“Pronto? Sono il piromane…”

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.

Meet this year's Mr. Switzerland (not to be confused with Swiss Mr.), a friendly, fun, and perky carpenter from Glarus:

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.

Aus is! Oktoberfest 2008 in numbers

Beer consumed: 6.6 million liters
Number of visitors: 6 million
Mulled wine drunk: 2,000 liters
Number of oxen present: 104
Number of liter glasses confiscated from would-be thieves: 200,000
Lost IDs and passports: 680
Lost wallets: 410
Lost keys: 360
Lost glasses: 265
Lost phones: 280
Lost cameras 80
Lost wedding rings: 4
Lost angel wings: 1
Lost Superman suits: 1
Lost dentures: 0


The numbers indicate a good time was had by most.

(Statistics from Munich government via Der Spiegel)

Autumn fever

At the Festa d'Autunno this year, we had an experience of pure delight and took a crappy video of it. 

I hope that the video somehow captures the moment there on the street. There was something special about this man in the leather jacket, something touching in his earnest impromptu performance. For the entire (very long) song, he danced a goofy, happy dance just, apparently, because he felt like it. When it finished, he ignored the applause and slipped out of the crowd. I saw him jauntily link arms with his companion and walk away.

Next life, this is the kind of person I want to be. This is the kind of person I would like to be in this life too, but I sadly feel incapable of such an act of pure, unedited joy.

Oktoberfesten

We arrived at Oktoberfest last weekend around 11 a.m. and found it already too crowded to get into any of the tents without waiting in long lines. We also found that it had been taken over by Italians. Somehow they get a whole weekend of "die Wiesn" dedicated especially to them every year. This translated into our trading beers with, being squished up against, waiting in line with, being kissed, fed, and spilled on by Italians rather than Germans... somewhat disappointing. We suspected we might have had more fun lifting up tables with the Germans, but we couldn't know for sure. Best to return next year to find out.


Happy Oktober!

Avignon Theatre Festival

Now that the pope has left Avignon, the minstrels are out of control.

recruiting for the theatre festival and generally acting creepy; frankly, the stuff of weird dreams

Teatro alla Scala

This week we had the very good fortune to see La bohème at La Scala in Milano. I am having a hard time keeping my gusto about this performance in check; pretty much everything about it was amazing. I have already talked several ears off about the brilliant Zeffirelli set, the Puccini bust in the ballroom, our amazing seats, how I felt like a Victorian lady, the tassels on the drapes in our opera box, the lovely tear-inducing voices, and the beautiful conductor. 

Our view of the orchestra pit was somewhat limited, but we could just catch the top of Dudamel's head. Sigh. My infatuation with curly hair is fairly well established – if one married for hair I might be elsewhere at this moment – so it is perhaps needless to say that I have a Jason Bourne-sized crush on this brilliant, handsome conductor. He is at least 50% of why we went, though I don't think Swiss Mr. knows this. (Don't blame me; blame S&P for introducing us. Gustavo and me, I mean. Ahem.)

Err... off to France for a few days!

Sorry, no Games here.

People usually have something to say when they hear that we live in Lugano – often, "Oh, that great jazz festival" or "Wasn't there some sort of peace treaty signed there?" or "[sigh] That place is paradise, I tell you, paradise." (Sorry Franklin College, no one seems to know that you exist.)

Close behind these topics in the Lugano stream of consciousness is the Olympics. People have mentioned it so many times that it started to sound really probable to me. I began jumping into these conversations enthusiastically – "oh yes, I've heard this! I think there must have been some events here one year!"

But today my desire for certainty overcame the hypnotic power of hearsay and I looked it up. World Olympics Lugano: 28,400 results. World Olympics Salt Lake City: 2,320,000. I find nothing that mentions events in or around Lugano. But based on the list of previous events, I have some theories about why we all think this:

1. Turin 2006. Torino is not so far away, really. Zoom out a world map a couple of times and they're practically on top of each other.

2. Lillehammer 2004. Another cute little European town that seems really familiar for no real reason.

3. Nagano 1998. Nagano. Lugano. Nagano. Lugano.

4. St. Moritz 1928 & 1948. How did this tiny Swiss town (just a four hour bus ride from Lugano) get the honor twice? They stole hosting rights the second time from Sapporo, Japan. That place doesn't even know how to make beer, the Swiss pointed out, how can it host the Olympics? Let's bring them here for our tasty Feldschlössen. (Germany had offered up Garmisch-Partenkirchen once again, but let's just say their beer wasn't very popular at this time in history either.) (Full story here.)

I therefore conclude that one of more of these factors has created a collective false memory about the Olympics being in Lugano. But I do hope that someone can somehow prove me wrong about this. I'm not really looking forward to disappointing most of the rest of the world. No one likes that person.

Secret allegiance to the flag

Many Germans, it is safe to say, have a bit of a complex when it comes to patriotism. It seems they have a real or imparted instinct to self-censor any feelings of pride for country, to carefully exercise emotional restraint. International sports competitions, therefore, are a welcome relief, a time when it is okay to put out flags, wish for victory, have some pride. At a viewing of the Germany-Spain game on Sunday night, this pride was cheerfully on display. Even those without jerseys or flags managed to find something that approximated some combination or red, gold, and black.

As we walked around the beer garden, my observations about German patriotism soon became observations about US patriotism, which, shortly after that, became observations about myself: the inevitable progression. I'm not sure, but I think that most Americans would still have a special response to these flag uses (or abuses, as I teased my German friends). I myself am not a particularly patriotic person, but I found myself obsessively chronicling flag etiquette violations like some freak patriot.

For many Americans the flag is a sacred symbol in the religion of patriotism. I'm not really sure what this piece of fabric means to me – patriotism is certainly not my religion – but I have the same ambivalent feelings about it that I do about using proper grammar and wearing formal clothing – that somehow it is both silly and important, outdated and useful, ingrained in me and a choice. (ahh... Germans are not the only ones with a complex.)

As I realized during a conversation with friends about taxes and healthcare this spring, we cannot really live modern, integrated lives outside of a country; wherever we are, we are stuck behind a border, a flag above us. For better or worse. So the question is: Do you have a flag?

RIP, Deutschland

I am (mostly) sad to report that España has triumphed over Deutschland in Euro 2008. I happened to be far-sight-impaired during the game, but I have it on good authority that Deutschland wasn't putting up much of a fight. The nearby DFB fans, of whom I have much familiarity due to excessive people watching, held out hope for a long time. The trekkie contingent of these fans never gave up; they may still be exchanging football chants on message boards somewhere. So I am sad for these guys and for my Deutsch buddies, but secretly happy for my second homeland.

I am also (mostly) sad that Euro 2008 has ended. 20:45 in the evening just won't be as fun. But to take the cheery view of the mayor of Vienna: "[We] celebrated King Football and put on a peaceful and glorious festival of sport." Sport, glorious sport! Long live the King! Come back and visit our museums!

I must also remind myself that there's always La Ruota della Fortuna to fill up our evenings after cocktail hour.

Euro 2008 Update

Who ever thought I would be a sports reporter? Wait, I mean sport reporter. I feel more comfortable with the European term now. Yet one of a million tiny transformations changing me from the hearty down-to-earth American I once was. I'm sorry, I will be unrecognizable soon.

But back to the sport – this is starting to sound like a Mitch Albom column.

Last night Spain cleaned up Russia pretty well. I have to say was expecting this – when you send in 12-year-olds to play against grown men, they can only sustain themselves so long. Okay, before I go much further I need to disclose that I was unable to watch the game last night. I will have to stick with existential truths about the teams and sport conflict and avoid detailed analysis of plays (which no one cares about anyway).

Both teams went into this match with all of their hearts. Neither team underestimated the other; they were prepared for a tight match. Any team that reaches the semi-final is a worthy opponent. In the end Spain achieved a stunning victory by way of some incredible teamwork, great technical skills, and wet hair. A joyous pile-on would be the only sufficient way to celebrate this victory; later, a tearful moment facing the crowd would show the Spanish team's deep appreciation of their fans. There was hardly a dry eye in the house, from the world leader trying hard to look composed down to the crazy fans wearing face paint.

For the Spanish, a moment more sublime there could not be – unless they should pull out a win against the Germans on Sunday night, in which case we will all be grappling for more intense descriptions. But that is yet to be seen, as this German team has really come together in the past few weeks. It will be a fight to the finish, and one we shall not soon forget.

Euro 2008 Update

In case you aren't filling out a poster in your kitchen or keeping a pocket score card of the Euro 2008 football brackets (or just watching the games), you may not know that the Swiss have been already eliminated from competition. They lost the first two games but pulled out a last face-saving (but unfortunately meaningless) victory against Portugal last night. Now is a good time to buy Euro 2o08 merchandise around Lugano. 

Who is now my favorite team? If you mean "who's my favorite to win the competition," I'll have to admit that I have no clue (but if you made me guess I'd pick Holland). If you mean "who will I be rooting for," I'll have to say that I am not exactly sure about this either. So many potential allegiances among the European countries: Spain, Sweden, Holland, Germany, Italy.... Okay, I'll take Holland off the allegiance list to keep it simple. And honest. But it will be a tough decision if it should come down to picking among the others. 

Festa della piazza

How many Swiss guys does it take to hang a salami in the tree?

Välkommen, Sverige!

The flags have been hung, the cheese has been branded, the stadiums are prepped, the old guys have taken up residence at the bars. Euro 2008 starts today with a match between Switzerland and the Czech Republic. At this very moment, in fact. 

You could feel the energy on the street this week – the Swiss are ready. Today there was pregame honking and gunshots. The Swedish football team is staying in Lugano, so the red and white around town is peppered with blue and yellow. Very hospitable, these Luganese. I'm keeping an eye out for kin, but I haven't seen any yet (other than the ones staying at my house, of course).

Euro 2008

Because the countdown is everywhere in Switzerland, I can tell you almost without thinking that the UEFA Football Championship will begin in a mere nine days. Switzerland and Austria are the enthusiastic hosts of this much anticipated event. Like most good US Americans, I know next to nothing about football, except what I glean from conversations and from Chi Vuol Essere Milionario? (And who really gleans anything about sports that way?) But all the same, I am caught up in the excitement.

During the World Cup, Chicago became a different place – festive, happy, united. There were parties in the bars, shouting in the streets, banging on apartment floors, flags on cars. Swiss Mr. and I once shared a special moment with some crusty old Greek men and some young Mexican guys in a diner on Broadway. I couldn't tell you who was playing or what actually happened, but for a moment, we were part of the same world.

It is for this reason alone that I want to love soccer. I want to be part of the football club. So, like a big expatriate nerd, I am doing some research. You know, finding out what UEFA stands for, which teams are good, looking at the brackets (which are apparently called "seeding pots"). Here is a memory game which I may use to learn some important historical champions of the sport (be careful, all the Italians somehow look the same). That way I can be like, "Remember that Michel Platini? He sure had big hair," and "He's good, but he's no Sepp Maier." 

I do have my doubts that I'll get into the club permanently. But for one month I'll try really hard and enjoy it. That's what Roger Lemerre would do. 

Introducing Yingying

Someone very thoughtful recently sent me some gifts after a trip home to China. I can't tell you how much I've been enjoying my new Beijing 2008 keyfob. Really, I'd have to say it's the best keyfob ever – it's just perfect for my one solitary key. I especially love it because it's reminiscent of my first keyfob, the one with the butterfly that I got from my aunt on my sixteenth birthday and used for 11 years but lost at the Dominick's in Wilmette. (I'm not sure I've ever said keyfob before and look, I just said it three times in one paragraph. There must be a less obsolete term but I'm not sure what it is.)

FYI: If you were (are) a CSI, you could put this low-resolution picture into an ultra high-

tech image program, tell your stylishly geeky assistant, "Enlarge. Enlarge. Enlarge," and,

after a few dramatic moments, see two hands and a forehead taking this photo in the 

reflection of the metal balls. My life would then be an open book to you. 

The little guy you see there is Yingying, one of the five mascots of the Beijing Olympics. Yingying is a Tibetan (!!) antelope who represents Western China and, of course, cleans up in track and field events. Check out all the Fuwa here. (They're all cute. And when you put their names together, they say "Welcome to Beijing!" Love it.) 

Xiexie, Lili!

Grande fiesta latinoamericana

Alas, we found out too late.

Il mio primo compleanno svizzero

I now return after a little break for the visit of Orangina and Kraftman (a fine summary of events available here).  There were so many lovely moments during their trip, it would be difficult to pick a favorite. But ranking high among them would be the enthusiastic round of "Happy Birthday" which accompanied this thoughtfully appointed cake.

What can even be said of such a magnificent birthday cake? Only that it would not be possible without a dear, thoughtful mother, a couple of goofy friends, and a husband with a penchant for growing facial hair in very special styles.  And thanks to its fiber wheels, the cake practically digested itself. 

I ♥ Economics

Usually economics has the same effect on me that starchy food does – i.e., gives me itchy eyes and the irresistible urge to rub my face assiduously. But thanks to our special relationship with the exchange rate, economics has become exciting! We personally get to experience the thrill of market volatility every day. Check out the dramatic exchange rate plunge which began right about when we decided to come here: 

Forecasts.org had hopefully predicted, as you see in blue, that the dollar would recover in February 2008. Unfortunately, as you see in purple, and as you are likely well aware from other contexts anyway, it didn't. (Where's that invisible hand when you need it?) Can whoever has our Freakonomics book look up what we did wrong in May 1997?