Beloved Boring White Thursday

Rolling back the clock (I really must make up for recent lost blogging time), I'm choosing to recount our last week in March, the week following our return home to Zürich from Rome. Of course, every human in existence would find Rome infinitely more engaging than our following week. Every human except perhaps one...um, yeah, me. A week full of the most mundane tasks possible, the kind of mindless errands that would drive anyone crazy, and yet a key week in my (obviously fragile or disturbed) European psychological evolution.

I'll set the stage...pretend for a moment that your teleporter is finally functioning, but it has a persistent annoying glitch that you can only teleport to Europe. So be it. So let's say you plan a weekend trip to pop over to Paris, or to Heidelberg, Germany or to Lake Geneva, Switzerland or to Rome. But five minutes before you leave, with packed bag nearly in hand, someone (not sure who) announces that closets have suddenly been outlawed and then empties the contents (stacked and organized, not too messy) of every closet in every room onto the floor. All your clothes and shoes, all your jackets and boots, sports equipment, old blankets, all those things you own but don't really want to see every day, everything in every room now sitting on the floor. Well, indeed! Annoying, certainly, but not enough to cancel your trip, right? So...hit the button and off you go!

So here's the psychology, correct me if I'm aberrant here. You don't enjoy your weekend in Paris any less--banish it from your mind, it's not worth it! But on your return home on Sunday night, it's regular-life time again and you have no earthly idea where to put all that junk. So work on it for two weeks, spend your weeknights shopping instead of relaxing, and then order some dressers or cabinets or whatever even though they won't arrive for a month or two, even though you'd rather not spend the money, move some junk to the cellar...you know, it's fun, dig right in and make a dent! Oh, and did I mention it's drab winter outside? Then after two weeks, take a weekend break and bloop on over to Germany. Germany rocks! Certainly the unsettled home situation doesn't make Germany any less great. But I'm sure you can see the pattern. Two cool semi-drunken days in Germany, then a mere four weeks of regular life and now you've made major progress, furniture shopping is almost all done, some furniture has arrived (deliveries are fun too!), maybe 2/3 of the junk is really put away. Keep it up, you're doing great, not too many eysores left! And so on...

Add to that example removing every other boring yet necessary foundation of daily life and not speaking the native language (i.e., not understanding phone calls, letters, notices, warranties, deliveries, rental services, etc.) and it's a mountain to scale, even if not you're working every day. Welcome to Expatriatism 101. Given such a lengthy list, no end may ever appear in sight...but I now believe that end may actually exist. Or at least a vicinity near an end. I may have entered that vicinity the week of March 24, specifically on what I'm now calling White Thursday, March 27 (the counterpoint to Black Friday, Jan 18, the day my computer and espresso machine broke in unrealted incidents).

That week's end capped my first Zürich haircut without both my head and wallet being scalped; locating a vendor that fixes espresso machines and him actually working on mine (try that at home even, not so easy); my first dentist appointment (four months overdue); our first IKEA trip with a CAR (thanks to temporary ownership by our Zürich/Chicago/Hyatt friends) enabling same-evening delivery of a bedside table, TV stand, floor light and soon-to-be-delivered large, cheap storage cabinets; exploration and eventual mastery of the city's grand Recyclinghof (also thanks to the car) allowing disposal of five months worth of cardboard boxes, Styrofoam and old glassware; Hobbes's first Zürich bath and haircut (with a significantly less crazy groomer than that weirdo back in cowtown Breite in December--still a really bad haircut, though); and finally finding an appropriate set of shiny new dog bowls for Hobbes.

But why White Thursday? Because that morning we received delivery of an office desk and chair that we'd ordered back in early January, 10 weeks later. Sheesh! Which meant moving my computer after three months from our only other usable table--the dining table--to an office. And also finally unpacking several large Dell boxes ordered and arrived immediately before our move from Chicago--boxes not yet opened after five months--for a long-coveted, sweet desktop computer station setup.

So that week's laundry list of activities would cause even the most sedate homemaker to consider leaping out the window, right? Funny to say, now that it's over, I wouldn't trade it for a month's vacation.

Release the Lions!

The second half of Steph's and my Rome weekend started Sunday morning, departing the hotel and walking only a few blocks--although with suitcase wheels clattering raucously on cobblestones it felt much longer--to meet friends renting a Roman "villa" for the week. The villa was actually some (rich?) Romans' residence who rented it through an agency in their absence; the abode was indeed quite nice (as were our friends) and slept six nicely.

Rome happened to run its annual marathon that Sunday morning, so with several former marathoners in our group we chose to first observe those poor soles (terrible, I'm sorry!) running 26.2 miles on alternating concrete and cobblestones. Of course, a slight masochistic streak aids every marathon runner, but these people were card-carriers! We stood around mile 25.5 and cheered people in Italian ("Bravo!") for 15 minutes, always much appreciated by runners about to topple. I also tested one of Rome's street vendors for his Heissi Marroni (roasted chestnuts) but I daresay Zürich's streetside chestnuts edged him on quality.

Funnily enough, our group tour Sunday mirrored Steph's and my solo tour Saturday almost exactly--Spanish Steps, Pantheon, Trevi Fountain, etc., although we did mix it up with a gelato break (my first experience--it would appear that Roman law requires every denizen, both local and tourist, to eat gelato while walking the city streets or face possible arrest), a whisky break (guys only) and a so-so random café late lunch that featured grappa and house-specialty espresso for dessert; something was lost in translation as we expected the grappa in the coffee, but instead received a healthy dose of neat grappa alongside the sweetest, richest, espresso/chocolate syrup/cream/ whipped cream thing I've ever tasted. I don't normally eat my espresso with a spoon, it wasn't exactly my proverbial cup. The grappa was actually quite palatable, though. We lounged around the villa that evening, consuming mostly wine for dinner followed by a late night dessert run for Nutella crepes.

Monday we tapped the purportedly-underutilized subway to venture to the Old Town (they don't really call it that, but it makes me chuckle), except in Rome the old town is about 2,500 years old. Yes, we hit none other than the Roman Colosseum (lookin' good for 1,900 years old) and nearby Forum, a kind of preserved "boneyard" of ancient Roman stonecraft. Like every other of the thousands of Colosseum tourists that day, we were instantly accosted by no fewer than fifteen "helpful" twenty-something-aged tour guides from every country except Italy offering their services to avoid the hour-long wait Colosseum tour line. By the time we accelerated through them, like escaping a gnat swarm, we had already passed the line entrance and felt quite content to snap some pictures from afar. Despite the hordes, the Colosseum is of course mind-bogglingly cool, as was the sprawling and significantly less crowded Forum overlook site.

We looped back around to our villa neighborhood, through the bustling downtown on foot rather than subway to an absolutely fantastic lunch at a local restaurant of Stephanie's pick (her scouring of every guide and website for the real deals always pays off). The place was crammed with Italians, believe it or not (I couldn't), and we ordered a slew of dishes for sharing. Everything was fairly simple but quite delicious--pastas, salads, vegetables, meat dishes, a great Italian white wine, fruit for dessert--finally I believe my eyes opened to what all those overdecorated Italian restaurants around the world are poorly trying to emulate. But I'll also say that for the average visitor, finding the real thing ain't easy. Oh, and did I mention the double espresso? Phenomenal. Definitely "Lunch of the Year" candidate, if only such a silly contest existed.

Steph and I departed that afternoon, in our usual style metro-ing to the train station and training to the airport for our flight home (much more sensible than bad-faith cab drivers), while our friends began settling into the villa in earnest for the week and following weekend. More pics:

http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=2hd8fyj.3t8y7kgv&x=0&y=j2r6y2&localeid=en_US

So what's the verdict on Roma e Italia? Well, what's to say when you're such a victim of success from a few centuries back that you'll likely never get out from under it? Nearly every street and building and every obelisk in every neighborhood exudes ancient glory. And as the world shrinks, the tourist concentration only increases. I've heard tell there's a real Rome under there somewhere, that it's the world's best city if a Roman would show you around, although why one would is beyond me. In all, not my personal favorite although it's not the city's fault, but I just can't help thinking that I need to come back for the espresso...

Veni, Vidi, Vici!

OK, I'm danger of losing my entire hard-earned blog fan base if I don't start producing. It's just that things have gotten busy again lately with a flurry of continued domestic infrastructure developments--another round of furniture arriving (I never thought I'd hear myself say, "Thanks, IKEA!"), beginning German lessons (Ausgezeichnet!), dog grooming appointments, etc. Nevertheless, I must remember to stop and reflect, yes?

What seems like aeons ago--actually the weekend before Easter--we visited Rome for a weekend rendezvous with Steph's college roommate (currently living in Germany) and associated troublemakers (husband, sister and brother-in-law) renting a downtown Roman villa (OK, so everything in Rome is downtown) for a week. Despite what I like to consider a fairly extensive resume of world travel, this marked my first trip to Italy. I'm somewhat hesitant to admit my expectations were fairly low, mainly due to a seeming preponderance of tourism (most people visiting Europe visit Italy, yes?) resulting in a multitude of either overly gushing reviews or superficial distate, e.g., "Oh, it's so d-i-i-rty". But of all the potential places to visit in Italy, I had indeed wanted to try Rome first.

Steph and I boarded the brief flight from Zürich to Roma on Friday evening and arrived fairly late that night; despite the airport taxi queue's elevated, smudged and nearly obscure sign in Italian stating a flat fee of 40 Euro to the city and several guide books corroborating that amount, our slightly-too-amiable cab driver ran the meter (warning sign!) during the long (even at 90+ mph) drive in and then ripped us off for 50 Euro on arrival at the hotel. Steph confronted him briefly, he stuttered slightly and rolled back on his heels as he lied (you've heard about poker tells?), we said, "Yeah, right" and paid him anyway. Unfortunately not surprising, but slightly disappointing nonetheless.

We stayed at a nice boutique hotel, the Albergo Ottocento (no Hyatts in Rome yet), Friday and Saturday nights before the "villa" rendezvous on Sunday and Monday. So Saturday Steph and I strolled around the neighborhood of the hotel, excellently located near several classic sites. Before seeing anything, however, we stopped almost immediately at a nearby bakery/deli for a breakfast of fairly good cornettos (Italian croissants) and, more importantly, the first of those destined to become my Roman obsession--mind-blowingly excellent espresso.

I'm a longtime coffee drinker but only a recent espresso drinker, within the past year or so. It's nearly impossible to adopt without being overwhelmed by Italian espresso lore--the various Italian blends and roasts and Italian espresso machine manufacturers and Italian vernacular (NOT including tall, grande and venti). So I'm thinking, feh, who really cares, right? It's all supposedly Italian in heritage, they're usually pretty good wherever you get them, big deal. Well, my tune has changed. I "tested" maybe six espressos during the weekend--every one was phenomenal, a noticeable step above. And you know I'd prefer to give the French the nod in any food category, alas I'll say with espresso Italy's got 'em beat.

We walked to the very-near Spanish Steps, noticing an unusually high proportion of kilt-clad visitors, whereupon Steph entreated some quite genial, kilted Scottish gentlemen (is there a non-genial Scot??) for an explanation: Rome was hosting Italy v. Scotland that day in rugby. We window-shopped along the sprawling cobblestone shopping streets, stopped for lunch at a restaurant streetside table (good espresso!) and watched Romans and tourists saunter by in equal numbers, and meandered to the Pantheon and then Trevi Fountain. You may be familiar (I was not) with these just several of a seemingly endless number of Roman landmarks; some pictures here:

http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=2hd8fyj.2ph80g73&x=0&y=-u2vih1&localeid=en_US

After stopping for R&R at a little wine bar, we next stumbled upon a crowded-with-British-rugby-fans Scottish bar, and chatted up some friendly Brits over a few beers. Since being immersed in Swiss-German and French for so many months, it was quite refreshing to hang out in a little pocket of almost exclusively English speakers.

After the mandatory nap back at the hotel, we walked to dinner at an unpretentious little neighborhood restaurant (only one table of tourists besides us!) with good, simple and ample food. Italian cuisine is so hyped and reproduced in Chicago, if not everywhere else in America, that knowing what to expect was difficult--we found it much more like Spanish cuisine than French, that is, only a few simply prepared but really fresh ingredients per dish. Just the cherry tomatoes in Steph's salad, for instance, stole the whole show.

Our brief solo tour came to an end the next day as we rendezvous'ed with friends in the AM...Part II to come.

Spring Schneesturm

Well, I fell off the blog wagon a bit, I suppose it's time to reassert myself. I'll start with a brief lame post about the weather and some pictures to indeed confirm our continued existence (sorry, but I have to start slowly).

Last report was our Paris trip in early March (!), I'm way overdue to report on the following weekend's trip to Rome. And then we celebrated a big Christian holiday with 2.1 billion other people in mid-March, the weekend that generated the following pictures.

Zürich's 07/08 winter enters the books as a mild one, with January and February temps mostly in the 40's. As is common almost anywhere these days, several residents have denounced the winter as atypical, overly warm and snow-free. But hey, timing is everything and we couldn't have planned our move from the Midwest U.S. any better: so many days of bitter temps, Chicago receiving nearly 60 inches of snow this winter and Madison, WI, smashing its previous record with over 100 inches this year! Congratulations to friends and family for surviving!

Somewhat surprisingly, our March temperatures in Zürich dipped a bit down closer to freezing and Easter weekend saw our first Schneesturm since living in Kloten back in Nov/Dec. It caught us late Sunday afternoon during a walk somewhat far afield with Mr. Hobbes but, nostalgic for a good snowball fight, we prolonged our trek instead of bee lining home. A few pictures follow and I'll get back on track with more a substantive post ASAP... http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=2hd8fyj.8d39r8xr&x=0&y=45e2qa&localeid=en_US