Dad, loved the 4.5 years in Indiana!).

Real Europeans
Europeans on the other hand always seem to be neatly dressed, nary a wrinkle in their clothes, nor brown belt with black shoes. Perhaps they have on black socks with their tennis shoes, but they are probably working out (aka breaking a sweat on purpose) whereas Americans are just hoping someone will think they are athletic and fall in love and marry and have babies and ignore the fact that their waistline has increased along with their flatulence.

So anyway, here I am along the shores of Lake Geneva taking pictures of Dahlias and enjoying the lovely sunny morning. I am dressed just as the American dressing manual has stated, complete with my cargo sized pockets on my shorts (this is a variation for those wishing to look like they are useful rather than athletic). All of the sudden I am approached by what can only be described as a typical American family. When you travel enough, you just know.

So the dad (wearing the country club version of the American uniform, golf shorts, polo shirt, dock shoes) approaches me holding out his camera (what a coincidence, I have one too...we should be friends, no really, oh my gosh, you like pizza too? let's be pen pals!). I figured this would be a typical "I need you to take a picture of my family to prove to our friends at the country club we were actually in Europe and didn't just go to the Wisconsin Dells for a week because our mortgage is bankrupting us" kind of experience.

Well it was not.

The dad says, "Monsieur" (that's French for hey random guy), "You take photo?" in a somewhat loud and I hope he understands me kind of manner. He also makes the international sign for will you take a picture of me and my family by pointing to the camera, pointing to his wife and daughters who are all rolling their eyes, and then points back at me. So being the fellow American traveler wanting to ease his worries about being in a strange place, I simply say "Oui" (that's French for yes).

Not wanting to blow my cover I pretend to initially understand how the camera works, looking at it like the chimps at the zoo look at the fleas off their buddies head before they eat it (is this poisonous, it smells ok, it tastes ok, ok, I'll eat it). Then I mutter something vaguely resembling French, "Oui, voulais vous, oui, maisson, poisson, etc" and motion for them to get close together.

Then, when I figure the gig is up, I go for broke and say "Un, Deux, Trois" (that's 1,2,3) and take the picture. They smile, the daughters both shyly say "Merci" (thanks, as in, I am so glad my friends weren't here to see this happen, I would have like totally been embarrassed), the dad says "Thanks, oops, Merci" and the mom says "Merci Beaucoop" (Thank you very much).

And I walked away trying not to laugh and ruin this perfect experience for the Americans who successfully negotiated a photo op of the whole family without having the crazy Swiss guy run away with their camera and sell it on Le eBay.

We will be going to look at a new place sometime this afternoon. From what I understand it is a little smaller, but located in a much quieter area (and not so Patridge family in appearance...and no, the current apartment doesn't make me want to spread a little lovin', but we'll definitely keep movin' until we get a happy feeling...just not in this place)

We wound up staying at a hotel again last night and again tonight so that we could actually get some sleep. We are eagerly looking forward to finding a final spot for our stuff and are looking forward to our first English speaking visitors. Unfortunately, it's tough to have much depth of conversation with the locals when your are limited to hello (bonjour); goodbye (au revoir); I would like the (J' voudrais le ...) {followed by you pointing to the menu at what you want}; and the check please (l'addition s'il vous plait).

Until then:
"We had a dream we'd go trav'lin' together
We'd spread a little lovin then we'd keep movin' on
Somethin' always happens whenever we're together
We get a happy feelin' when we're singin' a song

Trav'lin' along there's a song that we're singin',
c'mon get happy
A whole lotta lovin' is what we'll be bringin',
we'll make you happy"

I also apologize now for getting this song stuck in your head for the rest of the day.

This is serious. Please stop whatever you are doing and listen.

We may be moving again to a nicer apartment in the next few days, so please don't mail us anything, store phone numbers in your address books or mobile phones, print Mapquest directions from your house to ours, toilet-paper our balcony, etc.

I will provide new contact information if/when the move occurs. It looks to be like we will have a busy weekend ahead, which probably means no Le Tour de France :( Hopefully my boss will have further directions, explanation, exoneration, pontification, and carbonation at the end of the day.

That is all. Stay classy America!

Alli gets to drive by the Castle of Ouchy on the way to work. It was started in the late 1100's, but burned and torn down in the 1600's. They decided to try again in the late 1800's. Surprisingly, there isn't a Starbucks in the main level. Surprisingly, there isn't a Starbucks anywhere (seriously, there's one or two in Geneva, and maybe one somewhere in Lausanne, but they are hard to find...weird!)

Interesting fact of the morning, a 2nd floor apartment is on the 3rd floor of the building (if you are from America anyway). Europeans start counting floors above ground level, with ground level being floor 0. Makes sense to me. Also, if anyone has the secret decoder ring to my car I would appreciate it...the manual is in German, as is the menu on the dash that tells me fun things such as "Bitte Tanken" or something like that. It seems important because there is a big yellow gas pump flashing underneath it. I've also noticed the dash slowly trickle down from 800km to 80km over the last week. I don't think it means I'm getting closer to something because I am never going to the same place yet the numbers keep getting smaller. Here's a picture of the car, it's a Skoda Octavia (it's basically a VW Jetta Wagon, only more Czech)

Well, I managed to survive the boss coming home the first day...it was a tough experience given all that we have had to go through to get here, but I think we'll be ok. If nothing else, we'll go to IKEA tomorrow and do some shopping (new linens, mattress covers, new mattresses, kitchen items, etc.). The apartment in spite of it's flaws, is not all that bad. I think this is just going to be one of hte biggest adjustments of being an American in a foreign country. Transitioning from a house to an apartment is tough as it is, but throwing in the nuance of making it a Swiss apartment only serves to compound the issue.

I think in the end we will definitely gain an appreciation for the house we have, and the things we own. God is very creative when He chooses to humble you in ways to make you realize that you are only a steward of the gifts He has given you. Regardless of what we have or don't, our marriage is strong and I know (as does Alli) that at the end of the day as long as we can still kiss each other good night and pray to the same Heavenly Father than all will be ok.

I thankfully got to eat again today, so you won't be seeing me on a Sally Struthers telethon anytime soon. I am sleepy now, enjoy the rest of your day America.

I was wrong, the driver was Chilean. And he was an hour and a half late. Pleasant, but sweaty. I'm off to figure out lunch now (or not since Alli will want to eat dinner soon)...maybe just a casse-croute (snack).

Please also forgive the lack of accent marks and/or weird French symbols, my keyboard is still learning French too.

Well, after much wrangling we've finally made it across the pond. Alli is settling in at work and after spending a week at the pleasant Fleur du Lac hotel in Morges, I am getting us moved into our apartment. The apartment leaves A LOT to be desired, so I am not sure if it will be our permanent apartment once Alli has a chance to see it. Either way, we will learn to enjoy whatever domicile is our final one. The apartment isn't quite that bad, it's just a little out of date. Perhaps they forgot to update the place since the original Heidi movie was filmed; besides, who needs things like modern appliances when you have a house-husband to go shopping for the day. By the time things would start spoiling in our Bosch Kompressor-Kuhlschrank (which is of course German for don't leave milk and cheese in here unless you want the apartment to smell like the sulfur pots in Yellowstone)...[isn't it great that the German's have a word for everything?]

Anyways, our address is as follows:

Avenue Maria Belgia 3
CH 1006 Lausanne, Switzerland

I will post more as the day progresses. I am currently waiting for the punctual Swiss movers to arrive with our goods (bikes, skis, winter clothes, etc.) at 2:30, who must in reality be Italian because it is now 3:30 and they still haven't arrived. Please don't hesitate to email us for questions, comments, concerns, etc. or feel free to leave a post on the blog (assuming such a thing is possible as I haven't done this before).