The Adventures of Swiss Ms.

United with my states

2009-09-18T20:28:00.005+02:00

2009-09-18T07:00:00.001+02:00

After a lo-ong few weeks, we are back in the US o'A. We've had a pleasantly surreal few days here in Seattle, in our own country but feeling as foreign as could be. We seem to require a brief retraining on the basics of American culture. The things which bothered us in CH somehow became normal. Now, for instance, I must remind myself that eye contact is not creepy.

The niceness of the US, Seattle in particular, must be overwhelming for complete newcomers. Why would the guy giving my sandwich tell me to "take care" in such a nice way? Why! And the constant smiling! Where do they come up with all the extra energy for this? It may be a sign of idiocy in some cultures, but to me it represents a kind of openness and care I never really noticed in my own people before. I am enjoying this generous perspective at the moment – beatific, really.

Though Swiss Ms. has plenty of other observations about Seattle, she's not sure whether she will continue public broadcast of them in the future. There's a time when enough is enough and one commentator more may be one commentator too many. (Also, it's hard to be a luddite and a blogger at the same time.) But she thanks you kindly for your attention and interest over the past few years and wishes you well in your own endeavors at home, abroad, or hovering interstitially in the blogosphere. Also, she heartily suggests, should any opportunity to escape your daily grind for a season or so arise, that you take it. A bit of early retirement is good for the soul, completely worth paying for later.

Not far from the 'fest

2009-09-10T12:54:00.006+02:00

ahhaHA! You thought this post was going to be about how sad we are to miss Oktoberfest this year. But it's not! It's about our first official excursion from Seattle to Leavenworth, Washington's own little Bavarian village. We are planning it already. They have everything Munich has (sausages, overpriced Paulaner, Bavarian flags) and more (pulled pork! baked beans! The Smilin' Scandanavians!). The only thing missing, really, is Germans. But will we even notice that when we are listening to the festive tunes of the Polkatones, S-BAHN, and Alpenfolk? Seriously, can you even guess whether this is in Munich or Leavenworth?

Adesso BASTA!

2009-09-09T14:58:00.008+02:00

I shall truly miss the excitement of getting the mail each day; surely it will never again be so entertaining or enlightening. In today's mail, a flyer against the proposed increase in value-added tax and a petition to keep banking secrecy in the Swiss constitution remind me that "Ticino is in danger!" Warning well taken, UDC – these foreigners are outie!

"Banking secrecy is part of our identity!"

2009-09-08T15:35:00.003+02:00

This furniture ad made me laugh every time we passed it. Binacci multiplies my happiness.

Total eclipse of the heart

2009-09-08T13:00:00.002+02:00

Also, this picture of Angela from the NY Times reminds me of a 70s album cover.

Kein Heineken!

2009-09-07T09:35:00.002+02:00

Today (American Labor Day) may have seemed like a good time to pop open a bottle of Keineken. But sadly, you may have a hard time getting hold of one, due to the patent infringement proceedings initiated by Heineken, in which a (Swiss) judge ordered the beer to be confiscated. Keineken was in fact created to protest Heineken's recent takeover of Eichhof (with a nod to Unser, another protest beer formed after Carlsberg's takeover of Feldschlösschen).

But I say, let the Northern Europeans have your lame stinky lagers! What pride is there in those? How much better (and more Swiss) would it be to have instead a collection of cantonal microbreweries, cranking out a nice variety of beer that actually tastes good? Leave the oversized cans to 14-year-olds. Drink watery lager at a football game. And demand more from your breweries. This is my advice, CH. I hope you take it. If not, please lower the import tax on German beer.

Special papal blessing

2009-09-04T11:26:00.009+02:00

"May The Force be also with you."

The Helvetians

2009-09-03T09:47:00.007+02:00

Because, daft Protestants that we are, Swiss Mr. and I were unable to locate Pope Benedict during his Sunday noon blessing on St. Peter's Square, we had to watch his address on the jumbotron outside the Basilica with girls in short shorts. Had a few things been different, it could have been the final scene from a romantic comedy. I hear your voice, I see you on the screen, where are you, XVI? It's noon and I'm here but you will never know I came like you asked. You will go back into your papal residence and I will get on my discount airline and we shall never know what could have been between us. Vale in aeternam, my love.

As it turned out, we had neither romance nor comedy nor blessing. We might as well have been watching CTV at home. And this may have been better because we would have heard more than mrhmpf hurnf blerb grazie. So we missed the Pope but had plenty of time to unblessedly gawk at his colorful guards. They don't seem very Ticinesi, as I sort of assumed they might be, but it was still nice to see some fellow compatriots. They chat photogenically.

"The Helvetians are a people of warriors, famous for the valor of their soldiers." –Tacitus

In case you couldn't put your finger on it, "the colors which make the uniform so attractive are the traditional Medici blue, red and yellow, set off nicely by the white of the collar and gloves. The blue and yellow bands give a sense of lightness as they move over the red doublet and breeches" (The Vatican). And in case you were thinking these colors look really nice on you, here are the criteria for joining the Guardia Svizzera Pontificia:

They're apparently considering to allow women into the Guard. First Swiss Guard then the Camerlengo, I know it: the Helvetians are going to bust the Vatican wide open.

2009-09-01T11:25:00.005+02:00

We're back, with the experienced knowledge of why most Romans leave Rome in August: it hot. Thankfully, Rome is a fountainful city and we kept relatively cool by fountain-hopping. Swiss Mr. was predictably enamored by this one near Augustus' tomb.

2009-08-27T12:40:00.003+02:00

One last trip this weekend - to Rome! I plan to eat and drink myself silly – a fitting conclusion, I think, to this lovely life pause I've been enjoying. And then I will store up these memories like treasures for use in dire situations, like when I cannot bear another rainy day or find it impossible to get out of bed or get attacked by a shark in Puget Sound. Nothing wrong with a few secret vacation hits to get you through the withdrawal.

Having rather ignorantly prepared Pasta all'Amatriciana for some time now, I look forward to tasting a real Roman version. Or at least a realer version. There is (surprise!) some dispute among Italians over what constitutes real Amatriciana sauce; ingredients vary by location. But in Amatrice, the town outside of Rome where the recipe originated, real Amatriciana sauce uses guanciale (pork cheek), spaghetti, and avoids THAT ROMANO STUFF. (Technically that part is one of the few parts of the recipe not in caps, but I don't feel out of line in using them here. I'm sure some Italians have shouted over this before.)

Here's the recipe I've used in the past if you'd like to try it; you'll notice in addition to being corrupted by Romano cheese, it's missing the pork cheek. (Oh Marcella, what will we do with you?) I'll let you know if this makes a difference when I get back. A dopo!

Pasta all'Amatriciana
Serves 4

2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 tablespoon butter
1 medium onion, chopped finely
1/4 inch thick slice of pancetta, cut into strips 1/2 inch wide and 1 inch long
1 1/2 cups Italian plum tomatoes, drained and chopped
hot red chili pepper, chopped, to taste
salt
3 tablespoons Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese
2 tablespoons Romano cheese
1 pound pasta (bucatini (hollow spaghetti) is traditional in Rome)

Put the oil, butter, and onion in a saucepan and turn on the heat to medium. Sauté the onion until pale gold, then add the pancetta. Cook for about 1 minute, stirring once or twice.

Add the tomatoes, the chili pepper, and salt, and cook in the uncovered pan at a steady, gentle simmer for 25 minutes, being careful it doesn't burn.

Taste and correct for seasonings

Toss the pasta with the sauce, then add both cheeses, and toss thoroughly again.

Maggia

2009-08-26T08:50:00.011+02:00

Our recent trip into Val Maggia this weekend reminded me how we never got around to visiting Spluga, a little community of old stone cottages in the Giumaglio valley where we once planned to stop overnight during a long hike.

The Swiss love to hike (or steadily plod, as "Hiking the Swiss Way" explains). The entire country is a network of well-marked trails, so it's quite easy to have a lovely excursion wherever you may travel. High in the mountains you can all kinds of small cabins at which you can stop, sleep, and eat. At least in Ticino, these capanne (huts) are beautiful old stone houses, with just enough accommodation so that you can sleep and have a meal indoors before continuing on your next leg. If you're lucky someone's nonna will be cooking you some polenta, but that's not very common.

When I retire for real, I'd like to return to Ticino and find my own stone house (though preferably the kind that has been finished inside with modern Swiss über-quality), perhaps in a village needing an eccentric expat to nonna some street urchins and tame the local cats. If you saw these sweet little villages nestled into these magical, foresty valleys, you'd be planning this, too. Only Swiss Mr. seems immune to the siren call of these towns: these are solo retirement plans. I find it best not to think of the details of how this will work. No need to be overly practical when making dreamy life plans, anyway.

2009-08-25T10:23:00.005+02:00

Did you know you can actually get a sunburn on your eyeballs? Even wearing sunglasses. Current experience proves it to me. It is not very pleasant. So be careful, my blue-eyed friends – protect yourselves. I'll be going granny-style from now on. I suggest you do, too.

2009-08-21T10:27:00.006+02:00

I had planned to do a series on graffiti in honor of Banksy, revealing my secret anarchic tendencies, but it appears I have forgotten. Sad, Graffiti Week had a nice ring to it. Anyway, here are a few graffiti from our trip:

(Unrelated, of course, except in that they are both graffiti)

Please enjoy your Friday.

Bathroom advice

2009-08-19T14:43:00.009+02:00

Though I try rigorously to avoid it, I've seen my fair share of public bathrooms recently. My three-pronged approach – drink as little as possible, breakfast strategically, avoid preemptive strikes (also known in some parts as "breaking the seal") – is quite robust but occasionally fails me on long trips, usually because I do something wussy like get thirsty. It is wise to weigh the options well before an emergency situation arises so as to avoid experiences it will take a lifetime or possibly extreme old age to forget. I am a big fan of the museum bathroom, my experience in the superheated, permanently-occupied National Gallery of Scotland toilet notwithstanding; hotel lobbies are also nice. But if you want plan this out way ahead of time and/or become a total bathroom snob, check out The Bathroom Diaries.

There you will find among other over-the-top bathroom venues this flowery "Golden Plunger" winner over at the Shoji Tabuchi Theatre. Down in Branson, Missouri, they prefer "good old-fashioned hedonism." Either this is one PDG bathroom or their fan base is not quite representative of the general public – I only know two other people who even have the pleasure of knowing about Shoji Tabuchi (up until this moment, of course). Anyway, Golden Plunger or not, who needs to visit Branson now that they make VHS tapes of the show?

Banksy, indoors

2009-08-18T07:54:00.001+02:00

Swissify America!

2009-08-17T09:52:00.004+02:00

I was going to comment on the Swiss health care system one of these days, in light of the ferocious debate going on in the US, but Paul Krugman beat me to it. As most of our past visitors know, we are big fans of the Swiss system and have long thought it would make a smart model for the US. To summarize it in short: every resident is required to have a minimum level of coverage, insurance companies (all private) have to make certain plans available and must accept all applicants, and the government provides assistance to families who need it. Finding a reasonable health care plan was surprisingly one of the easiest things to do here (considerably easier than getting access to the laundry). There were many companies from which to choose, even at the lowest level of coverage, and the policies were easy to compare. We chose the cheapest option possible and have received excellent (and, I might add, very high-tech) care. We have not one complaint (though my teeth are annoyed we did not add dental). Just my two francs' worth.

In which Swiss Ms. relates some real-life daydreams, gets temporarily nostalgic about weird things, and grudingly admits to missing her homeland

2009-08-14T10:44:00.017+02:00

Sometimes I really long for a few American-style errands to run – the soothing and mindless Saturday morning kind. Slip into the car, catch familiar NPR voices in between purposeful jaunts, sip a coffee maybe, stop in somewhere you never have time for during the week, buy a book on World Religions from a yard sale, avoid the baseball traffic, put on Dick Biondi if the errands take too long and Garrison Keilor shows up. Or walk down to Kim's Hardware, overpay for a specialty tool, write a check for the box of vegetables next door, and stroll home. (Actually huff my way home, since I am carrying the big box of vegetables, but feeling pleased about the exercise I won't have to do later. Also everyone will be impressed and feel guilty when they hear I've done it myself.) I can think of a thousand versions of Saturday morning and somehow they all seem pleasant to me. Especially if we happen to run into Kim and Ryan.

I am overlooking the hateful truth in these real-life daydreams, of course. That is, that errands always take longer than you think, chomp up your fresh weekend energy, and leave you really hungry in the middle of the afternoon with a stupid amount of time left in the day. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, my mom recently pointed out, even of inanimate objects. I guess we can add "horrible and grueling tasks" as well. Maybe this is why I also feel nostalgic about cleaning graffiti off our building? And why people run more than one marathon?

The real story is that, despite loving so many things about the lovely lifestyle and setting and culture here, it is about time to come home. It's hard for me to admit that, by the way, like I'm exposing some sissy weakness. I never was the kid crying to go home at the end of camp, I swear. I was the one conspiratorially telling my parents in the car how some suckers actually had to call their parents in the middle of the week. It's not really about the errands or having a car or writing checks (which if nothing else is way more satisfying than making a bank transfer, by the way). I don't even think it's about feeling purposeful. I'm not sure what it's about. It's just the mystery of home.

2009-08-14T09:00:00.001+02:00

Sorry, no time for posts lately. Been drinking beer.

“Pronto? Sono il piromane…”

2009-08-11T14:47:00.006+02:00

Hooray! Lugano's rogue pyromaniac, responsible for a good number of local building and dumpster fires over the years, has been captured. Not long after he called the local newspaper to identify himself as "Serial Fire" and have a chat about his handiwork last week, the police caught up with him. (Bragging always gets you caught, I know that from my own experience stealing library books.) Anyway, it was fun to have a real Lugano supervillain while it lasted

You can find the full (Italian) transcript of the whole weird conversation (which begins, "Hello? I am the pyromaniac from yesterday's fires...") here.

The Big Mac Index

2009-08-07T13:04:00.009+02:00

Unless I am forced to do so by strange circumstances I strenuously avoid eating at McDonalds. Maybe everyone says this now? Sometimes I get into trouble by being too graphic about things I do not like to eat, especially when others really do, so I will leave it at that. In any case, having been an adolescent stockholder of MCD, this makes me feel slightly guilty and vaguely anti-American. Growing up in the shadow of corporate headquarters, though, it was somehow easier to support its plan for world domination, knowing it was at least benefitting neighbors and communities nearby. (Okay, and me.) All this to say, it makes good sense to me to use the Big Mac to evaluate currencies relative to the dollar. Despite never having had Big Macs in Europe, I'm pretty this also correctly indexes the horror we felt when the bill arrived in these various countries.

The Big Mac index compliments of The Economist

Clouds on the horizon

2009-08-06T12:14:00.005+02:00

As we prepare to leave Lugano and our smart little white apartment here, nothing strikes fear into my heart more than stories like this. It has already been established that, by Swiss standards, I am a totally incompetent cleaner. So I have long dreaded the moving-out process, or rather the apartment inspection at its conclusion. The scratches in our stainless steel sink keep me from sleeping at night; spills make me cry. In my spare time I clean the oven. Please believe me, I jest not about this dread.

My personal pride, by now perhaps permanently crippled, is not the issue. It is that our management company has a not-so-inconsequential sum of our ever-dwindling savings from which to punitively subtract fees. How much will the brown spot under the mirror, which is only my fault if one can be blamed (and I'm sure that one can) for cleaning too much, cost? The daily pain and suffering to be endured by future residents who will have to bear this constant incursion of entropy into their lives is bound to cost a lot in Switzerland.

Trains are on time, babies do not cry, cars stop at crosswalks, and walls apparently do not get those mysterious gray scuff marks. This is the way of life in Switzerland. And, ah, how we will miss paying for it.

Stuck in committee in the capitol city (but better than on a plane)

2009-07-31T08:43:00.009+02:00

Other than politicians and real estate agents, is there anyone easier to vilify than the airline people? It's doubtful. I'm not one to kick a man while he's down, but I have some bad feelings about how some airlines do business, i.e., dubiously, and I shan't decorously stifle them any longer. (Wait, what is this feeling? Is it concern? Political concern? Is some dormant interest awakening in this prematurely disaffected political curmudgeon? Also doubtful.)

In any case, I don't plan for this to be a rant. I won't even belabor how annoying it is that you have to pay for a bit of water on most flights. There are real irritations and injustices to complain about – people stuck on airplanes for hours and hours, overbooking, unfair bumping, deceptive "on time" techniques, route cancellations.... I'm pretty sure the personal anecdotes on this topic are infinite. Not to mention the price-fixing, trust-like actions we may or may not ever hear about.

Some may continue to give airline companies the benefit of the doubt – blame it on weather, costs, regulations, etc. I think I understand it is difficult to work with so many restrictions. But at some point one must wonder why policies that lead to such vexing and at times inhumane situations have continued. Such terrible service is unamerican! Seriously.

The EU's provision for Air Passenger's Rights has been functioning for years now. The market has not imploded. You can still fly very cheaply between most cities. Bathrooms are still free. And sometimes you still get sandwiches. Dignity intact.

HR915, a bill that just passed the House this spring and is in a Senate committee at the moment, is attempt to rectify some of these problems (though focuses more the inhumanity and inconvenience than the lack of sandwiches). Because I am so fair and balanced, I provide also for your review the GOP cheat sheet, which suggests some good reasons to be disagreeable.

In case you didn't do an internship for Dick Durbin, you should know it's a long, long wait while it's sitting in committee (more on that process here). The committee here would be the Senate Committee for Commerce, Science, and Transportation. The showdown between John D. Rockefeller IV and Kay Bailey Hutchinson should be thrilling. It's not actually clear to me when or if this bill will actually be debated in committee, but it's good to know it's come so far.

My favorite part of the bill, by the way, is Section 41724, which outlaws "voice communications using mobile communication devices" on the plane. Perhaps there is some humanity left out there. Perhaps the political system does work. We'll see.

Words of wisdom from Snez

2009-07-29T10:27:00.003+02:00

(and also apparently Christopher Morley)

BY style

2009-07-28T09:38:00.004+02:00

At first the ladies were like a collective mirage. Just as soon as I spotted one, she would disappear over the horizon, around the corner, down a side street. But they were there. I swore it up and down to Swiss Mr. They were everywhere – carefully dressed, with shopping bags swinging. It took a while for my brain to assemble the data – yellow sundress lady with yellow polka dot shopping bag, pink shirt lady with pink flowered bag, even brown suit lady with a brown one – into a conclusion, but then I was convinced of it: in Minsk the shopping bag had become a fashion accessory.

Stressed

2009-07-27T09:10:00.003+02:00

The Swiss rapper Stress is not very amused by the antics of the Swiss SVP/UDC party (that's the right-wing party that brought us the infamous sheep ad, the crow ad, and the eminently tasteful grabby hands ad). Upon discovering his music, I was initially just entertained by the idea of Swiss rap. But after watching a few videos, I stopped thinking of Weird Al and wondering about the wardrobe, and began to contemplate his anger. Its apparent earnestness helped me realize how seriously un-funny the SVP's political positions really are. It occurs to me now that I would editorialize much differently if I had to live with this party prominent in my own country. After much consideration, then, I hereby declare, in homage to Stress, the SVP to be a bunch of dirty rotten bastards.

-

(A warning that, if you watch and/or listen carefully, you may be offended by Stress's - um -indelicacy. Pardon his French.)

2009-07-24T09:55:00.002+02:00

The Bronze Horsemen

2009-07-23T10:52:00.007+02:00

On a shore by the desolate waves

He stood, with lofty thoughts,

And gazed into the distance . . .

–Pushkin, The Bronze Horseman

St. Petersburg has almost mythical origins; out of a swamp Peter the Great personally willed a fantastic city into being. It's like a story you read in a museum next to some antiquated city blueprints: Quasi-delusional military leader envisions an ideal European city over a swamp but dies tragically dies before realizing his vision. Except that Peter the Great didn't die early, and didn't really have to convince anyone that his proposal was good or reasonable – he just said the word and his fantastical plans became reality.

The Bronze Horseman statue, commissioned well after Peter's death by Catherine the Great, became, with Pushkin's help, a symbol of Russian progress. Peter urges his horse ahead - or is he trying to stop? "A city hewn in stone is never wholly safe from the incursions of the watery chaos from which was claimed," Orlando Figes points out, "and this sense of living on the edge was wonderfully conveyed by [its sculptor] Falconet." He tells a great story – almost too good to seem true – about how a commission inspected the giant statue in 1909. They drilled holes in it and collected 1500 liters of water from the inside. Its history, its origins are inescapable.

Though you can't exactly tell from the picture, the statue is just gigantic. According to Figes, the granite base for the statue weighed 660,000 kilos and took 1000 men 18 months to transport 13 kilometers from a nearby forest. Peter and his horse are about 12 meters tall and 30 meters around. Though not generally an expensive statue enthusiast, after walking around STP (or, in local parlance, just "Peter") for a few days, I'm pretty convinced this was well-deserved.

*Most of what I currently know about Russia and all of what I have quoted above comes from Orlando Figes's really great cultural history of Russia, Natasha's Dance (Picador, 2002).

Next stop, toilet!

2009-07-21T10:57:00.005+02:00

We were filled with both fear and admiration upon seeing this traveling WC in St. Petersburg. I guess we would have had to go on board to find out if it was really genius or not, but at the time neither of us was adventuresome enough to do so; we admired from afar. Now that I am thinking about it, though, I really want to know what the inside looks like.

I so love that they changed the route to WC.

Those Whirling Dervishes

2009-07-20T08:19:00.000+02:00

One of the things that I was in spite of myself excited to see on our trip was a whirling dervish ceremony. Before I learned anything about it, it was in the same general category as belly dancing. But whirling is more than a dance the tourist board resurrected to attract suckers for folk dance to their country. It is a religious practice with mystic, philosophical roots – and though it is hard to tell out of context – a symbolic ritual.

Dervish is the name given to Sufi seekers following the spiritual practices maintained from the time of the Prophet Mohammed. Whirling dervishes belong to the Mevlevi Order, a Sufi order founded by the followers of Rumi, a 13th century poet and mystic who inspired the use of poetry and dancing to open people to the presence of God.

Like meditation, whirling is a metaphysical journey to the interior of self. The dancer pursues truth, abandons his ego, ecstatically whirls toward Perfection. "When the dervishes turn, they are focusing their attention on their inner centre and they turn around and around their own centre in this way, and there should be nothing else in their hearts except remembrance of God" (Sufism Journal).

Interestingly, this sect was banned by Turkish law in 1925 out of fear that it would cause problems with the new secular government. Thankfully, these restrictions have been relaxed in recent years, so we were able to enjoy some whirling dervish with our dinner one night in Istanbul.

Thinking too much as usual, I found it hard to enjoy the performance (if indeed that is what we were supposed to do). It's a bit perplexing, this performing of sacred rituals for tourists. It would seem like a convenient exchange – they get our patronage at their restaurant and we don't have to travel all the way to Rumi's shrine – but I somehow felt we had all cheapened something intimate and sacred. It was a bit like walking into a Russian Orthodox service with squeaky shoes. Also, though it is not very enlightened of me to say, it became a bit boring in such a mundane context (like watching someone pray on stage for an hour). It's hard to decide what to think about experiences like these. I really wish I were the kind of person who could just drink my tea and be amazed he didn't get dizzy.

2009-07-20T07:00:00.000+02:00

Come, come, whoever you are.

Wanderer, worshipper, lover of leaving.

It doesn’t matter. Ours is not a caravan of despair.

Come, even if you have broken your vow a hundred times.

Come, yet again, come, come.

–Jalal al-Din Rumi (1207-1273)

from his collected writings, FIHI MA FIHI (literally "It Is What It Is")

2009-07-17T10:59:00.002+02:00

Only saw three flute bands on our trip. Poor us.

The Wasa

2009-07-15T13:34:00.002+02:00

The last taboo?

2009-07-14T10:15:00.003+02:00

So: Is it okay to put human remains on display in a museum? Based on the number of mummies, skeletons, and burial artifacts we've seen on display, the answer among most curators seems to be a definitive yes. I'm not sure if this is even a debate in the museum community. Museologists – comments?

Surely there are many good and pragmatic reasons for studying remains, even displaying them for the public to see. But does that mean that we should do it? I've only recently started thinking about this, but I have doubts.

There are all kinds of taboos surrounding death, particularly in my own culture, so maybe this is just another and I am desperately clinging to it. But still I can't help thinking that's just the point. Especially among ancient cultures, we can't know what taboos existed, what the wishes of the deceased might have been, what beliefs they may have had. Who are we to trample over these things?

Some suggest that the scientific value of studying and displaying cultural remains is so great that when there is no one left to advocate on behalf of them, to represent their wishes, religious beliefs, etc., that we have the right, maybe even the responsibility, to study and understand them, then communicate findings and make the artifacts accessible to the public. Though I clearly see the point, the utter pragmatism of this argument disturbs me.

Such arguments are easily made about remote ancient peoples – but what about the recently dead cultures and people who have no advocates because they have been oppressed and overpowered? Who gives voice to the conquered? Have we come to a consensus that they deserve nothing? Or that our scientific need trumps any sort of individual wish? I'm not sure we've stopped to consider it.

The Body Worlds exhibit is a perfect case in point. Does it matter if the consent given by the subjects was highly questionable? Do these people stop having rights when their bodies die? If one were someone I loved, I would think these things would matter a great deal to me, as it would likely to most of us. So why is our concern not generalized? Maybe death is just not very real unless it is close to us.

Or maybe I am just simple and sentimental and have been in too many museums lately.

Virtual postcard

2009-07-13T09:04:00.011+02:00

In case you are not getting a real postcard from me from our trip (hint: most of you), here is a virtual one (photo compliments of the Library of Congress), likely more interesting than anything I would jot out to you in a tired vacation haze anyway (read: if you do get a postcard, please remember it is the thought not the content that counts).

Interestingly, this early 20th century photo of Ayasofya (Hagia Sofia in English) is labeled the "Mosque of St. Sophia." This strikes me as a clever way for the probably Western person who labeled it to remind everyone that this mosque used to be a basilica, but I could be wrong. St. Sophia is actually an abbreviation of the Latin version, Sancta Sophia, of the original Greek name (meaning Holy Wisdom). So the name still worked when it became a mosque.

Most of the church/mosque combo buildings that I have seen are in Spain, churches built on Moorish foundations after the Reconquista. These buildings (such as the Mezquita in Córdoba) always left me feeling vaguely sad and, the good condition of Moorish forms notwithstanding, like something important had been lost in a probably violent way. Its antipode in Istanbul, Ayasofya, on the other hand, left me with no such feeling – a testament to my Western/Christian guilt, I suppose.

Not long after this picture was taken, Ayasofya was converted into a museum. I suppose one of the reasons for this was to uncover many of the Byzantine mosaics from the basilica. The most famous of these is the Deesis (a mosaic of Christ which for some reason I had always thought was Justinian - ??). Uncovering them is apparently tricky work, sometimes requiring them to destroy paintings that were added when it became a mosque. (Some variant of the robbing Peter to pay Paul joke seems appropriate here but I can't think of one that isn't possibly offensive, so insert one of your own (that doesn't offend you).) There may be a huge mosaic remaining under the dome, but uncovering it would involve more destruction. Certainly there were and are many delicate decisions to be made.

Small grace, I suppose, that such terrible conflicts leave in their wake such diverse and fascinating cultural artifacts. To me, there is nothing more interesting than discovering signs of some extinct or dying culture hiding out under or even integrated into the dominant one; some of the most troubled places are the most interesting. But all this really doesn't make it less sad that in the end, one side usually loses almost everything.

Missing you all more than ever!

[Sigh]

2009-07-12T16:45:00.016+02:00

Our last remaining wild oats heartily having been sown, we have returned to the wonderfully efficient, arid, nearly-queue-proficient and quiet alpine lands that these days we call home. We are not as tired as we thought we might be. But it is time for a reflective rest to contemplate the vast quantity of information and experiences we have collected. Most things seem to make more sense at home – something for which I know I shall be grateful these days.

So: oat-sowing photos (with our new, not very impressive camera) and maybe even some contemplation in short order.

Have a nice sigh to yourself this Sunday; it's good for you.

Places untouched by Google

2009-07-06T09:24:00.006+02:00

Just had the thought that we should find out where our hotel in Bucharest is before we jump on the train, but it appears that Google has not made it to Romania?

When we were looking for a guidebook the other day (our trusty Lonely Planet having been left on a train several countries ago) some Hungarian overheard us and said "Bucharest? Does anyone even go there?" Well, yes, trying to, at least.

Is Romania such a remote place? It didn't seem remote until we got within a country of it. Hopefully we find a serviceable map at some point or else we may have to throw ourselves at the mercy of a Bucuresti cab driver. Which may or may not be recommended by the guidebooks, we don't know.

king of pop everywhere

2009-07-02T22:27:00.006+02:00

Swiss mr is asleep, in a deep, pierogi-induced stupor. I should maybe wake him up, as it's 8:30 pm, but since we can't seem to sleep enough these days I think i'm okay to sneak in a quick blogpost.
can I say how lucky we are to have added some MJ hits to our iPod before leavin for this trip? otherwise I'm not sure how we could pass this time of mourning appropriately. I'm sure cable news is doing a good job for everyone in the us but the BBC has stopped its 24 hour coverage. wait, did i say appropriately? anyway, we are so tempted to see if we can start a spontaneous group moonwalK or if that's only in paris. there were some heartfelt memorials at the us embassy in Moscow. interesting time to be away. I wonder what made us decide we needed billy jean with us on this trip?

From Russia with love

2009-06-26T06:48:00.004+02:00

Who can resist saying that the first time they post from Russia?

The "white nights" (nights without any darkness) are starting to get to me. my body is tricked into an early panic that I have overslept by four hours when it is really just the early early morning. the Russians apparently make good use of this time - one of the tourist attractions we visited was open until 4 am. seriously.

last night i dreamed very realistically that I read a guidebook section about how all of russia has bedbugs. I wish I never learned about bedbugs and you will too as soon as you look them up online. STP does not have bedbugs (or at least our overpriced "palace" does not) but it does have some pretty aggressive mosquitos, which I am sure is the reason for that terrible dream. Peter the Great decided he wanted a city here at any cost, so he (and a healthy number of servants) filled in the swamp that resided here previously and called it good. From the air you could still see the swamp encroaching; it is true.

Someone said once something like, STP is different from other European cities in that it is more like them than they are themselves. If Paris is ovwhelming in its coherance, STP is positively bewildering. It doesn't seem possible to have such an extensively coordinated style across such a huge city. I guess they don't call him "the great" for nothin.

We truly wish we knew more Russian but it is enough at the moment to tranliterate the signage. It is like the DaVinci code all day for us. Also we have to pay a lot of attention to not getting cut in front of. Sometimes being a tourist is a lot of work. Bu so far, at least, quite worth it.

At home in Stockholm

2009-06-25T08:42:00.002+02:00

Cardamom makes me happy.

A poem about Oslo

2009-06-23T21:05:00.003+02:00

Norwegians are nice
though most people are weiss
the mini bottles* store mice
the pear cider's on ice
the street folk play dice
the pakistanis* have rice
now we go to the gleis
to ride at high price.

*at the museum

2009-06-21T10:16:00.000+02:00

"Excuse me, I thought you were a suitcase!"

We found a place more expensive than Switzerland

2009-06-20T18:36:00.003+02:00

It is called Denmark.

We missed national hotdog day but managed to secure some delicious French hotdogs (hotdogs embedded in roll). Bacon-wrapped dog a guilty pleasure previously undreamed of for Swiss Mr. Fresh herring not so bad. More Quasi-literate updates soon.

2009-06-19T12:49:00.004+02:00

Farewell once again, my dear friends. I shall be in touch!

2009-06-18T09:45:00.003+02:00

Greetings, readers, should there be any out there remaining. I am touching down at our place for a day or so of rest and rejuvenation before heading out to spend the rest of my youth on a trip even I find slightly hare-brained. There will be much to say about this later but for now I will report on my recent trip which, in short, was delightful.

One thing you do not have to worry about in the UK, or at least in Scotland, is getting trapped in a fire. I am pretty sure that you can be anywhere within its confines and be within eyeshot of a fire extinguisher. They are also big on firedoors and emergency meeting places. If I had a fear of fire or was in the fifth grade safety unit this would be very comforting. I am pretty sure Scotland is one of the safest places ever.

It is also one of the most heartily awarded places ever. I don't think we ever ate or slept anywhere that wasn't award-winning or top-ranked or recommended by someone or some board. Any feelings of specialness we had wore off fairly quickly. Elementary teachers, take note.

I sadly have no pictures to offer to you, as my camera chose to expire on our second day in Paris. Joining our family is apparently a death sentence for cameras, even those purportedly built like a tank. Anyway, the best moments are usually the humiliating and/or transcendent ones during which you would rather not have a photo of yourself. I save these stories for regalement at a future date. Did I ever tell you the one about the time we ate at the miniature four-table restaurant of the Congregation of Beth Israel in Paris? . . . .

The "devil's vegetable"

2009-06-18T08:00:00.000+02:00

I say, if the Royal Navy's banning brussel sprouts, why shouldn't we?

Swiss Missing

2009-06-04T16:28:00.003+02:00

This is Swiss Mr. here. I have hijacked TASM in order to tell you the Swiss Ms. will be Swiss MIA for the next 2-5 weeks. The travel bug bit again, and she is off to some fabulous location, leaving me to clean the chamber pots and scrub the floors. Good thing trusty cat Atticus was left behind to keep me company.

In the meantime, see if you can connect these to gents to Swiss Ms.'s travels.

The lowdown on FL

2009-06-02T10:03:00.013+02:00

In case you missed it, we were in (The Principality of) Liechtenstein last week. This tiny country has among other things its own royal family, some wonderful wines, and a long history of pretty postage stamps. It also does brisk sales in souvenir visa stamps (3 CHF, value questionable).

Apparently FL's elder prince can often be found walking barefoot through the woods and through his vineyards. Who can't love that? Also apparently they make the princess complete roadwork in her nightdress, another something to love. All in all, a visit worth the long drive through 7,000 switchbacks.

Berrick & Gordon

2009-05-30T23:52:00.000+02:00

2009-05-28T08:40:00.003+02:00

Postcard for anyone who guesses which country we're visiting today!

Greek "cat"

2009-05-27T11:37:00.005+02:00

Acropolis crazy

2009-05-26T11:19:00.005+02:00

Any place that, despite being packed with thousands of annoying tourists, can manage to steal your undivided attention for several hours is something special. The Acropolis is one of these places. Somehow we found it easy to ignore the throngs of people scrambling around on the rocks, falling on the rocks, taking identical pictures, and following tour guides eagerly, bored, and/or zombie-like. For me, the constant flow of visitors snapping photos only added to the the hill's timelessness. Our presence was but a fleeting moment in its history. The temples still manage to assert themselves, crumbling and tilting as they may be – even the scaffolding and bracing and reconstruction do not detract much from their elegance.

Of course like everyone else we took dozens of photos that do no justice to the place. I am no artist; I'm not really sure why I take photos at all. It's a ritual I haven't really figured out just yet. I can't imagine myself stopping, though, even recognizing how shallow an endeavor it can be.

My high school photo teacher once allowed one of my friends to develop photographs she'd taken of a magazine cover for her final project; I was annoyed and perplexed by this. I think he may understand something I still do not, really. In any case, at least, when I am 83 and losing my memory, I will know I saw the Parthenon once.

Happy Memorial Day

2009-05-25T08:37:00.004+02:00

A Corfu band celebrating the unification of the Ionian islands with the rest of Greece

Quick Greek lesson for Swiss Mr.

2009-05-15T16:05:00.004+02:00

Excuse me – signomi
I don't speak Greek – dhen milao elinika
Thank you – efharisto

We are off to Greece, where I am looking forward to practicing the little I know of what seems to be the most fun language ever and to stuffing myself like a grape leaf. Yia sas!

"starwars nuovo"

2009-05-14T15:29:00.002+02:00

This is in some dialect (Livornese, I think) that is hard for me to understand, and also contains offensive language and slang, but I still think it is endlessly funny, particularly the part when the Sith guy calls Yoda "acciuga" (anchovy).

Rest stop

2009-05-13T13:03:00.004+02:00

There can't be many things more conducive to sleep than sitting in a warm car on a softly rocking train for 20 minutes through a dark tunnel. I think they should covert all highways into trains. Someone get that in the transportation bill.

Münster (CH)

2009-05-12T12:27:00.011+02:00

On our way home from mountain-gaping in the Valais, we drove through the Goms. The Goms is neither a toothless old lady nor a paramilitary police force from the future, but a hilly region of the upper Rhone valley east of Brig – basically a string of tiny villages gathered along a ridge. (The Walsers, for which the canton Valais (Wallis in German) is named, settled in these high mountainous areas when the Romansch down below weren't looking and started to farm and raise cows.)

We paused in Münster in honor of our Munster (IN) buddies. We immediately loved this sweet little gathering of wooden houses and churches. Like the wood itself, it seemed settled in, undisturbed, contented with age.

We were perplexed by the purpose of the houses perched on stones – but it turns out these are actually "high Alpine barns." This style of barn was developed by the Walsers, based on the structure of medieval granary storehouses. The lower section, called a "gable forebay," was designed to increase hay storage and protect the door opening below from snow during long alpine winters. Raising the barn on stone pillars also helped prevent critters from accessing food stores.

Canzone per mio marito

2009-05-05T14:43:00.003+02:00

Parigi è una bella città
dove si beve e l'amore si fa.

Hai incontrato mio marito? [Si!]
Di che colore era vestito? [Rosso!]

Rosso è un bel colore,
vuoi uscire per favore?

Embassy sweetness

2009-05-04T08:29:00.008+02:00

After having spent so much time in the embassy district in Bern lately, I find Lugano to be somewhat lame by comparison. Where are the security cameras and the machine guns and my police escort? I kind of miss the suspicious stares and the pat downs. And that taco stand. I miss the taco stand. All we've got in Lugano is racial profiling and graffiti. And, if I must be fair, an overpriced Mexican cantina.

I'm not sure why no one has decided to gather up all these little consular offices into one big old building. I, for one, though the ambassador who has to answer his doorbell twenty times a day to tell confused tourists that the consular office is around the block would likely disagree, am glad the have not done this. Probably Vatican City is also happy - no need to admit they require a cubicle rather than a golden mansion to run their consular services branch. Anyway, it is nice that a few things in this world have remained quaint, if only for the sad, pragmatic reason that it makes bombing more difficult. (Not sure, but I don't think diplomatic missions actually have extraterritoriality.) Who doesn't love flag-identification, house-gawking, and potentially famous people? I am so glad I got to walk two hours to the Belarussian embassy.

The black Mercedes seems to be the vehicle of choice for most diplomats. Except, of course, for the Italians.

The quality of this photo may have been compromised by my realization that taking a photo of a guarded embassy might actually be a bad idea and subsequent desire to have my arm back outside the high iron gate with the rest of me immediately. I'm sorry that the true festive nature of this FIAT does not come through. In this setting it really did shout viva l'Italia!

Bio-Dinkelpops

2009-05-01T15:54:00.003+02:00

Since Seidl Confiserie did such a nice job with the banana leaves and everything, I won't even bother with my own shot.

PS: In honor of Swiss Labor Day, I'm taking the rest of the day off. Happy May Day!

2009-04-28T15:56:00.003+02:00

Today I bought cereal called BioDinkelpops!

American flair and the possibilities of white bread

2009-04-27T10:44:00.015+02:00

CHÂTEAUROUX, France - In the 1960s a local entrepreneur, Paul Picard, the owner of a baked goods business, was impressed by the strange square white bread that the American servicemen ate [on the nearby army base]. Like other Frenchmen accustomed to long, crusty baguettes, Mr. Picard had never seen anything like it, yet he thought it offered possibilities.

So he visited bakeries in the United States to learn how it was baked, then returned to France where he essentially re-engineered Wonder Bread. To give it an American flair, he called it Harry’s American Bread and decorated the packaging with the stars and stripes of the American flag. No one can say who Harry was, probably just a name that sounded American.

Though the base closed too soon for Mr. Picard to sell his bread there, it soon became a hit with the French. Now Harry’s huge baking plant outside Châteauroux bakes about 130 million loaves of white bread and other bakery products a year. That is about one-third of what Harry’s produces at other plants scattered across France. Its six bakeries spread across France make it the largest producer of packaged baked goods in the country.

Excerpted from After 43 Years, a French Town’s Nostalgia for Harry and Joe Lingers (NY Times)

Some helpful clues here as to how weird versions of American products come into existence in Europe. I am still uncertain, especially in this white bread case here, how such products maintain lasting popularity once the thrill of possibility has worn off. It must be related to the flair, because it certainly isn't the taste. This may be the key to the Obama fingers.

2009-04-24T10:57:00.004+02:00

One thing I would really like to know is how cities get their names in other languages. This is a discussion frequent among people we know here, not only because the alternate names are often just so odd, but also because the examples are never-ending. Everyone enjoys conversations in which everyone gets to show-off some recent discovery.

This is not just a matter of pronunciation. It's obvious to me why most English-speakers say France instead of Frahnce and that is to avoid Twain-style scorn from people who see it as an annoying affectation. Also it would be hard to do with a straight face. At least in most of the US, even if you know Paris is pronounced Pairree, you generally keep that bit of information to yourself (Unless, of course, you are referring to the strip club called "Gay Paris," which has always been, at least in my social circles, an exception to this rule.) Using French in English in other cases can be an unspeakable pretension. Though I'm sure if you tried Barcelona in a proper Spanish accent, you could generate a few dirty looks as well.

As an American, one must come to terms with the fact that for us wrong is often right (as in Toledo, whose American pronunciation I love dearly for being so painfully, dearly midwestern, Los Angeles, Colorado, etc.). Straightforward is actually the most practical way to go about pronouncing the names of America's cities, anyway. Does anyone really know how to pronounce things in Navajo? Is Valdosta still Italian without any spacing or punctuation? Is New Bern related to old Bern? Best to just say it like it seems and avoid all the trouble. (Plus, our personal preferences don't actually make a difference.)

Returning to the matter at hand, it is interesting how many European cities have multiple names. München is somewhat difficult to pronounce; it understandably has several other names, including Munich, Monaco di Bavaria, and Minga. But difficulty in pronunciation is not the key to the puzzle, since Milano has just as many names. Genève has many names as well (the most ugliest of which is Genf). In my brief survey, most of the major international cities, at least in Europe, seemed to have multiple names. Despite this linguistic convenience, I find it is a good idea to find out what the city (and country) you are visiting is called in the local language before you arrive in order to avoid potential confusion and embarrassment.

Dandelion and Bacon Salad

2009-04-23T11:31:00.013+02:00

Why not cook up some dandelions?

-Wash and dry 9 ounces/250 grams of dandelion leaves. Dice 5 ounces/150 grams smoked bacon and brown gently in a frying pan.

-In a salad bowl, prepare some vinaigrette using 1 tablespoon oil, 1 tablespoon white wine, salt, and pepper. Add the dandelion leaves (and hard-boiled eggs, if you wish) and toss thoroughly.

-Pour 1 tablespoon white wine vinegar over the diced bacon and stir, scraping bottom of the pan. Pour contents of the frying pan into the salad bowl.

2009-04-22T13:54:00.003+02:00

Last week we saw some very old ladies collecting dandelions in a field and I haven't thought about dandelions the same way ever since.

Our friends John and Janet

2009-04-21T11:27:00.007+02:00

I've not yet introduced you to John and Janet. They live really close to our apartment, just down the street on a patch of green hill wedged between a pool shop and the road out of town. If not for the tall stone wall, I could see them from my bedroom. Ah, goats from the bedroom, wouldn't that have been nice?

It would seem from the picture that John (right) has a bit of an attitude; I am not sure you would be wrong in thinking this. It would also seem that while John enjoys a life of leisure on the lush grasses, Janet is confined to a depressing cement pen, but I assure you they share the same space. Janet really likes that corner - it has a pile of cement rocks that she can stand on, get a little perspective on things.

Someday I will bring them something to eat. There is a collection bin for food scraps outside their fence, which I will one day fill with carrot peels or some such other delicious refuse that I finally remember to save. One time we threw apple cores into a pig-pen and watched a vicious fight ensue. The big sow, as I recall, fought off her large, dirty children for them. Nature can really be horrifying. John and Janet are very civilized neighbors, however - quiet, dignified, clean. They do a lot of standing and munching.

How about orange aliens?

2009-04-20T10:13:00.015+02:00

The orange we paid 3 CHF for this weekend turned out to be worth its absurd cost: hiding inside was a kiwi-sized sub-fruit reminiscent of an orange cauliflower! We were of course horrified and delighted by this mysterious embryonic mass.

While fully aware how alien seed pods sent to Earth can become body snatchers, we were still overcome with the same insatiable scientific curiosity that has been the tragic downfall of many an unwitting protagonist who encounters extraterrestrial life (with the obvious exception of Elliott - little lucky Elliott).

The alien brain, as it so obviously seems to be, has a tough cerebral covering which stretches around the tender juicy interior like a shower cap. Strong white fibers connect it to the round cellular mass inside.

It seems to have a brain stem.

Whether this young brain will develop into a dwarf tabletop alien or will remain in its nascent state as a sort of computer processor for a greater race of fruit is anyone's guess. But let me just say I will be watching my husband and my cat very carefully in the coming weeks.

More of lovely Bern

2009-04-17T14:10:00.010+02:00

You must love a city with its own bear pit!

Lines and Squares

2009-04-17T14:00:00.002+02:00

Whenever I walk in a London street,
I'm ever so careful to watch my feet;
And I keep in the squares,
And the masses of bears,
Who wait at the corners all ready to eat
The sillies who tread on the lines of the street,
Go back to their lairs,
And I say to them, "Bears,
Just look how I'm walking in all the squares!"

And the little bears growl to each other, "He's mine,
As soon as he's silly and steps on a line."

And some of the bigger bears try to pretend
That they came round the corner to look for a friend;
And they try to pretend that nobody cares
Whether you walk in the lines or the squares.

But only the sillies believe their talk;
It's ever so portant how you walk,
And it's ever so jolly to call out, "Bears,
Just watch me walking in all the squares!"

– A.A. Milne

2009-04-16T15:27:00.003+02:00

I returned from my impromptu overnight in Bern to find my email inbox overflowing with interest in Swiss mountain cleaning. Perhaps those interested should take an aptitude test to see if they qualify to become mountain cleaners?

Happy Pasquetta!

2009-04-13T14:24:00.006+02:00

Whether you be cheese rolling, egg rolling, or just rolling into work late, happy Easter Monday!

2009-04-10T08:20:00.005+02:00

Cleanliness is no laughing matter, but...

2009-04-09T12:30:00.006+02:00

The Swiss, if you didn't know, like to know where their meat comes from. And I am not just saying this because I have a picture of a giant chicken painted with the Swiss flag. The origins of all meat, no matter where you may find it, are carefully reported with a list at the back of the menu, a note to the side, or a sticker on the package. Perhaps this is even required by law, I do not know.

They're not quite as melodramatic as the "Made in the USA" labels, which have the ability to make one feel patriotic in the check-out line, but they get the job done. The Swiss like to buy Swiss, whether on principle or just because they like "Swiss quality." I find it convenient because it's usually code for "expensive."

2009-04-08T18:45:00.003+02:00

I forgot to post again today! ha! I was very preoccupied with the paperwork for our Russian visas and, of course, completing the laundry during our allotted time.

The form I was working on, a supplement for American citizens (which they are clear to indicate was implemented in reaction to a form the US recently put in place), has required all of my powers of memory and quite a lot of patience. Place of Birth: I [tab] [space] L [tab] [space] L [tab] [space] I [tab] [space] N [tab] [space] O [tab] [space] I [tab] [space] S. Itinerary: S [tab] [space] T [tab] [space] P [tab] [space] E [tab] [space] T [tab] [space] E [tab] [space] R [tab] [space] S [tab] [space] B [tab] [space] U [tab] [space] R [tab] [space] G [tab] [space] & [tab] [space] M [tab] [space] O [tab] [space] S [tab] [space] C [tab] [space] O [tab] [space] W. I guess you get the point by now: it's tedious. And they want to know everything about me! I bet you could get into outer space with less paperwork. Mother's name. Father's name. Criminal record. Countries visited in the last 10 years. Marital history. Educational history. Work history, including "Chief's surname," address, phone number. Military history. Charitable contributions. Mental disorders.

Imitation, as people, especially parents, like to say, is the sincerest form of flattery. But geez, Russia, weren't the stonewashed jeans enough? Did you really have to take it to this level? Whatever happened to our détente? rapprochement? all those French words we learned when the cold war ended (or in my case a few years ago in a DC museum)? Sometimes you have to take the high road, no matter the fashion consequences. We cannot count on the U [tab] [space] S [tab] [space] A.

My Greek, your Arabic, that guy's Chinese

2009-04-07T13:30:00.004+02:00

Greek, it turns out, is not the universal symbol for unintelligibility. The following chart traces the languages referenced in phrases corresponding to the English "It's Greek to me" to express an inability to understand in various other languages.

from Language Log

I personally did not need the proof of social consensus to convince me that Chinese is the hardest language but the hierarchy is pretty fascinating. (You can find some research on this subject here. I bookmarked this article twice in the last few months so it must be good.) I might also add as evidence my personal experience at a recent party, where, in an impromptu bit of amateur linguistics, a Spanish friend and I verified a good part of this chart. (I am not so sure about the Heavenly Script bit, however; the Chinese student we spoke with seemed to have no clue what we were talking about. All of us, including him, were giggling uncontrollably as he tried to guess what we might be getting at when we asked him to what language he might compare something he found incomprehensible. "I would call it difficult! ... No? Confusing? ... Ohh... mathematics!")

2009-04-07T13:00:00.001+02:00

Fascinating aside: It seems the term gringo has its origins in the Spanish phrase "hablar en griego." So I guess it is usually an appropriate epithet. Another fascinating (though mostly unrelated) aside: The word savvy is 18th century pidgin English, imitating Spanish "sabe usted?" ARRRRR!

2009-04-06T14:04:00.004+02:00

Can't help thinking about our still trembling neighbor to the south and feel incredibly sad about all the loss to which it awoke this morning. Even an airy-fairy blog about an airy-fairy life must once in a while come down from the mountains and deal with reality, at least at those times when its author cannot bear wordplay or anecdotes or pretty photographs. One's arm gets tired from pointing at the sun amid the clouds; perhaps you yourself are tired of squinting into it.

"Cruelty is a mystery," wrote Annie Dillard, "and the waste of pain. But if we describe a world to compass these things, a world that is a long, brute game, then we bump against another mystery: the inrush of power and light, the canary that sings on the skull. Unless all ages and races of men have been deluded by the same mass hypnotist (who?), there seems to be such a thing as beauty, a grace wholly gratuitous."

Whether we are listening or not, leaves rustle, birds chirp, water laps. The sun does not disappear when we close our eyes. A field of wildflowers still smells glorious without our breaths. We may shudder, close our eyes, become willfully insensible – a rightful pause – but that does not stop life from lumbering along gratuitously without us.

2009-04-03T19:07:00.002+02:00

Happy Friday!

G20 BFFs

2009-04-02T18:30:00.000+02:00

Swiss Ms. gives public narcissism a try (for 29 minutes)

2009-04-02T13:33:00.008+02:00

1:29 p.m. Swiss Ms. can't believe it's 1:30 and all she has done today was cut small shapes out of paper.
1:33 p.m. Swiss Ms. is glad it is raining today so she doesn't feel guilty about this.
1:34 p.m. Swiss Ms. thinks it is clever of Lugano to wait until it rains to clean the streets.
1:35 p.m. Swiss Ms. wonders why Swiss have not learned about beer from their German neighbors. Swiss Ms. ponders the fact that Carlsberg beer is not Irish and wonders why they serve American Budweiser on draft in Dublin.
1:38 p.m. Swiss Ms. is talking with Swiss Mr. about a bog monster in the office.
1:41 p.m. Swiss Ms. wonders if Tina Turner still lives in Zurich.
1:42 p.m. Swiss Ms. catches up on the news of the day.
1:52 p.m. Swiss Ms. hopes Russia and the US really do get a fresh start and by July, if possible.
1:55 p.m. Swiss Ms. wonders what's so narcissistic about reporting her every moment as long as it's interesting.
1:58 p.m. Swiss Ms. finishes her coffee and the news and decides it's time to be (more) productive.

Veracruz, Mexico

2009-04-01T13:19:00.003+02:00

Working backwards, and into warmer weather.

Aiguille du Midi, 3842 meters

2009-03-31T16:27:00.008+02:00

cable car from Chamonix

maybe this is why it took so long?

Mont Blanc without Nicholas Cage

2009-03-30T12:36:00.006+02:00

No one was more disappointed than I when it turned out that my time at home last week would be so short. The mini Swiss trip I had planned several months earlier sneaked right up on me. Stealth vacation. Not even time for a blog post.

This past week I ventured for the first time into the lands of French-speaking Switzerland near Lausanne. It was surprisingly not at all like Ticino, its own little bustling world of local products, international organizations, and Swiss orderliness. I can only marvel at the variety of cultures and languages packed into this tiny country.

One of my favorite stops was the lovely Gruyères, the peaceful medieval town for which Gruyère cheese is named, in which I set a new personal record for Lactaid pills consumed.

The turreted castle there was straight out of a fairybook – so evocative that, had I been there alone, I'm fairly certain I would have danced through the hallways and/or cried out of nostalgia. It didn't take much effort to imagine men flinging arrows through the keyhole windows, ladies strolling in the French garden, servants tending fires in the gigantic fireplaces, myself in a pinchy corset reading in the window seat under the stained glass....

My reveries were eventually interrupted by the snickers of my travelling companions, who happened to catch me gazing wistfully at a door handle, trying to capture with my camera the idea, the feeling that someone lived here, used this place, this very doorknob, so long ago, and whose favorite question for the rest of the day became "Do you want a picture of that?"

2009-03-20T09:56:00.005+01:00

Hallo! I'm back home now, and home it does seem now that we are here. All is well: the kitty does not appear to hold anything against us, the plants did their usual return-from-the-dead act, the mailbox was not overflowing, and, though the lemon tree seems to be on its last leg, I believe it may bear its first fruit before dying. A fruit before dying – heheh.

Observer of all, participant of none

2009-03-13T18:34:00.005+01:00

Greetings from the Pacific Northwest (of the United States), where, for the first time in many weeks, I find myself with a spare moment and a computer. My travels in the past month have taken me far and wide and at the moment I feel like I don't have any home at all. Oddly, perhaps even ironically, it seems likely this place will actually probably be my home one day. But that day seems very distant indeed.

In my displaced, disoriented state, I've found it interesting to observe people who are at home in these places and to imagine what it must be like to have certain things as your "normal." How must it be to hear mariachi music through your window every night? Or to watch a gigantic Mexican flag taken up and down outside your office every day? To grab a coffee at a pick up window on your way to class? To know the differences between 18 types of oysters? Or to feel like you the parking spot on the street in front your house is yours? I am having difficulty comprehending.

Grappling around a restaurant bathroom lit by just one little candle last night, I wondered to myself (more existentially than literally, but also literally), where am I? And how did I come to be living this adult life here, in this place? What is my own normal? And why do I feel like an anthropologist in my own country? It is hard to tell if I am coming or going.

2009-02-20T09:28:00.005+01:00

I'm afraid we'll be in for some sporadic posting over the next few weeks as I run a few life errands on various sides of the pond. Rest assured if something halfway interesting happens to me, I will let you know. You should let me know, too.

In the meantime, please ponder the following fact: The Swiss canton Appenzell (yes, the nudist haters) allowed women to vote in federal elections starting in 1971.

2009-02-18T10:30:00.014+01:00

In Sardinia they eat a special cheese called Casu Marzu. Its distinctive flavor (and texture, I'm guessing) comes compliments of the maggots which are allowed (nay, encouraged) to breed there. Unfortunately the cheese is seasonal, so we didn't have the opportunity to not eat it while in Sardinia last year. And I think it might be banned on the mainland.

I'd never seen a picture of it, so I just looked it up. Looks innocuous enough....

Even more annoying than NPR pledge time....

2009-02-17T10:01:00.007+01:00

Taking us by surprise this week, after nearly two years of living here, was the discovery that we will need to pay taxes on our media equipment. The fees are about 15 CHF per radio (or computer, which counts because of online radio) and 25 CHF per television. Per month. For some reason we didn't have to pay last year, so we are hoping (most likely in vain) we don't have to pay retroactively.

How did we escape knowledge of these taxes? Or, more exactly, why did we think this fate was limited to the nation of Germany? It is purely the unexpectedness of these taxes that makes them irritating. So much for our cultural competence. I wonder what other things are we missing out on.

It is easy to take knowledge of your own culture for granted; this is a realization I will take home with me. Ignorance is not really very blissful for foreigners. It's disorienting. And occasionally infuriating.

2009-02-16T11:25:00.007+01:00

My visual aid for this story is lamer than usual; I apologize for that. But I hope you are able to get the gist of the advertisement (surreptitiously captured at this pathetic resolution by cell phone on the bus), for it encapsulates well a bit of European culture.

The ad is for some sort of cold medicine. The man in the photo is Native American – not sure whence he hails, but Peruvian Indians seem to be a special favorite around here – he is wearing a leather vest and large shell necklace. He holds a box of medicine next to his face and stares ahead stolidly. The text above his head reads "The Indian does not know sickness."

As a cultural outsider, I very well may be missing something here, because I don't really understand. If Indians don't even know sickness, why do we trust their judgment on cold medicine? Or are they saying Indians don't know sickness because they are always taking this medicine? (Did I just uncover a large medical conspiracy?) A third option, I suppose, is that the drug company stole the idea for this treatment from some Indians and are now using its origin to promote the product. In any case, "the Indian" is evidently a cultural authority here.

I do not employ the term "European culture" (as if there was one) lightly, but I feel it might be appropriate in this instance. I think it is safe to say that Indians (and their friends, the cowboys) occupy an special place in the imagination of Western Europe at least. Someone's putting them in special museum exhibits, in photo galleries, and on TV. Someone's using them to sell products and political ideas. Someone's listening to all those Native American bands on the streets across Europe. And (especially in the last case) it isn't us.

Dutch City Fears Loss of Pornography Archive

2009-02-13T08:07:00.004+01:00

AMSTERDAM (AP) --The municipal pornography archive in the Dutch city of Leeuwarden is missing and officials fear it may be gone for good.

Spokesman Erik Krikke of the city's historical center said the archive -- which contained photos, drawings and erotic texts with a connection to the city -- may have been taken home ''accidentally'' by an employee or visitor.

''We're hoping that someone will say 'Hey, I have that in my attic' and bring it back,'' he said Thursday. ''No questions asked.''

Krikke said the collection was small enough to have fit in a moving box.

Mayor Ferd Crone of Leeuwarden, 87 miles (140 kilometers) north of Amsterdam, told local media he had been unaware of the collection's existence and was surprised it was gone.

Asked whether he thought it was unusual for the town to have a pornography collection, Krikke said ''yes'' -- and that made the loss greater.

''Actually, we don't have one anymore,'' he said.

All living between 8 a.m. and 8 p.m., please

2009-02-12T16:20:00.005+01:00

Our apartment building is out of control! Just listen to some of the offenses of the building "maleducati" (as enumerated in a recent manifesto from our management company): not leaving the laundry room clean after use, using the laundry room outside of the established schedule, intentionally leaving the elevator dirty, leaving finger prints on the elevator walls, listening to TV/radio too loudly during quiet hours (8 p.m. - 8 a.m. and during lunchtime), leaving unauthorized velocipedes in the garage....

Clearly the thing to be done to shape us all up is to provide some additional incentive for us to behave, or more exactly, some disincentive to keep us from misbehaving. The "denounce your misbehavin' comrade" strategy for keeping order has failed. Enter authoritarian regime willing to take draconian measures.

Starting today, those who do not follow the rules exactly will be assessed a fee. How willing to sneak a load of laundry in after dinner will we be if we have to pony up some franchi to do so? (Personal answer: not very.) We must be kept in line or the chaos will seep out of our building and poison the sweet and disciplined Swiss earth.

2009-02-11T14:12:00.003+01:00

Just got invited to our neighborhood's Carnival party.
To be served: "Risotto e Wienerli."
How very Ticinese!

Chancellor Barbie

2009-02-10T11:22:00.010+01:00

Truly you have arrived (somewhere) in the world when they make you into a Barbie. Can you even imagine the fun? (Don't worry, I can.) –Don't cut me off, Mr. Sarkozy, I wasn't finished! [Fist bang on conference table.] –I think I'll wear the gray pantsuit today for my visit with Helmut. –Someone tell me if it's too showy to drive my pink BMW to meet with the pope. –Midge, I must have that dirndl for my Bavaria trip! –Have all the members of the G8 summit arrived here in Malibu?

Enthusiasm limited

2009-02-09T15:31:00.007+01:00

Oh yeah, I've got a blog. I sometimes forget this, especially after long breaks away. In this case, I've been mentally away for about two weeks now, addressing a wicked chest cold. And I do mean wicked. Until yesterday, my days consisted almost exclusively of tissue, soup, podcasts, orange juice, staring into space, and blankets.

In an effort to avoid the doctor, I recently visited the pharmacist. This is an event for a do-it-yourself kind of healthcare-taker such as myself. (Tell me, what American is not?) I was wary of asking for help but sick enough that I felt I must in order to avoid a worse fate. So, clutching my credit card, I crudely described my symptoms (polite phlegm-related vocabulary comes late in the game) to the nice lady in the professional white coat.

My skepticism was really not allayed by her opening suggestion of a suppository for my sore throat. Even in my stupor I made sure to decline that one. I folded on the nasal spray, however; her enthusiasm was just too much (but not unwarranted, I later learned). As she made a stack of boxes just for me, I felt a bit like I had my own personal, homeopathically-aware shopper. This would have been fun if it weren't expensive and, well, just not fun. Spending nearly $50 at the pharmacy may fill your cabinet with drugs, but it doesn't get you any sympathy. Enthusiasm strictly limited to pharmaceutical products. (But I got better anyway.)

Dimitri the Clown

2009-02-05T12:40:00.005+01:00

Dimitri is an "eternal searcher continually in pursuit of happiness, joy and innocence, a figure who, if the truth were a flower, would strongly resemble a collector of herbs" (Dimitri on Dimitri, on Dimitri's web site). Sadly, Swiss Mr. won't pay out the franchi for me to see Ticino's most famous son, so I can only look at the posters around town and wistfully imagine how happy, joyful, and innocent I would feel at his show.

2009-02-03T09:22:00.002+01:00

2009-02-02T08:54:00.007+01:00

If you know your Latin roots (or a romance language) (oh, or English), you know why I had a moment of panic in the grocery store recently. I was dubious of finding this sausage in a Western country, but its position in the meat section (see below) and a quick check of the word "felino" in my pocket dictionary made me doubt my sure doubt.

I inspected the ingredient list of the Salame Felino carefully, though, and there was no sign of feline components. Had I the internet on hand, I would have learned immediately that Felino is a city in Emilia-Romagna near Parma, and saved myself a few moments of concern. (I also would have realized this if they had included a di on the label between Salame and Felino, but perhaps that is too loquacious for the deli section.) Salame di Felino, it turns out, is a soft and delicately-flavored sausage, made of pork, fat, pepper, and a bit of pepper and garlic dissolved in white wine, which is added right before encasing. "Gatticus" and I are feeling much better about this.

2009-01-31T13:56:00.001+01:00

Don't need to know German to know this is funny! Happy weekend!

Not in Appenzell

2009-01-30T09:55:00.010+01:00

(photo from Der Spiegel)

You know, those Germans are always getting naked. In the park, at the beach, in the mountains – you name the activity, some German has done it naked. Can you really become one with nature, I now wonder, with all those constraining clothes? (Sad, I shall never know.)

The growing "free body culture" movement, though evidently rather accepted in Germany, is not so popular across the border in Switzerland, where the idea of being oppressed by anything, much less clothing, does not compute. The recent invasion of au naturel hikers into the canton of Appenzell pushed creeped-out locals to immediate action. "We have do something to prevent this objectionable behavior before the weather gets warm again," the local official there said. "After all, children also spend time in the mountains in the summer." So, in true Swiss fashion, they will put the issue to a vote.

Soon, if you get naked in the Swiss part of the Alps, it's going to cost you – 200 CHF (about $175) to be exact. Where you will come up with the cash they do not care. They just "want to live a quiet and undisturbed life." Without noisy nudists tramping around their mountainside. Is that so much to ask?