A Well Kept Man

After receiving a break from the rainy weather, Alli and I decided on a hiking adventure on Saturday as we weren't in the mood for a long car ride or human interaction (sometimes you just need "me" time). We spent the better part of the morning watching Olympics coverage and scouring our maps, guidebooks, and the internet for a nice route to partake. I decided on a hike that would take us to the peak of some of a nearby mountain, but I was overruled due to the statistics of the hike (4.25 hours, 10 km, 875 m climb, peak of 1916 m). I can understand her reluctance (or woman's intuition) for not wanting to go hike up to this summit, so we settled for a much easier climb (2.25 hours, 7 km, 504 m climb, peak of 1165 m).

We packed ourselves a picnic lunch (more appropriately described as a refrigerator full of food stuffed into a backpack just in case we got lost for three weeks and needed to make sure we had plenty to eat), and headed off towards Gruyère. Gruyère is where the world famous Gruyère cheese is made, and the hike we were to take was labeled the Cheese-Dairy Trail. Upon arriving we decided it was time for lunch (since it was getting close to 1:30 in the afternoon). We took a quick tour of the modern cheese-making facility which included authentic cheese smell. The smell of the salt-water brine bath and aging cheese is not one soon forgot, nor would I recommend the tour for anyone easily nauseated. Wisconsinites will probably find this area to smell much like Green Bay on a Sunday afternoon, everyone else will not.

The tour (not worth it if you ask me) includes a narrated audio tour (in your language of choice) of how the cheese is made, from start to finish. Start = open field waiting for cows, Finish = macaroni and cheese dinner. I don't want to upset my readers so I will eliminate the 'middle' portion of the tour (plus, I really don't want to ruin the "excitement" if you happen to get suckered into going). A cow named "Cherry" narrates the tour as you go through the process of cheese production, and in the end you get a sample of three different ages of Gruyère cheese (6 months, 8 mos, and 10 mos). We haven't sampled ours yet as we are still in cheese detox from the second-hand cheese odor.

After making our way outside we launched on our adventure. The starting time of our hike was 2:30 pm (foreshadowing). We immediately began our hike which wandered through the locals' backyards, and past a farm or two (including a horse stable) and onto a mountain road (which was paved...not quite what I had in mind for a hike, but oh well). The day was cool (no warmer than 17 C or so...low - mid 60's) and we quickly made our way into the forest. It was a fairly steep climb immediately so we were definitely getting a good workout. After about an hour or so the forest opened up a bit to open meadows and the sounds of cowbells. I wonder of the farmers have ever regretted putting bells on the necks of the cows, it seems to me that it would get pretty annoying having to listen to mooing and cowbells all day and night. Maybe they should just follow the cow pies if they want to know where the cows are...they seemed pretty reliable to me (Dried up cow pie means there was a cow here at some point, but it wasn't very recently. Fresh cow pie means there is a cow close by...pretty simple and much quieter.)

The scenery was quite breathtaking as we made it out of the trees. I am not sure how far we could see, but the sky was clear and we had some beautiful views of the area. The air was amazingly clean as well and it felt as if my lungs received a good scrubbing. One never fully appreciates crisp, clean air until they get a chance to take a couple chests full while trying to catch their breath after a long hike. Back to the hike...

At this point we were continuing to climb and hadn't found the alleged alpine cheese hut that was supposed to be at the pinnacle of our hike, so we began to wonder if we missed it. However, the signs were pointing to proceed so we did (we didn't have a watch either so it was tough to know exactly how long we had been hiking, maybe it was only 30 minutes...). We were all of the sudden faced with a predicament that I have yet to encounter in my relatively limited experience in the wild. You see, during the hike we often had to go through closed gates and turnstiles when we reached fences on the trail. The barriers are to prevent the cows from going down into town and leaving unpaid bar bills. After making it through one such turnstile, we noticed the path made its way right between a bunch of grazing cows.

Normally this wouldn't be a problem as most of the cows I have encountered tended to be fat and lazy cows. But we were at an altitude of about 1000 m (0.62 miles) and these cows walked to get here. We also had heard a story from some of Alli's colleagues of the somewhat aggressive nature of certain alpine cows (a father and his son were literally chased downhill by a herd of cows). As luck would have it there was a cow blocking our path up the mountain. She wasn't planning on moving anytime soon either. I tried my best to speak cow..."MOOOOO-ve" I must had said at least five or six times (Alli didn't laugh, and the cow didn't move; I must have pronounced it wrong). Rather than tempting fate and trying to squeeze by the cow and the roughly 200 foot drop off, we decided to go around the cow the other way. This meant navigating between freshly laid cow pies (must have been some cows here recently) and other cows nearby. I led the way as Alli figured if something went wrong, she could learn from my misfortune and live to tell the story to all of my kin.

I instructed her to follow my footsteps to avoid any squishy surprises, but also to avoid eye-contact with the cows as this could incite a stampede. I successfully made it past the cow rather quickly (thanks for the long legs Dad) and was able to turn around in time to watch Alli (I really wanted to take a picture of her). At this point I started to make it seem like the cow was getting ready to attack so Alli sped up a bit. I think she managed to avoid all of the land mines but I think she wasn't too impressed with me joking around (the bruise on my arm is healing nicely, thanks for asking). The trek continued....

We continued to climb and climb and climb, through more forest, more cows, and finally to a clearing with a sign that I found interesting. Remembering my bike adventure through a flash flood area I stopped and read the sign closely. From what I can tell from the pictures it doesn't appear that I should practice cow-tipping or any other cow-related pranks. In fact, I shouldn't even stop to ask them for dinner recommendations, I should just keep moooo-ving along. So we did, although I managed a couple photos before moving very slowly towards the nearest turnstile.

After a little more hiking we managed to reach the destination of the hike, a small village in the mountains called "Moléson." I wasn't sure what time it was but I can tell you that we had been hiking for at least two hours. Apparently the 2.25 hour hike is one-way. It is at this point that Alli reminds me we could have been on the 4.25 hour hike I wanted to go on (which is most likely a 8.5 - 9 hour hike if you don't want to live where the hike ends). We checked out the town (this took about 5 minutes) and decided we should be heading back before nightfall (we also heard the cows are especially frisky at night). Before we left town, I decided to befriend a cow and fed her some dandelions and miscellaneous other greenery. This was interesting in that I have never almost had the skin ripped off my hand before by a cow tongue. I misunderestimated the reach of said cow tongue, nor did I know that the cow's tongue was coated with 50 grit sandpaper. Thankfully I had my pocket sized bottle of hand sanitizer so I did not contract mad cow disease.

We managed to hike the rest of the trail in around two hours as well, passing more cows, turnstyles and surprisingly enough a Green Bay Packers fan. There was a farmer moving her herd from one pasture to another which we had to stop for due to the fact that the cows were passing in front of our only exit from the mountain back down. She was wearing a Packers fleece which I found odd considering everyone here thinks football is really soccer. I wish I would have known how to tell her that Brett Favre is no longer on the team, but I didn't want her to release her cows on me in a fit of Cheese-head rage.

Sadly, I don't have a picture but I'll always have the memory. Needless to say we finished our hike in four hours time (pretty fast if you ask me), although we were only prepared for a little over two. We spent most of Sunday letting our legs, feet, and knees (Alli needed ice due to her knee's bothering her, since our ice supply is limited I had to use ice cream instead...I heal from the inside out) recover from the hike, but the scenery was beautiful...so I won't complain anymore.

My day started with taking Alli to work so I could have the car to run errands (which I needed because it was raining). My first start was to get a haircut. As you can tell from the picture, I think everything worked out as best as could be expected. Aside from having to spend 35 CHF (I'm including my 2 CHF for parking in the total) on a ten minute adventure, it was interesting.

I was greeted at the front door by the barber, whom I exchanged Bonjour's with, followed by me asking "Parlez-vous anglais?" (Do you speak English?...this is pretty standard now really as it is easier for the Swiss to speak English than to try and comprehend my version of French.) He then responded by saying "Only a little bit, but if I have a few glasses of wine then I am much better." Judging by the quality of that sentence I was concerned that perhaps he was already through his first bottle of the day, at it wasn't even 10:15 am. Nevertheless, I was committed to getting a haircut so I figured it would be worth the experience. We chit chatted in English for about five minutes, me explaining what I wanted done to my hair (sadly, he didn't think the mohawk and purple dye were good ideas...sorry Abby), and him discussing his upcoming holiday (vacation) to Napoli (Naples), Italy.

He said he was going to go spend a week in September to eat pizza (no joke, that's really why he was going...apparently they make a tasty pie down there). At this point he tells me, "Ok, I speak French now" and begins to discuss things with me (well he was discussing, I was imitating a deer in the headlights). I was able to understand the parts of the conversation when he asked if I understand French, to which I responded "Oui, a little" (that's Frenglish). He responded that I should have said "Un petit peu" (a little bit). So I'm making progress. He asked if I wanted my hair shorter than he currently had trimmed it, to which I responded somewhat appropriately "No, c'est bon" (which is French for 'No, it's good tasting'). He let me in on a secret that 'bon' is for describing the quality of food as in, "Le escargot, c'est bon" (French for 'the snails are tasty'...something I doubt I need to teach Alli). If I want to describe the quality of my haircut, I should use the word 'bien'.

The adventure was successful, and now I feel like "un nouvel homme" (a new man) as he said (which I surprisingly understood). So now that I was properly groomed, I headed over to pick up our resident permits at the equivalent of city hall (which required no speaking whatsoever) and then off to Tolochenaz to experience the world of Medtronic Europe and the magical one hour European lunch.

As much as it pains certain individuals (the redhead) to waste an entire hour sitting down to a hot meal (when there is work to be done, who has time to waste an hour eating), it was quite civilized and delightful. The cafeteria has a head chef and multiple assistant chefs that run around cooking food to order and plating it for you. After securing our food (Alli got a plain cheese/basil/tomato pizza because she can't read the menu to know what else might come on the pizza...I helped her out so next time she can have some variety; I had spicy fried chicken with a spicy sauce, sauteed zucchini, leeks, and rice) we sat down to lunch in the atrium overlooking Lake Geneva and the French Alps (including Mont Blanc which is always covered with snow, hence the Blanc which means white...at least until global warming attacks it and it is known as the Mont that was formerly Blanc). Actually we couldn't see any of this because it was cloudy and rainy, but Alli claims on sunny days you really can see them (sure Alli, I believe you).

Apparently the 'cool' thing to do after you eat is to go and stand around some tables in the "Cafe Espace" (French for Coffee Spaces) and have a coffee, espresso, or tea. Alli seldom does this as she is afraid of the espresso machine (I made that part up...she just doesn't care too much for coffee). I didn't have a clue how the super-automatic machine worked, but due to my keen intellect and engineering degree it was impossible for me to fail. I pushed the button that matched the cup size I selected, which was an espresso cup (which is really tiny for the uninitiated). What I didn't realize was that I pushed the button for a double shot of espresso (instead of a single shot), which is about 2 ounces of liquid and about 100 mg of caffeine. It would take about 4 times as much coffee to get the same amount of caffeine. If you still aren't convinced, I wrote this entire blog in three seconds (I'll be competing in the Olympics on Sunday in Short Track Blogging for those interested)...now I'm all jacked up on caffeine (I also had 3 dl of Coca-Cola with lunch, no ice - but with a lovely lemon because it made me feel special).

I also ran a bunch of trivial errands requiring me to converse in French with city officials and the car rental agency...it's mostly a blur but somehow I have an extra 190 CHF in my wallet and a new rental car contract (we needed to switch the credit card) so I must have done something right (or they paid me to leave and avoid embarrassing myself anymore than I already managed). I am thinking I am due for a huge caffeine crash in about 10 minutes so I apologize in advance if there are grammatical errors in this post, or if it doesn't make any sense at all...

Watch this video and you'll know how I feel...learning French is tough. This video still cracks me up every time I watch it. Enjoy! I'm off to get my hair cut and have lunch with Alli, so I won't have anything interesting to write about until this evening.

Last night I had a pression (draft beer, more formally a 'bière à la pression') with the husband of a colleague of Alli's from Medtronic. The purpose of the meeting was to get advice relating to securing a job here in Switzerland, as he had been through the same situation when his wife was transferred here nearly three years ago. For those wondering, the beer made in Switzerland is pretty much uneventful (so far...I'm determined to find a good one). As a result I tried to order a familiar beer at the "British" pub. There are many "British" pubs in Switzerland, which supposedly have all of the international beers that an typical expat would look for in lieu of the lesser Swiss varietals.

The gentleman I was with immediately ordered a Guinness, which the garçon (French for waiter...also refers to a young boy depending on the context. It appears that the original purpose for having children, at least French male children, was to have a servant who waited on you and brought you libations; apparently my father knew this as I often recall fetching his evening beer as a young lad) had no problems with. "Oui" he said, and then looked at me. Surely if they had Guinness, and being a "British" pub I would have no trouble ordering an ale or lager with a British Isles heritage. As there was no menu, and we were seated outside on the patio, I assumed that I could just pick a British ale and resume our conversation.

Now, for those that have enjoyed a pint or two with me know I don't prefer to drink heavy stouts and porters as they make me sleepy (and I find them too sweet and malty..nothing like a meal in a glass), so silly me I order a good British ale (at least in my mind)...a Bass. You would have thought I asked the garçon for a bucket of shrimp milk (if this isn't funny replace 'shrimp milk' with 'dolphin sweat'). It's like he's never even heard of such a thing. So then I figured, ok, maybe it's just Irish beer at this place, so I order a Harp Lager (similar to a Bass, but a lager instead of an ale). Again, he treated me like I was suggesting he drain the contents of battery into a glass and serve it to me.

So at this point I'm at a loss...do I order a beer I don't care for or try for another beer of the British Commonwealth (Fosters maybe...Australia was once a British colony. Maybe India has some good beer)? It was during this time the garçon became quite fed up and just leaves. He brought me back a draft beer from the very (un)British colony of Denmark (is that a hint of Lox I taste in my beer? MMMM). I am not sure what is going on here but when you think Carlsberg is a British beer you have some serious problems that can only be cured by retaking high school geography and history classes...

Needless to say next time I network I will be sure to study the beer list ahead of time for suitable choices. Heineken is readily available by the way, whereas Budweiser, Miller, Coors, etc. are not (pretty much impossible to find unless you are in a specialty shop that imports American goods). Don't even get me started about the lack of Bell's Oberon and Two-Hearted Ale...(Dad, be sure to stock up for my trip back at Christmas).

With respect to the networking itself, I received some great suggestions of how to go about securing a job (including the proper format for my CV = curriculum vitae; this is the equivalent of a resume, only instead of omitting anything that might indicate what you look like, what your family situation is, how old you are, etc., they are required. Thankfully there is a shortage of tall, skinny, American, house-husbands around age 30 in Switzerland.), some potential job agencies (for part-time or full-time work, which tends to look for trailing spouses who are in my situation), as well as offering some help getting my CV passed around to some of his contacts (of which he has many as he is basically a sales guy).

So once I can get my CV together I will begin looking (more intensely) for a job. Apparently all I really need is my residence permit, a job contract, and then I pay about $100 bucks and I get a work permit (it seems like everything here costs money to "process"...who would have thought I needed to pay the government for the privilege of providing economic growth and stability? Why hasn't the U.S. thought of this???....oh wait, the payroll tax is their version. Last time I checked that was a little bit more than $100.). It's probably a little more involved and harder than I have made it sound, but I will hopefully get some leads in the next few weeks and maybe be employed before the weather turns to less-than-bike-friendly (but then ski season starts, so maybe not...).

It finally stopped raining (after three days, I was beginning to wonder if I would be able to keep my incredible George Hamilton tan going), so I hopped on my bike for a cathartic ride (see map at left for route and elevation). I have yet to take a route north of the city, so I decided today would be a good day for it. The wind was a bit of a nuisance (I saw a barn from Kansas flying by) but I managed. After climbing up through Lausanne, I found myself in beautiful countryside, complete with farms and meadows, a stray cat (he wasn't very interested in my efforts to communicate, as he probably reads my blog on the weekends and thinks I'm a snob) and an airstrip. Being somewhat winded from the climb (both from the change in elevation and the constant force of the wind pressing against my giant upper body), I stopped to watch a young whipper-snapper taking flight lessons.

I figured it would be cool to watch him take off with the instructor out towards Lake Léman and the Alps (I also figured there should be a witness in case something went awry). I truly am fortunate to be able to witness some of the little things in life that so many people miss (farmers plowing their fields, cows grazing, roadside produce stands). I continued my ride and connected with God (He told me it was the Holy Spirit making all the wind) and enjoyed a peaceful ride out in the country. There are some quaint little towns around here and riding through them only helps me to see how awesome this place is and how I feel that next summer will come all too quickly. My ride continued through a small forest with some towering pines and other leafy trees (I'm guessing oak trees by the amount of acorns on the ground), then back through the countryside towards Lausanne.

I am now at the point where I think I could ride just about anywhere (within a 20 mile radius of our apartment) and be ok in terms of stamina. The hills aren't so daunting, and my calf muscles are now the size of a large grapefruit...(tragically the rest of my legs are still toothpick in size so I guess I look like a martini garnish from the waist down). We head off to Ireland next week on Thursday so I have to do some more planning. We are enjoying waking up early to watch Michael Phelps dominate in the pool (another of the simple pleasures), plus it helps me get my day started (which is an added bonus in that Alli doesn't give me grief for sleeping in until 10am).

After being in Switzerland for a while, you find it necessary to establish routines and habits that help keep you sane. Many of these activities and events help remind us that we are still English-speaking Americans and there are some quasi-American things to do thousands of miles away from the mother ship. Last night we decided we would make it a date night and go see a movie after another wonderful dinner prepared by the executive chef (grilled turkey tenderloin salad with pear, and a dijon-balsamic vinaigrette). Let me set the stage.

Across Switzerland throughout the months of July and August a local wireless phone provider is sponsoring outdoor showings of movies at various locations. We are very fortunate to have one of these locations about a twenty minute walk from our apartment. We figured it would be a unique way to see a movie and at the same time provide some well-needed balance in our somewhat Franco-Swiss environment. The movies that have been shown range from the new Batman movie to Indiana Jones 4 and Wall-E. The trick is picking a night when the movie being shown is in English, as most nights the movies are dubbed in French.

Last night the movie was "Get Smart," or for the French speakers out there "Max la Menace" (apparently the French translation of "Get Smart" makes people think their going to a lecture on personal hygiene and existentialism). The forecast for the day was rain but it basically quit raining around two or three and was fairly clear when we made the call at about seven thirty or so to go see the film. Remember this as it will become important later.

The film was set to start at 21h30 (so 9:30pm) so we left the apartment around eight figuring we would get there early to grab a good seat. We had a pleasant walk down to the lake and over to the stadium where we arrived expecting a throng of movie-goers (I mean, it's Monday night, schools out, why wouldn't' there be thousands of English speaking people in a Swiss city trying to sit outside to watch a movie at 9:30?)...sadly, we were probably the 12th and 13th people to get there.

As we approached the ticket booth I wondered in my head if I had enough cash to get us in (they too have cash in Switzerland, but their money is different colors and shapes and I don't recognize any of the dudes). I quickly retrieved my cash storage device (that's French for wallet) and saw that I had 40 CHF which is roughly $37 US (hopefully oil keeps dropping, the dollar keeps strengthening, and I can buy Zurich before we come back to the States). I'm thinking I'm good.

Barely.

A friend of Alli's from Medtronic warned us before we made it over here that everything will take twice as long to do the same thing in America, and will often cost twice as much. We have noticed this in restaurants and in all things bureaucratic as we have lingered at a table for an extra hour sometimes looking for our waiter (note to self, learn how to say "Please bring the check with the food" in French, German, Italian, Spanish, British, and Gaelic). Back to the story....

Now I've been to New York and saw a movie once for $12 and figured there must be some sort of beverage or food included with the ticket (even though there was not...thankfully I had some contraband M&M's in my pocket. Mmmm, warm M&M's). Nevertheless I was prepared for a 10-15 CHF movie ticket. The final total of two tickets to a movie that has been out since June....36 CHF ($33). It's at this point that I am super excited because I figure that the movie will actually be performed live by the cast of "Get Smart" right here in Switzerland (I mean, why else would they need to charge me that much?). I started looking around for the trailers that the pampered Hollywood stars ride in, but all I saw was a rather plump man fishing for perch and some teenage skateboarding punks (skate boarding is not a crime here in Switzerland).

(Another bonus that my darling bride reminded me of...there was a special rate for unemployed people/students/trolls with an extra eye...sadly I didn't know how to prove I had no job so I got suckered into paying full price. I also forgot my extra eye sticker at home so I couldn't get the troll rate either.)

I coolly calmed myself once I realized that yes, I could have produced the film myself for this much money but what fun would that have been and I resigned to myself to enjoy the rest of the evening. We successfully convinced the ticket booth mademoiselle that I spoke and understood perfect French (if you pretend to understand what they are saying, nod your head at appropriately spaced intervals, and say "Merci," you can fool just about anyone). We gave our tickets to the gatekeeper who sputtered off something in French about our tickets (great! I just bought fake movie tickets from an illegal ticket booth and now I'll have to shell out another 36 CHF to get into this movie). I nodded my head politely, said "Merci" and started to walk in (nobody was chasing me, so I guess I fooled her sufficiently), only Alli did not. She sort of stopped and looked really confused, to which she turned back to the gatekeeper and said "What?".

"IMPOSTERS!"

It was at this point the gatekeeper replied back "Do you want a rain poncho for the movie?" (Wow, I can understand French...oh wait, that's English, dang!). Alli of course asks if she thought we would need them, to which the gatekeeper replied that she had no idea, she hoped not, but they were "free" so we might as well take them. Judging by the exceptional Swiss quality of the ponchos I was able to recalculate our ticket price and realize things were getting better. (Movie tickets 35.95 CHF, rain ponchos, 2 for 0.05 CHF...yea, they were awesome.)

So we continued to walk into the movie grounds when Alli again stops, turns around and asks what else she said when we walked in. The gatekeeper (keeping in mind one more question in English will expose us as really bad CIA spies and certainly earn us a one way trip to the Gulag) replies that we can exchange our ticket stub for a free ice cream at the tent by the entrance. WOOHOO, free ice cream that I paid for, yes! (Movie tickets 29.95 CHF, 2 for 0.05 CHF rain ponchos, 2 ice cream cones for 6.00 CHF.)

So we go over to the ice cream counter where the French speaking ice-cream maiden asks which kind of ice cream we would like (in French). The word for chocolate in French is 'chocolat' (pronounced sho ko la) and vanilla is 'vanille' (van nee yer). Alli responds "chocolate" in perfect English and I respond "vanill" in perfect Mark-French. The Swiss-teen doling out the "free" ice cream wasn't impressed and rolled her eyes. Oh well, at least I got some ice cream.

After enjoying our ice cream we decided we should go find our seats as there would certainly be only a few good ones left being that the movie was going to start in 30 minutes. We were surprised to find that only eight of the three hundred or so seats had been claimed (apparently the other four people were still trying to sell their free ice cream tickets for bus fare to get back home...thankfully we walked so this wasn't a problem). After picking the perfect seat in the middle about two-thirds of the way up we sat down to our spectacular view.

We were watching a perfect sunset behind the majestic Alps of France, with the sun's final rays shimmering in perfect pinks, reds, and oranges as the waves of the lake danced below them. The first stars of the evening were beginning to twinkle in the heavens above, and a warm, late summer breeze blew tousling the leaves on the trees surrounding the stadium. At least that's what it would have looked like had it not been cold, overcast, and sprinkling. We did however have a great view of the rain rolling in towards our location. The stadium itself is right on the water, so you could watch the surface of the lake to see where the rain was and how fast it was moving. Utilizing rudimentary math I was able to pinpoint the exact starting time of the rain (Murphy's law) to the start of the movie.

When the movie was set to start hordes of people flocked into the stadium, filling about three-fifths of the stadium (I'm using fractions to help my younger readers out there get ready for school in a couple weeks...). We were then treated to previews. What transpired was fifteen minutes of product advertisements for items I don't want (even if I did, they were advertised in French and I wasn't really sure what to think. For example, one involved a couple eating breakfast in their country home. When the husband poured the orange juice, the sunflowers in the fields outside all turned toward the glass of orange juice making a sound that made me think of troops turning an abrupt right while in formation and clicking their heels upon completion of said turn. I'm pretty sure if I buy that brand of orange juice I will either be abducted by sunflowers or I will want to join the Swiss army where I will then help rid the country of unwanted sunflowers (I've deciphered that sunflowers personify ugly American tourists). In unrelated news enrollment levels in the Swiss Army has never been higher).

After the previews, or advertisements, there were actual movie previews (all in French...which was interesting because I was still laughing even though I couldn't understand what they were saying. Comedy apparently transcends language, either that or it's just funny to hear people speak in French). It was at this point (the end of the previews & ads and the start of the movie) that the rain started. Thankfully we were prepared with our ponchos and umbrella (nobody was behind us so I didn't care if people in Switzerland now carry the impression that all Americans bring umbrellas to movies).

The rain wasn't that bad (it was a light rain mostly) and actually started to let up towards the middle. Before I forget, the movie was subtitled to aid all of the French reading people in the audience. Also, there were subtitles for the German reading people in the audience. This was interesting as we realized that one fourth of the screen was covered in text. After a few minutes we adjusted, until the bad guys in the movie started speaking Russian (all bad guys speak Russian...note to self: Learn Russian, chicks dig bad guys). We were really lost, as we failed to immediately notice that now in addition to German and French, there was also English subtitles.

It was around the half-way point of the movie when they decided to stop the movie for a fifteen minute smoke break. Europeans need to take things slowly while driving, vacationing, walking, etc., (read my previous posts), but they also apparently need time during a movie to stop, reflect, smoke, drink some wine (yes, people were actually bringing back glasses of Pinot Noir from the refreshment stand), and discuss the aspects of the movie. I can see the benefit of this as I am often accosted by my wife during movies, where she prods me for such valuable nuggets as "What's going on?," "I thought he was a bad guy," and "What happened, I was sleeping." (My responses are usually, "Shh! I'll tell you later," "Ugh, he was but now he isn't, I'll explain later," and "then go to bed and watch it tomorrow." The last one only works for DVDs because I can't afford to take her to more than one movie per month.)

Of course the rain has stopped for the intermission (seriously, do we need an intermission for a mindless Mel Brooks type comedy that is only 1 hour and 45 minutes long...) only to resume immediately upon everyone taking off their ponchos and putting away their umbrellas, and the resuming of the movie. At about the hour and a half mark there was a crucial scene where the rain started to come down pretty hard. For those that have been camping in the rain you are aware of the noise that rain can cause on the tent (or umbrella for that matter); needless to say I have no clue what the actors were saying for about five minutes. I hope it wasn't too important.

The movie ended, I clapped (well, not really...I didn't want to look like a complete buffoon), and the skies cleared. We walked home without getting wet at all (seriously, the rain stopped). So to recap, a movie that was just shy of two hours took us four hours to see, and cost about twice as much as I expected. It rained during the movie, and we were exposed as bumbling Americans who can't speak much French. I'd say it was a pretty good Date Night! (The movie was pretty funny too...)

My boss has me cleaning the apartment today. The chambermaid is apparently on holiday which leaves me to put away the dishes, clean the sinks, bathrooms, vacuum, take out the recycling, and do the grocery shopping. I'm new at this so I don't know how long it will take...hopefully it all works out.

My boss is pictured at left...I was able to take her to Annecy, France this weekend for a bike ride. It is a pretty little town about an hour and a half from our place around Lake Geneva (driving through Geneva).

The weather was beautiful but I forgot to charge the camera battery so we only snapped a couple of pics. The boss almost caused an international incident when a small child lunged in front of her bicycle at full speed (the bike, not the child). Thankfully her multiple years of biking experience helped avoid disaster.

The weather here has been remarkably wonderful, with days in the low 20's C (upper 60's to lower 70's for those on the F system of temperature) and very few rain showers (usually just when we're sleeping or during work days). I am quite certain that the great weather will continue if you come visit. The picture at right is a private residence on the lake in Annecy...seems a little small.

If you want to know who just won gold, let me know...we get to find out before America does. In fact, I don't really have a clue what's going on (I'm watching, just not 'hearing'), although one of the bonuses of living internationally in a country with four official languages is the ability to watch the Olympics in languages I don't understand.

We can watch in Italian, German, Swiss German, French, and British (English), and often we can see different events if we are tired of listening to the overexcited Italian announcers or the subdued French announcers who really don't seem to care who is winning as long as there is a good glass of wine at the finish line. Today I was able to watch rowing, judo, fencing, swimming, basketball, volleyball, and gymnastics (I quickly changed the channel when I realized it was gymnastics and not midget-tossing, the newest Olympic event). Each event was on a different channel in its entirety without breaking away after five minutes for something more exciting.

It is interesting that where the world expects the Chinese to block the internet and TV (or at least control what we can watch), it is really America with the most restrictions on what we get to watch and the time (unless you can figure out that internet thing). Not that I really want to wake up at 3 in the morning to watch the 10m air pistol competition, but should I desire to watch it live I can (in Switzerland). I like being able to see the events live, as they happen rather than on taped-replay at dinner time (or heavily edited to fit my time slot). I do however miss the heartwarming stories and soliloquies by Bob Costas and Bryant Gumbel.

It is fun watching the games in a foreign language if for nothing else than to hear the American athletes names pronounced by Europeans. Lebron James is pronounced Lay-Broaun Yames, Michael Phelps is Michelle Phiilps, President Bush is Mister Booosh (I can't remember what sport the last guy plays but he seems to be in a lot of events). Did you see that photo of the President with the women's beach volleyball team? Let's just say that I'm guessing Mrs. Booosh wasn't very happy with him.

Anyway, GO USA!

(Editor's note: Each of the pictures below can be clicked to see a normal size version of the photo...I do not recommend clicking on the chambermaid picture as it may cause nightmares. In the interest of conserving space and reducing global warming, I use smaller pics in the blog below. Thank you for supporting me in caring for the environment!)

Let's begin by welcoming you to beautiful Lausanne, Switzerland (we are on the Central European time zone and we observe Daylight Savings Time...we are +1 from GMT. We realize you have a choice when traveling and we would like to thank you for choosing Mark and Alli in Switzerland as part of your vacation). Did you have a nice trip? I hope the airport connections weren't too much of a hassle for you (I know the airport in Paris is under construction, but it beats flying through Amsterdam)...yes, we'll get to the chocolate factory tour soon, but first, let me take you on a tour of our apartment.

First, let me find a parking spot since we don't have a space in the garage. Yeah, for some reason we have to park outside but it beats parking outside in Minnesota. Ooh, there's a spot right in front where that old man is trying to get away. I'll let him move before I park there so he doesn't get too worried about me accidently hitting his Renault.

That's our apartment, the pinkish-hued one on the left. What's that you say, what's across the street? Oh, that's one of three community pools. It is very nice, it has an Olympic sized pool for lap swimming, tennis courts, a kiddie pool, and a normal pool for the kiddos to jump off the high dive. The noise isn't bad at all. In fact, it closes around 7 and in the winter is turned into a skating rink so we actually haven't even noticed it at all. It's also great because all of the cars are gone by the evening and since we aren't a major road it stays pretty quiet at night.

Well, here's the grand entrance...très chic! Hang on, let me check my mail. We don't get much but sometimes there is a letter or newspaper. Nope, nothing. Ok, now I have to open the second door with my universal key (it opens everything, the mailbox, the lobby doors, my apartment door, the laundry room, the storage room...). The ways these doors open it reminds me of either a cheesy ride at Disney World in Tomorrowland or the Starship Enterprise bridge. Sulu, set coordinates for 2nd floor, my apartment!

Shall we take the stairs or the lift (that's British for the elevator)? I'm guessing the lift since you have those heavy suitcases. I sure hope you brought me some fun American treats (shameless plug). Oh yeah, in case you are riding the elevator alone, R means the Ground Floor (not sure what R stands for but I think it means "Return to the Ground Floor" but they didn't have enough room to write the whole thing), we are on 2 (which is really the third floor), and -1 takes you to the basement where the laundry room and garage are located. You can also hit the door close button and the door will close without any delay (unlike in America where you have to wait the standard 5-10 seconds to make sure the doors with the automatic sensors don't attack you while trying to enter). Now I haven't tried the door open button yet so I don't know what it does...

Ah yes, here we are, second floor (third). We just over there to the right at the top of the stairs. The button on the bottom is to turn the lights in the hallway on, which is handy as they automatically shut off after a few minutes to save electricity. The button on top is our doorbell. You'll also notice a floor mat outside the door, it is there to prevent mad cow disease from being transmitted across the threshold. Allow me to open the door (you're going to have to move your giant suitcase that appears to be leaking...did you pack ice? You know, we do have ice here it's just not well advertised. You have to ask politely and you will get a cube or two).

Well, this is the grand foyer! As you can see it's quite spacious. Feel free to hang your coat right there and I'll show you around. You can leave your bag there for now, I'll have the timid chambermaid carry it to your quarters (please note that I am also the chambermaid despite the hairdo...so pretend you have to wait thirty seconds while I move your bag to the other room...look Alli, a boy multitasking!)

Welcome to our lovely kitchen. It was handcrafted with the finest European appliances, dinnerware, utensils, pottery, and tile from IKEA-taly. I'll admit it's nice having a refrigerator that is disguised as cabinet, only it's rough if you haven't had your morning bowl of ice cream and you can't remember which cabinet you need to open to get to the spoon, and which one holds my breakfast gelato. We have a lovely table in the kitchen with seating for four, although this can be increased to six if you happen to bring your man-servant and imaginary friend along.

As you can see we have a nice living room. The couch and chairs are comfy, unfortunately we don't have a pullout sofa or we'd have sleeping (comfortable anyway, there is plenty of floor space and we have ample sleeping bags) for more than four, although shorter people may sleep comfortably on the couch (I've only napped there a few dozen times this past week but I think I cleaned up most of the drool and chips that missed my mouth). We have two lovely terraces which open up off the living room/dining room/kitchen/bedrooms. The east facing terrace is great for summer barbecuing and social gatherings with our esteemed guests (such as yourselves). I'm glad you came, while the weather is ____________ (choose one: perfect, horrible) for sitting outside, we have much to see yet so you can come back later to ___________ (choose one: enjoy the terrace, turn into a Swiss popsicle). The north terrace is really just for sneaking out in the middle of the night and banging on the door of the person sleeping in the room next to you...I suppose we could put some chairs or something out there.

Yes, the fireplace works. It is very lovely this time of year, especially when we are looking for a little ambiance (actually, Switzerland has enough...let's move on). This is where the magic happens. (not that kind of magic...geesh) As you can see it isn't much but it serves it's purpose (I really only blog for about an hour and the rest of the time I search for internet recipes, baseball/football scores and stats, political news, and activities to do on the weekend with Alli (she should be home around 6 or 7...depending on whether or not she remembered you said dinner would be ready at 6). It also serves as our French teacher, but I often find it is better suited for games of Spider Solitaire and Minesweeper.

Oh, I almost forgot...there's a powder room across the way (across the way is French for two steps from where you are currently standing; this can also be used to describe the trek from the living room to the kitchen or bedroom or to the front door...it's not a large place). That room is for use whenever the more expansive chamber is occupied. Speaking of, this is the main bathroom. A little quirk about both bathrooms is that if you turn the fan on (usually racy jokes about wind tunnels do the trick), it doesn't activate immediately. It waits a bit before deciding to oblige (the same as when you turn it off...it takes a while to get the hint). I think this is due to the electricity takes longer to get here from America. Another thing, the toilets here are a bit different. They flush differently (and I'm not referring to the ones that spray up). See that giant plastic thing on the wall there, that's the lever to flush. I understand that Europeans have trouble activating the smaller American type toilet levers due to the amount of wine consumed while brushing their teeth (they don't use Evian to brush their teeth contrary to rumors on the internet). As a result, they invented fool proof flushing levers on the wall. If you wish to quit the flush (perhaps you are still sitting there or you just weren't ready), simply press stop at any time to exit the ride. A docent will guide you away from the toilet and to the nearest exit.

Outside the main bathroom is our room. If you see the room a-rockin', please let us know as there is most likely an earthquake or the apartment is about to collapse and we would like to be the first out (bloggers first, women and children second...somebody has to write about what happened). Immediately next to our room is the room where you will be staying. For an extra fee we can ensure you have clean sheets and towels upon your arrival.

You will also notice the lovely blinds located outside the doors. These can be controlled from inside and offer you the privacy of a inside blinds without the messy cleaning (we just wait til it rains). All of the rooms have their own doors that double as windows as they must have received a buy one get four free deal at the lumberyard. When closed, you will be amazed at the lack of outside noise and airflow in summer. We tend to keep them open at night. It is a safe neighborhood with only minor problems such as speaking a little too loud after 10pm (that's right crazy French speaking people, I'm talking to you!).

That concludes our tour and being that this tour was provided by an unpaid volunteer, please feel free to tip him as you leave so he can get a normal haircut.

I am sorry for the low output of blog posts in the last couple days (well, at least Quixotic adventures and such...I haven't found any windmills (moulin à vent) yet). I suppose I have entered the doldrums of living abroad and as a result I don't have any good material. I promise I will try and create some good adventures soon, as I am sure there are those out there convinced that I am living a lifestyle that would enable the sort of Tom Foolery that you all have grown fond of reading.
In the meanwhile, I will post some toilet humor. The picture at left is from our hotel in Turin, no that isn't a sink next to the toilet (at least not one you'd brush your teeth in). Needless to say we did not utilize it for any purposes, not even to test the water temperature (I'm guessing it was tepid).

There have also been some requests to see what our apartment looks like, especially compared to the previous one. I will do a separate post on the new apartment immediately following this one, although to hold you over until that occurs I have included two photos of the respective "sitting" rooms from each apartment. I will let you guess which one goes with which apartment.

It's also raining here so I have been doing things related to learning French, such as taking online lessons and trying to book a weekend trip to Paris. So far so good, I can now safely distinguish between a little boy, a little girl, a cat and a dog (garçon, fille, chat, and chien) as well as basic colors of each (I am worried that they haven't taught me how to address a situation where a small child is literally blue, but that might be covered in the next lesson...so I will be avoiding kids for the next few days). Someday I hope to be able to have a conversation with any of the aforementioned and have them understand me...

After we finished enjoying the cowbells and alpenhorns, we wandered the streets of Zurich looking for more excitement. Unfortunately, it was getting late in the day and my fair bride needed food. We found a lovely place called "The Spaghetti Factory" which specializes in some sort of noodle dish. It was delicious and I highly recommend it to anyone in Zurich looking to avoid the rain that they would have otherwise been exposed to had they remained outside looking for something more Swiss. In fact there is a lot of great Italian food in Europe, so for those worried about having to dine on pig trotters, foie gras, and terrine de beouf, worry not! There are also plenty of McDonald's although just to warn you a McChicken combo meal costs about 14 CHF (that's about $14 US, and you don't get free refills for your Coke, ketchup for your fries, or ice unless you are really persistent).

Now these falls are no namby-pamby waterfalls, they average a water-flow this time of year of about 700 cubic meters per second, (about 25,000 cubic feet per second...that's a lot of orange juice) and although they are smaller than the Niagara falls (average of about 8 times more water-flow per second) they are still very impressive. I was prompted to come to this spot for fireworks as I learned through the power of the internet that the falls are a spectacular place to watch fireworks and it's cool to watch them go over the waterfalls. Indeed.

In America, we would have been kept a great distance away from the pyrotechnics (not to mention the waterfalls) for fear of lost limb or fireworks gone awry (or accidentally falling over the edge). In Switzerland, not so much. Not only could you get close, they pretty much were exploding directly overhead. You could feel the explosions in your chest, which I am sure would be great for those with pacemakers.. I would have expected the crowd to be a few thousand, maybe close to 10000 given that Schaffhausen is a town of about 33000 and not everyone goes to these events. Conservatively I would say there were between 100000 and 125000 people there, it was amazing. People lined the banks of the Rhine, the railroad tracks above the falls, chartered boats to sit in the water below the falls, it was unreal.

The show had typical fireworks you'd see in America, but there were a few displays that were, like totally awesome. One such display involved fireworks attached to parachutes. At first I thought they were balloons but Alli informed me (remember, I'm the engineer) that there is no way that they could launch a balloon and have it inflate (and stay inflated) with exploding shrapnel and intense heat from the very fireworks they were supporting. At least someone in this family is paying attention. The second involved launching fireworks into the water, which at first seemed like those shows you see on TV like "World's Scariest Fireworks Disasters," but eventually proved to be a deliberate act. I have attached videos of both below although they don't do justice to the awesomeness of the show.

If you are ever near the Rhine Falls and within a couple days of Swiss National Day, rearrange your plans and go check the fireworks out...you won't be disappointed!

Today (5 August) is my dad's birthday, and since I can't be in Michigan to celebrate I'll just have to do it online. For those of you who don't know the legend of my father, I will recite it for you here. Now I am doing this from memory so some of the details may not be accurate; overall I think I keep pretty close to the original story with only moderate embellishments.

A young Army Captain and his wife having spent a few years together after his graduation from West Point getting to know each others habits, drink preferences (Martinis and Manhattans, respectively), and roles in the household (the negotiations were tenuous) were eagerly waiting for his next assignment. Now during this time there went out a decree from General MacArthur that all of the Army personnel should be taxed. The Army Captain, being a true American hero, who hailed from the city of St. Joseph (Missouri...or was it Atchison, Kansas?), took his wife to be registered. This was the second registration that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria (apparently the first one didn't go so well...uncounted registrations, registration disenfranchisement, registration intimidation, etc.).

Just kidding, that's not really what happened. You see, my Grandpa was stationed in Japan following the Second World War (not immediately after, but due to contractual obligations I have been sworn to secrecy as to the exact year of my father's birth...) along with my Grandma (she wasn't stationed there as far as we know, but there's always the possibility that she is a secret CIA agent, living a double life of coffee klatches and espionage...I'm just saying) where they lived in relative peace and harmony with the local Japanese (except for that one night when Grandma accidentally wore her shoes into the house of the mayor of the city). It was at this point that a giant green lizard (which was awoken from the atomic bombs dropped at the end of the war) began terrorizing a small island named Odo (although at that time he was black and white as color TV hadn't been invented yet). Attacks by the Army against this menacing beast proved fruitless.

It was at this time the young Army Captain and his wife were visited by angels (while they slept of course so there conveniently wouldn't be any witnesses) who told them they were going to have a son. Their son would deliver the people from the menacing beast, known locally as ゴジラ, (This is Japanese for Gorilla ゴリラ, and Whale 鯨...according to Wikipedia anyway). It was on the 5th day of August in an unspecified year, during the second term of Prime Minister Shigeru Yoshida, that their son was born.

His name would be Timothy.

After quickly showing at a young age his skills in taming the lizard through compassion, love and understanding, it became apparent that he would be destined for greatness as a Pastor in the Lutheran Church. During this time a star shone brightly signifying to the world that the days of sermons lasting longer than fifteen minutes would no longer be tolerated. That star still shines today in the hearts and minds of those who bore witness to its glory.

At this time it would also be revealed that as a two-year old he foolishly signed away the rights to his story, which Hollywood quickly changed to remove any references of the young prodigy and his passionate story to something more action-packed. (The way I've heard the story, Grandma and Grandpa had left him unsupervised with Raymond Burr while in the hospital in Tokyo delivering their second son, who would go on to be a coonskin cap wearing, hermit crab fisherman in North Carolina who specializes in alligator wrestling).

So every year we celebrate this most honorable and glorious of days, the birth of Timothy the Preacher. May we all clap our hands mightily and raise our ice-laden Diet Cokes in his honor, lest we never forget why he was sent...to defeat the menacing Godzilla!

Happy Birthday Dad!

*Disclaimer - Any resemblance of this story to the actual Nativity and Godzilla movies is purely coincidental and in no way represents copyright infringement or heresy. My uncle is not really a coonskin cap wearing, hermit crab fisherman in North Carolina who specializes in alligator wrestling, but he does idolize Davy Crockett more than a normal man should. Also, my Diet Coke will be replaced by regular Coke and my ice will be replaced by more regular Coke.

This post is probably going to be lengthy, so I'll break it up into a couple to keep you on the edge of your seat. I must warn you that I don't advise reading this post on a laptop in the bathroom as being on the edge of that seat could create problems that I am in no way responsible for causing.

Well, it was bound to happen. No, we weren't arrested, deported, nor banned from anything...but let me tell you what went down in old Zurich town (Part I). Swiss National Day occurs every year on the first day of August. Every town and village celebrates the day marking the solidarity of all Swiss States as one nation (they've been celebrating this day for 100 years, although the official Federal Charter of Switzerland dates to 1291, so a little longer than the U.S., but who's counting).

Zurich is a neat old town, filled with neat old buildings and neat old people (just kidding, there were some new buildings too). We made our way to the neat old train station where we waited in a line for a while...we got older...the line was long...finally. Alli asked what there was to do today as all the shops were closed (due to the holiday) so there must be some fun things to do. The tourist agentista (I thought I'd make her sound more important than she really was, kind of like the barista at Starbucks) indicated that there was a parade to celebrate the Swiss National Day, but that ended a few hours ago (gee, thanks for making us feel like idiots for not being here first thing to watch the Swiss Shriners on their miniature funiculars going through the roundabouts spraying the crowd with fondue). She told us that there was a folk festival occurring down near the lake but that was over at four. It was about 2-ish so she figured we might not make it without some sort of transportation miracle, being that it was a good kilometer or so and who on Earth could possibly make it that far in such a short period of time, especially on foot? (If this doesn't make you chortle then you obviously don't understand the disdain Europeans have for traversing long distances in a short period of time. To them, driving an hour out of the city should take at least a day or two because there is just so much to see and do along the way. Look kids a rest stop! We'll, if they didn't want me to rest they wouldn't have built it, let's stop and sleep overnight...wake up, drive 50km, repeat. And that's the story of why Europeans need ten weeks of vacation each year). She then bemoaned the lack of fireworks in the city (she was quite apologetic...it appears the rest of the world understands our zeal for blowing up things for no reason as long as the colors are pretty and sparkly) and said there really wasn't anything else to do. (Note to self, Zurich is really boring according to the person being paid to be an ambassador of the city).

Being in the folk festival mood (and not wanting to miss what appeared to be the only fun thing to do in this city according to an underpaid tourist agenista) we strolled down towards the lake. We found the festival site (you could smell the bratwurst and rösti from blocks away...hey, my computer learned a new trick, the umlaut!) and immediately were taken by the crowd and the sounds of horns. I knew we were in for a treat when I saw what at first appeared to be standard sized horns, but upon closer inspection revealed three giant alpenhorns...(Never underestimate the power of good vision). We listened to them play for a bit and took in the festivities (heck yes it was awesome). It was at this point that I got a fever. No, not a real fever...but I tell you, the only prescription to cure my fever, was more cowbell. The alpenhorn, or alphorn, is used by the mountain cow herders to signal the cows that it is time to come home for milking, as at the time of its invention yodeling was still deemed 'lame' by the alpenteens.

Rolf, Fritz, and Larry
In Switzerland, we've noticed the cows don't always have brands or tags like the cows back in the good ole' USA, instead, they wear bells around their necks. The bells vary in shape and size ranging from the kind Alli uses to summon me to draw her bath or bring her a chocolate, to the size of bell you'd find on a medieval church tower to let the town folks know when it was an acceptable time to open their calf-skin satchels of wine and yodel at above normal levels (provided there was no imminent avalanche danger). I have learned through the art of folk-lore (I learned this at this festival) that the point of the bells is to prevent the herders of cows from being startled.

This is how the word coward was invented. A cow herder, or cowherd for short was usually a wimpish male deemed unfit for other tasks such as tending the fondue pot or rounding up the field mice and bopping them on the head. Before the advent of cow bells the cowherds were often found frolicking in the Alpine meadows chasing marmots and goats, dreaming of a life where they could do more important tasks such as brush the fur on the cows or make the giant wheels of Gruyere cheese (they were still allowed to make wheels of cheese, but they were only allowed to make the pocket sized ones you often find wrapped in red cellophane at the supermarket). The cows found it such good fun to sneak up on the cowherd and let out a resounding moo-yodel that the cowherd would often run fearing his life was in mortal danger (unfortunately I do not have this on tape). Over time, the word changed to our present day 'coward' meaning someone who is afraid of cows.
Thus, the cowards invented the cowbell to help alleviate the problem of mischievous cows. The size of the bell is indicative of the skulduggery of the cow, the bigger the bell, the larger the offender. True story, honest.

Back to the story, it was during the playing of the Alpenhorns that I realized their beauty and majesty...They played all of the Swiss hits such as "Edelweiss," "Heidi, Grandpa can't find his Special Medicine," "The Alp Horn Jive" and "Marmot-dance," and then we were treated to a very special song; complete with authentic cowbells. I simply cannot express in words the feelings evoked by the pastoral scene created by the musical harmony of the alpenhorns with the cowbells. Even watching it again and again I am struck by the grandeur of the cowbells...the only question I have is how the cow learned the melody.

Enjoy the clip below, I hope it brings you as much joy as it has to me!