The Reign in Spain

If you care one iota about international soccer then this late, last Europameister post comes as no surprise: the best team won. Felicitaciones to Spain--European Champions 2008!

Spain never played a bad game, tied only defending world champs Italy and beat everyone else, scored a total of 12 goals and gave up just 3 in six games. In last night's final, Germany started stronger but Spain quickly took over and never looked back, keeping sufficient pressure on the Germans even after a nifty first-half goal by phenom 24-year-old striker Fernando Torres (only his second goal in six games but ultimately the tournament winner). Oh, and did I mention Spain played without their injured other star striker who finished as the tournament's scoring leader? Talent to spare. Finishing 1-0, the final was no barn burner like Germany vs. Portugal or Turkey but a nonetheless satisfying end to an unbelievably awesome three weeks of European soccer.

Our gathering Sunday night at the same Zürich riverside viewing area with the usual, mostly pro-Germany group saw a minimum of raucousness. I think we're all exhausted from three weeks of viewings. The thousands of Spaniards in Zürich had apparently reserved one extra night of energy, however, as evidenced by elated cheering and singing and dancing in the streets. And following the one Europameister nightly tradition we won't miss much, the victors drove all over the city honking and shouting until 2am.

So what now? Post-Europameister depression sets in, naturally. We'll lament the departure of the Big Boy Swiss smoker serving thousands of pounds of pulled pork. I'll sorely grieve the disassembly of the 'Aktion-Bier!' tent outside the neighborhood train station. We'll bemoan the dissipation of the grandiose multicultural "One Giant Beer Garden" aura over usually-more-reasonable Zürich. But there's a bright side too. For example, we'll probably return to drinking wine instead of Carlsberg. We'll pay much more attention to European club soccer this fall. And there may be one incredible, unanticipated beneficial long-term effect to beat all--we already have plans to see our new friends again soon. Who would've thought we'd end up with friends in Zürich?? Vielen Dank, Europameister! Bis 2012!

EM Days 19-20 - too fun

Europameister 08 continues delivering on every level. After a much-needed two-day break from games--the first break in 2-1/2 weeks--we reconvened Wednesday night for the first semifinal: Germany v. Turkey, played in Basel. Our United Nations gathering (primarily again the ABB group) consisted of two Germans, a Mexican, Australian, Spaniard (Barcelona), two Swiss, a Venezuelan, and two Americans (us). We arrived 90 minutes early to an already-crowded viewing area in central Zürich alongside the Limmat river. Germans must constitute the most populous ex-pat group in Zürich because they were out en masse. More than a few Turks turned out as well.

Most people expected a romp: Germany was the tournament favorite and Cinderella-team Turkey had doubtlessly overperformed thus far, snatching literally last-minute victories from its last three games to advance. I suppose that's why they play them, as the match was the tournament's best so far. Turkey turned Germany inside out for the opening 20 minutes and was unlucky to score only one goal instead of two. Every time Turkey built up and then narrowly missed a chance on goal--about five times--a rabid fan immediately behind me shouted YI-YI-YI-YI-YI-YIE-YIEEE-NEI-NEI!!! directly in my ear. Unfortunately for him, Germany tied it only four minutes after Turkey's first goal. The game seesawed with more unbelievable last minute heroics from Turkey to tie 2-2 with only four minutes remaining, until Germany turned the tables with a marvelous goal in the 90th minute to steal victory and advance to the final. The hundreds of Germans in our viewing area went completely batty, singing and dancing and drinking for the next several hours; we behaved only marginally more respectably.

We met a different couple of friends, a work colleague of Steph's, at a different city viewing area Thursday night for Spain v. Russia, played in a Vienna downpour. Both our behavior and the game were considerably more restrained, with a tight scoreless first half followed by Spain later opening a clinic for a 3-0 romp. Reminiscent of Spain's 4-1 cakewalk over them in the first round, Russia never showed the confidence or form they demonstrated when dominating Holland.

The final game of Europameister 2008--the most wildly entertaining major soccer tournament anyone can remember from the last 20 years--is set for Sunday night: Deutschland vs. España. Should be excellent. Yes, we're going out to watch it.

Check out a few event pics http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=2hd8fyj.by3024uj&x=0&y=mym95q&localeid=en_US and brief video sample of the Deutschland victory celebration over Turkey:

Get Your Frog On

Exactly paralleling old home Chicago, Summer 08 didn't arrive in Zürich until about June 20. Let's hope it stays a while! But our collective impatience for summer is nothing compared to Sweden's. After suffering through long, dark, cold winters, the Swedes embrace summer's onset like nobody's business. So much so, in fact, that the summer solstice weekend of June 21 is arguably their most important holiday, featuring a traditional Midsummer celebration nothing short of wacky. As Sven found online recently from an English-Swedish newspaper:

'I've been invited to a Swedish Midsummer party, and frankly, I'm terrified. I've been told it involves eating raw fish, drinking copious amounts of vodka and dancing around a big phallus while I pretend to be a frog.'

If this piques your interest (how could it not?), digest the fascinating full article here: The Lowdown on Swedish Midsummer. Or dare to take the next step and check out the hilarious banned IKEA spoof on the celebration. An invitation for a non-Swede to such a private, close-friends affair is a rarity, and even after working several years with good relationships with several Swedes, nobody remotely considered broaching the possibility with Sven this year. Rats! Maybe it's a good thing because the hangover from this party purportedly lasts a week.

Our Skåne County tour across the windswept Swedish(-Wisconsin) plains on Thu-Fri lead from Staffanstorp village to nearby Lund and Malmö, Kullaberg and Helsingborg. Heard of those? Capital city Stockholm is nearly 400 miles further north and we weren't about to attempt it. Copenhagen, Denmark is actually the closest big city, we laid siege on Saturday.

Lund (below map, 'A') is a cute Swedish town with an awesome cathedral, much cooler inside than our more fabled but austere Zürich churches, with an intricate 600-year-old astronomical calendar clock and a spooky 900-year-old crypt. Malmö ('B') is the capital of Skåne and Sweden's third-largest city (not large by U.S. standards, less than 300,000 people) with an active Old Town plaza nightlife scene where we took in several Europameister games. Kullaberg nature park ('C') sits atop a sharp peninsula jutting into the Kattegat sea between Sweden & Denmark; we hiked down a steep rocky trail to a craggy seaside viewpoint and later to the peninsula's tip for expansive views and a healthy dose of windburn. Kullaberg claims infamy as the birthplace of "Swedish Sin", Europe's first resort area to allow mixed-sex bathing in the late 1800's (scandalous!).

Hiking out we saw groups of Swedes heading to an already-swelling Midsommer party gathering at the peninsula's lighthouse (invite only, regrettably) preparing to get their frog on. We stopped in Helsingborg ('D'), the closest point between Sweden and Denmark separated by a narrow strait, another nice town with several interesting fortifications given the proximity of the historical enemy. Due to their proprietors and employees downing dill schnapps in the woods all Midsommer weekend, most shops were unfortunately closed but we located an open Turkish-run café for mandatory Kaffee + (really good) Kuchen. Although Sven claimed his wife would never believe us, the weather particularly on our hiking day stayed mostly miraculously sunny (yes, even one sunny Swedish summer day is newsworthy), although frequent rain squalls also chased us.

Saturday we crossed the big bridge for a day in Copenhagen (København in Danish, pronounced SHOPE-en-hahm, which I quickly confused with Schlagrahm, German for 'whipped cream'). Once off the kitschy crammed main tourist avenue, we found Copenhagen quite pleasant, with fairly grand squares and neighborhoods and architecture somewhat reminiscent of Paris (admittedly I know zilch about architecture). After a shaky start the weather cooperated admirably and we enjoyed strolling around the city, a patio lunch complete with lingonberries, and another Kaffee + Kuchen diversion. My only regret was not sampling more Danish pastry and kringle, with bakery windows presenting a much different selection than our usual French/German/Swiss variety. Sven hails from Racine, Wisconsin, and don't believe for one second that his ex-pat assignment to Scandinavia was randomly dealt as you examine the eery relationship between Racine and kringle.

Heavy rains finally chased us away on Sunday with our journey from overcast 60°F Sweden to sunny and nearly 90°F Zürich shocking our unaccustomed systems. Where did that sudden summer weather come from?? We didn't even dance around a Maypole to earn it.

The usual routine here. Map. Pictures. http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=2hd8fyj.2ne0e0sr&x=0&y=9zsl37&localeid=en_US


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Midsommer in Scandinavia

Hej! Continuing rendezvous'ing with old friends soon not-to-be-living in Europe any longer, we traveled to Sweden last week to meet college friend Sven (guess whether that's his real name) before his ex-pat contract terminates and he returns to the good ol' U.S. of A. on July 31. Last Wednesday evening during the critical Sweden v. Russia EM match, Steph and I flew from Zürich to Copenhagen (Denmark, but the closest airport to Sven) with the flight's captain announcing Sweden's 2-0 loss and elimination just as we landed. So much for victory partying with the Swedes. Sven met us, smoothly manipulated the train ticket machine (always tricky in a new country with a line of impatient locals behind you) and we crossed the impressive Oresund Bridge--Europe's longest bridge and the world's longest border crossing--to the Swedish city of Malmö and subsequent short drive (yes, he has a car like normal people) to his house in nearby tiny suburban town Staffanstorp.

Steph and I were excited for our first ever exploration of Scandinavia; furthermore an opportunity to over-analyze a new culture always interests me in particular. For example, who knew that Northern Europeans differentiate Scandinavian (Norway, Sweden, Denmark) as a subset of Nordic (also including Finland, Iceland)? From ex-pat war stories previously exchanged with Sven--living with his wife and young daughter in Sweden for 16 months--life for uninstructed Americans in Sweden and Switzerland appeared to share interesting similarities, e.g., astronomical prices, despite the wide latitudinal difference. Fodder for much discussion during the weekend, we eventually chalked up our similar adjustment experiences to the European lifestyle in general and, more specifically, small wealthy trade-protected neutral proud rugged stoic countries intelligently yet reluctantly adapting ever-so-gradually to the realities of the EU and shrinking globe (EU member Sweden, despite retaining its own currency, is changing more quickly).

In an important, "Ahh, so we're not crazy" moment, we agreed that particularly difficult to assimilate given our Midwest U.S. puppy-dog personalities (recognized in Europe as among the unabashedly friendliest people in the world) is these countries' fierce independence manifesting itself not nationally but individually. As Sven recounted, if an elderly lady's groceries topple to the ground, or the closing train doors threaten to crush a pregnant woman wrestling on board a 40-lb stroller including baby, or a man is drowning, a Swede won't help unless specifically asked; to provide aid unasked compromises the struggling person's assumed strength and autonomy. Sven called it their "Viking roots". The Swiss often (not always) behave similarly, and it requires a huge mental adjustment for us not to perceive such behavior as rude or insensitive or unchivalrous. Take Sven's example of being tentatively approached late at night in a near-empty, frozen train station parking lot by a man ultimately needing a battery jump; after inquiring something in Swedish and Sven requesting English, the man said, "Oh, good, you're American, that means you'll help me!"

Where the countries differ dramatically (other than tax rates) is countryside landscape--Switzerland is hilly or mountainous virtually everywhere, while Sweden is the spitting image of Wisconsin. I mean you'd swear that you were driving through Wisconsin or Minnesota or Michigan. Wide open spaces, flat Midwest farm fields, sky everywhere. No wonder so many Swedes, Danes and Norwegians settled there, it must've felt exactly like home. Sweden's climate is trying: constantly windy with sun/rain combinations even more schizophrenic than Switzerland's, i.e., if you don't like the weather (or do), just wait an hour, coupled with seasonal extremes of dark and light--a mere six hours of wintertime daylight and hardly ever dark in summer. A streak of generally crummy weather over their 16 month stay, plus new house construction finishing early (surprise?!), sent Sven's wife and daughter back to the U.S. several months early while he finishes his work contract.

All right, enough cultural notes already. Amazingly enough, our visit coincided with none other than the summer solstice itself, June 21, longest day of the year, day of the Midnight Sun, heralding the infamous debaucherous Sweden Midsommer celebration. But I'll describe that crazy event and our exploration of Sweden's Skåne county (the best part about traveling is using new alphabet symbols) and Copenhagen, Denmark in the next blog entry. For now, suffice it to say that although we drove for hours all up and down Skåne (highlighted blue), it actually isn't much in the grand geographical scope. Quick, which is bigger, Sweden or Texas?

EM Days 11-16 - whew!

Well, we're exhausted from Europa- meister action and grateful for the first two non-game days, Mon-Tue, since the tournament began over two weeks ago. Too much to recount (professional recap here) but here's a synopsis:

Highly anticipated Italy v. France fizzled, with France's equal measures of bad luck and bad play costing them their most dynamic player and a penalty goal in the first 10-25 minutes; Italy nauseatingly caroused to victory. Steph and I touched down in Sweden on Wednesday night (details to come) in time for the flight's captain to announce their unfortunate elimination. The final four consists of a re-righted Germany--confidently dispatching Portugal 3-2 in a marvelous game, Cinderella team Turkey--making a habit of unlikely last-minute heroics, resurgent Russia--running all over previously-sparkling Holland, and Spain--deserving the most emphatic congratulations for their resolve in dispatching always despicably frustrating Italy via penalty kicks after 120 scoreless minutes (no fault of Spain's).

On a final rant against the vanquished previous world-champs, this isn't a case of simple rival hatred, such as the Swiss cheering for Switzerland and whoever is playing Germany. One can justifiably love Italy's charming culture and wine and food and people and landscape. But you really must detest their soccer team, who consistently attain the pinnacle of disingenuous sport. Physically powerful yet oh-so-delicate (comical against the much slighter Spanish team), highly-skilled and occasionally brilliant yet more often flouncing hypocritical primadonnas, playing solely for results rather than entertainment or even pride, prattling in opponents' ears like mean housewives after every legitimate attempt on their goal and wailing dramatically skyward to cruel gods who unfairly deny their infrequent attempts at the same. Love Italy but please not their team. Auf Wiedersehen.

Only three games remain with the tournament ending on Sunday. Sad, but a necessary component of renewed clean living.

Repentant in Rioja

The second half of our northeast Spain excursion with Guillermo and Amada in late May was thankfully more subdued. From San Sebastián we drove to modest Haro, capital of Spain's famous Rioja wine region.

As we subconsciously knew but didn't behaviorally adjust, New World and Old World wine regions treat tourists much differently. New World wineries strive for worldwide recognition and buzz and host extravagant tasting rooms at all hours within merchandising palaces, in regions such as Napa/Sonoma, Australia, New Zealand & Argentina. Old World wineries have grown and stomped the same difficult half-hectare plot for 2,000 years, aren't trying to impress anyone and produce bottles primarily for the township instead of international tour groups, in regions for example in France, Italy and yes, Spain. Of course Old World proprietors welcome visitors, but visits are typically pre-planned, deliberate and personal, not a giggling tipsy tour down winery lane. So no surprise when we failed to arrange a tipsy tour after a late start Sunday.

Instead we explored Haro (last entry's map, 'C') one rainy evening and following day, the craziest darn wine capital I've ever seen. Unable to locate even a wine-tasting shop, with gruff if not impolite waitstaff and clientele milling in the eating and drinking establishments, amongst the dilapidated hilly haphazard plazas and narrow alleys, the centuries of wine profits must have diverted somewhere else. Unable to reconcile our mediocre Haro perceptions with the charm espoused by our several guide books, we chalked it up to bad weather and headed downroad to larger Rioja neighbor Logroño ('D'). A break in the rain, more pintxos bars per capita than any other Basque town and a lively Sunday locals-carousing scene were big improvements, although Rioja wines again seemed a sideshow at best.

Perhaps presaging our pintxo bar exorbitance, we planned to spend a repentant Sunday night in a remote hospice monastery, El Monasterio de Nuestra Señora de Valvanera, tucked into the mountains south of Rioja ('E'). Our reward for surviving the snaking and precipitous ascent into the forested foothills was garnering strange looks upon arrival from the local gathered congregation, chatting and fragmenting and departing from Sunday evening service as we parked and unloaded the car. Despite the hospice being a common overnight stop for wayfarers on the Pilgrimage to Santiago, we apparently hit them low-season as the only pilgrims that evening and received courteous if understandably exasperated service from the no-English skeleton crew staff during our stay. We inhabited the monastery's attached bar (those monks love to brew and drink!) just long enough to sample the local distillation, a sweet anise liquor (much better than Jäeger!) and purchase a bottle each of the monks' unlabeled rosato (dry rosé) and red wines from the affable, thick-accented bartender before closing. The wine was our only company in the sparsely ornamented hospice, the visit to which ended up being somewhat fun in a wacky, weirdly sequestered way.

Steph's and my portion of the Spain adventure ended (or so we thought) with the following day's visit to Pamplona ('F') before our flight out, Hemingway's old hangout with its annual running of the bulls fiesta as he immortalized in The Sun Also Rises. With no particular expectations, we found Pamplona lovely enough with a tasteful blend of antiquity and modernity and a different Basque style to its yet again out-of-this-world gourmet pintxos.

After bidding Guillermo and Amada farewell and more fun during their final days in Spain, Steph and I sat depleted in the small Pamplona airport, more than ready for our own bed that evening and a dose of Swiss sobriety. Alas, a brief rain squall and highly dubious Spanish logistics threw us a curve, canceling our flight and sending us via a packed two-hour bus ride to "nearby" Vitoria, from where we eventually flew to Madrid morbidly laughably late for our "assured" connection to Zürich. Sparing the details (no pictures either), we spent our final unplanned 18 bonus hours in Spain amidst a hundred squabbling irate Spanish and German tourists, jammed in lines for various shuttle buses and a free cheapo Madrid hotel night and dinner. But forget that garbage, Spain was awesome!

Second set of pictures: http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=2hd8fyj.51usqvsj&x=0&y=grm8j4&localeid=en_US

Bombed by Basques

Let's see, what else happened in May besides Steph's parents' visit, a weekend in Strasbourg and my parents' visit...hmm, what was it now again..? Oh, yeah, nearly a week in northern Spain with my younger brother (three years younger, not eleven minutes) Guillermo and wife Amada (their Spanish names). Just another slow month for us in Europe. No wonder I wasn't blogging.

Guillermo and Amada toured Spain for three weeks in May, a longer version of their 2003 two-week tour of Spain. What can you say, these kids love Spain. You want something crazy, here's their travel map:
They initially traveled with both sets of their parents (big group!), then my parents continued through Provence to Switzerland. After Amada's parents split, Steph and I met Guillermo and Amada in Bilbao (below map, 'A'), the Basque country's largest city. From there we planned to canvas northern Spain via rental car, from Bilbao to San Sebastián to the Rioja wine region to Pamplona.

The Basque region is an historically- and again today mostly-autonomous territory in northern Spain dating back to ancient Roman times. Possessing its own particular culture & second language (Basque) within greater Spain's patronage, it's unfortunately infamously recognized for civil bombings by its still active "disenfranchised" separatist extremists (everybody's got 'em, huh?). How did that knowledge affect us as obvious tourists? Well, as smart tourists know, preparation and awareness are the keys to prevention, so we prevented potentially slow bar service by learning the Basque word for tapas, which is pintxos, (pronounced PEENCH-ohss) and using it exclusively. Indeed, we miraculously avoided problems!

Guillermo's, Amada's and my fairly intensive Spanish distance-tutoring program taken 2006-2007 coupled with their two-week immersion in Guatemala last summer (and Steph's general ear for language) served us well throughout the trip. Although still not fluent due to comprehension remaining frustratingly difficult due to velocity and accent (the Spanish lisp!), our communication abilities proved sufficient to garner significant acceptance by the locals.

In both our first days and night in Bilbao and subsequent two nights in San Sebastián, eating and drinking consumed us. Many people are familiar with tapas style dining, i.e., appetizer-sized portions of various traditional Spanish dishes. If you've visited Spain, as Steph and I had briefly hit Madrid (central) and lovely Sevilla (southern) in 2005, you know that like the world's every great gastronomical style, tapas as experienced locally are irreproducible; anywhere else--no matter how authentic--provides only an interpretation. Primarily because of the preponderance of tapas bars in Spain, only there can you wander from bar to bar sampling the specialty from each. As a bonus, conventional wisdom regards San Sebastián's offerings including its pintxos as Spain's gastronmic frontrunner. You'll see in the attached pictures.

Perhaps overly anxious to reunite with family (again) and sample the local fare--and probably astounded by the sheer volume of bars and food--we were served early and often and then overserved late and often in downtown Bilbao our first Wednesday afternoon and evening together. We probably haven't consumed like that since our early 20's at the U of Madison, but this time add a rich food element. Sardines, anchovies, green olives, black olives, peppers, oil, ham, sausage, eggs, octopus, foie gras, shrimp, mayonnaise, lamb, goat cheese, blue cheese, on and on. Washed down over and over with cerveza and vino tinto and the local specialty sidra (hard, dry, slightly sparkling cider). Amazingly delicious food and drinks alike so inexpensive, especially by Swiss standards! I'm not sure how to say it delicately, but before 2pm our first full day together, 3/4 of the group had unfortunately already experienced an abrupt visceral reversal (and not me, amazingly, ha! How's that for giving up the secret??).

Despite Bilbao's industrial reputation, we found it quite charming although not so much as smaller seaside San Sebastián (B). They say smart people learn from their mistakes and wise people learn from other people's mistakes; we were neither as, fooled partially by a false second-wind but mostly by the world-class, five-star cuisine (Chicago-ites, think 'Charlie Trotter's' or 'Tru' on a small(er) plate), the town's Friday evening pintxos scene swept us up and we repeated an almost-as-extravagant performance as in Bilbao. One narrow, shoulder-to-shoulder bar in particular serves as training ground for young up-and-coming international chefs (I forget the name); they feature only about eight dishes but every one is spectacular. I controversially proclaimed our 45-minute stint there as Comida del Año (MOY) worthy, although admittedly the first MOY without a restaurant bathroom and, for that matter, barely any oxygen.

Needless to say, by Saturday our roiled stomachs (too much dried cod and sardines?) and weary livers were ready for a more low-key endeavor, specifically Spanish Rioja wine country. So who needs militant separatists to critically damage our beloved bodies? We'll allow the Basque restauranteurs that honor, muchísimas gracias.

Travel map below and lots of food pics: http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=2hd8fyj.91mwyhdf&x=0&y=-yfwd4x&localeid=en_US


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EM Days 9-10

Everyone's talkin' Turkey since Sunday's unimaginable 3 goals scored in the final 18 minutes to win 3-2 against an understand- ably stunned Czech team, now sent home. Switzerland salvaged pride from a mean- ingless 2-0 beating of an already-qualified Portugal team of second-stringers, everybody happy there. Now we can observe the poor relieved Swiss coach age ten years in four weeks' time as the stress dissipates from the hosts' several years of monumental expectations.

We frequented our favorite neighborhood coffee house/bar/salsa dance parlor (it's an eclectic place) last night with our new German/American friends to watch Germany beat Austria 1-0 as scripted. Of marginal interest other than the futile ferocity of Austria vs. their "big brother" was Germany's still-sputtering offense, to be tested in earnest vs. a fully-manned Portugal as the tournament's first big Round 2 game. Latest physiological news is that Steph and I each drank two beers last night and our bodies didn't totally reject them, probably because they're too tired to do so. Another observation from trying to watch TV screens amidst the bar crowd: Germans are tall (present company excluded).

France v. Italy play in about an hour, winner advances and loser goes home as extra drama for the already long-anticipated titanic fixture of the tournament's first round. We were invited out to watch by Steph's work colleague but simply must stay home tonight or risk "Death by EM08"...

Swiss/German Homecoming, Pt. 2

So why the title 'Swiss/German Home- coming'? Good question. Because our family roots are German from my dad's side but a mix of German & Danish & some Swiss heritage (!) on my mom's side, believe it or not, from the Alpine village of Mürren above Interlaken in the Bernese Oberland. Every time a European acquaintance begins politely rolling on the U.S. as an indelicate, myopic and peregrine superpower--with which I don't entirely disagree--I nonetheless raise that Americans are really mostly a mix of European backgrounds, salient point being the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. This almost always causes a significant pause for consideration. If you've traveled in Europe, have you had that feeling, a slightly curious but comforting nostalgia? My first time in Germany ten years ago, within moments of stepping off the train, a weird sensation of "home" hit me. The people and I looked kind of alike, I thought--same complexion, similar features or bearing, mostly something slightly beyond perception. Maybe I'm making it up, but I had no predisposition or grand anticipation for visiting Germany, so the feeling came as a surprise not a premeditation. Probably I just think too much. And I needed a title for the blog. But my mom loves the notion of being from Mürren.

We chose nearby Lucerne's (Luzern in German, not to be confused with Swiss-French Lausanne) offerings for our Sun-Mon excursion. Only an hour from Zürich, Steph and I spent a few hours there during our original July 2007 Switzerland reconnaissance trip prior to agreeing to move. Apart from being a lovely classic Swiss-German town in its own right, Lucerne (map below, point 'B') lies nestled beneath Mount Pilatus, on the Alps' northern edge, on the picturesque Vierwaldstättersee, or Four Forest Haven Lake. We opted Sunday for the "Golden Round Trip" tour--ascending Pilatus via ski lifts, descending via the world's steepest cogwheel railway, then returning to Lucerne on a lake cruise.

At only 7,000 feet, Pilatus ranks as more of a "local maximum" of topography than a towering mountain peak, but views are nevertheless spectacular. Experiencing Swiss Alphorn players on the ascent, bratwurst (ever more) and beer at the observation summit, and the engineering marvel cogwheel railway on the descent was an excellent precursor to the lovely, nearly three-hour cruise zigzagging between serene lakeside towns. Highest marks to our subsequent stay at Lucerne's art deco Hotel Montana whose patio views and staff were equally generous for reasonable rates.

Dare I say (dare, dare!) that topping Sunday's occasion, Stephanie unexpectedly achieved her first Meal of the Year candidate for 2008 at the Brasserie Bodu in Lucerne's Old Town?!? Everyone enjoyed a superb dinner, but the chefs hit her classic selections of quiche lorraine and steak-frites squarely in the crosshairs--simple but fantastically good (wine and dessert were also solid). Mine qualified as best meal so far this year, but not equal to Steph's and not quite MOY caliber. The pressure is off her but I'm left slightly anxious, a reversal of 2007's mid-year fortunes. The infinitely mind-boggling puzzle of why similarly excellent, affordable French food remains apparently absent in Zürich (we've looked!) continues to exasperate us, but we promised ourselves a return dinner trip to Lucerne this year, bugger the train fare!

My parents retired to the hotel after the late dinner, Steph and I delayed only to down a Guinness at a lively lakeside British pub hosting a birthday party featuring 30 Dutch revelers singing together merrily and quite soddenly (such action is rare on Swiss Sunday nights). We chatted with a nice couple at the neighboring table, on vacation from Saskatoon--it never fails to amaze me how North Americans (especially in this case sharing middle-west continental sensibilities) mutually latch on to each other in Europe. Canada, U.S. and Mexico, we're cut from the same social cloth, globally speaking.

We spent early Monday in Lucerne's Old Town, my parents and I chilling with Kaffee + Kuchen at an outdoor café while Steph capitalized on Lucerne's much more reasonable haircut prices. My mother was tickled with pride (Moms are awesome!) when the waitress in parting complimented (in English, of course) my various attempts at ordering in German, saying she initially mistook us for German visitors. On the return to Zürich, we stopped for lunch and spent the afternoon in cute nearby Rapperswil ('C'), touring the local church and castle--impressive for such a little town. We sadly bid my parents Tschüss! the following morning and continued luck on their European adventure, just warming up. We're already anxiously anticipating seeing them at Christmastime in South Carolina and their imminent return to Switzerland!

Travel map below and continuation of pics here: http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=2hd8fyj.6xpeet43&x=0&y=-361zx6&localeid=en_US

Swiss/German Homecoming, Pt. 1

When it rains, it pours! Continuing with our fortunate abundance of visitors in May, my parents spent four days and nights with us in Switzerland as one segment of a grand month-long European tour in May and June. They conducted a similar trip three years ago, their first-ever visit to the continent on a whirlwind tour (you know the type, every day crammed, Americans excel at them) of as many European cities and countries as possible. Ready for a second go around with new destinations, this trip included Spain, southern France, Zürich (yay!), Luxembourg, Belgium, Netherlands, Germany (twice), Poland, Czech Republic and Romania. Nuts!!

I welcomed them at the Hauptbahnhof on a Friday afternoon rush hour, a slightly surreal feeling at first. They loved their first 10 days in both Spain (spending time with my younger brother, sister-in-law and her parents, a full group!) and France's Provence region before arriving in Zürich. We enjoyed the apartment patio view with a few beers catching up on their stories to date, and laughed it up opening their various wonderful French food gifts for us once Steph arrived home from work (they know the way to our hearts). We cooked at home and relaxed that evening, grilling the same fare as for Mr. Mssrli the prior week (hey, if it ain't broke don't fix it).

Sleeping well in (my whole family excels at it), we began our assault on Zürich late Saturday morning beginning with the serendipitous discovery of a fantastic café on the way to Zürichhorn park on the lake (Hobbes's favorite swimming spot) for the absolutely mandatory Kaffee und Kuchen (coffee and baked items); we over-ordered about 10 items for four people including the Swiss signature Schoggigipfel (chocolate croissant), Chäschüechli (savory warm cheese tart, forget about it!) and müesli cereal to accompany the apple tart, pretzel sandwich and whatever else. Definitely a worthy addition to my discriminating and ever-growing list of top Kaffee und Kuchen establishments.

Always interested in shaking up our city tour methodology, we boat cruised from the southern Zürichhorn up the lakeside and river to the city's northern part--an excellent sightseeing option and freely accessible like any other bus or tram. Nice system! We meandered through Old Town Zürich's shops and sights, earning a halt at the city's only expansive traditional German beer garden for said beer and additional Kuchen but grimacing at the live lounge-act band on stage. Not yet satisfied, we hit the best sausage stand at Bellevueplatz for out-of-this-world bratwurst (my parents appreciate the nuances after living in Wisconsin for 20 years).

We couldn't resist a stop at gourmet food temple Globus, but isn't it funny how parents can always embarrass the children regardless of age? That's the enduring prerogative of the parent in exchange for raising the kid. For this European trip, learning from previous experience, my father had bestowed upon my mother her very own camera to allay her ad infinitum requests of him to snap pictures. The displays at Globus are truly grand, and with her camera's flash stuck in the 'on' position my mother enthusiastically descended on the produce, meat, fish and every other food counter like a one-woman paparazzi. As my father and I toured in a separate circle, we noted the sudden absence of the peripheral flashing and figured something was up. Sure enough, after disappearing for fully five minutes, my mother returned sporting her Official Photo Pass as newly granted by store security. Politely accosted by an employee after generating her initial light display, she was escorted to the service desk. After verifying the woman spoke English, my mother said, "I was told I need a photo pass."

"Yes, you do!" answered the service woman. "What's the purpose of your photos?"

"I'm a tourist," said my mother.

"Ah. Personal...," wrote the woman alongside the date on the Official Photo Pass, handed it to my mother and released her to flash anew. Steph and I got a kick out of the very Swiss regimen--every activity is enhanced by an authority's certification--that is, after I recovered from my mortification.

Scrapping our restaurant dining plans that evening, we instead purchased and ate a smorgasbord of Globus Swiss cheeses, breads & antipasti and grilled more bratwurst (not the first visitors to develop an instant addiction) back at home.

Part II will encompass the weekend's subsequent ventures outside of Zürich to nearby Luzern (Lucerne) and Rapperswil, for which you'll see a sneak preview in the first group of pics here: http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=2hd8fyj.cepsmmw3&x=0&y=dlrgqf&localeid=en_US

EM Days 7-8 - kein Bier

Wow! Amazing Group of Death action on EM Day 7, with an en fuego Holland administering another spanking to France 4-1 after similarly dispatching Italy 3-1--those are the last two World Cup champion teams, by the way--to emphatically win the group. France was both inept and unlucky in that order and now battles an equally struggling Italy, held tied 1-1 with impressively resilient Romania, with the winner likely taking the remaining second round berth. That's a grudge rematch of the World Cup 2006 final to see who limps through. Day 8 saw Spain clinch their group with a couldn't-be-more-last-minute goal to win 2-1 against a previously content Sweden, whereas Russia ponderously eliminated defending Euro 2004 cinderella champ Greece. The tournament so far could not be better.

With Steph tied up at a work training event Friday and Saturday evenings (uh, bad scheduling, yes?), I gingerly visited the FanZone alone Friday evening after a tough recovery day. At their FanZone booth backdropped by their enormous "Big Boy" rotisserie smoker, World Barbeque Team Switzerland is aiming for a world record 600 hours (25 days) non-stop BBQ'ed pork & beef during the month-long EM tournament, or 20,000 portions or about 7 tons; it all must be eaten for the record to count. We tested them Monday and these guys give the Texans and Carolinians a serious run for their money--really good. I dined there again Friday night during Holland v. France, then made the mistake of trying to drink a beer. My body would have accepted paint thinner more readily. Serves me right. Kein is negation in German; kein Bier means "Not any beer!" My mantra until at least Day 9.

The funniest part (to an American) of the BBQ is the wondering crowd it attracts--Swiss and other visiting Europeans crowding and gawking at the display, inquiring amongst themselves and questioning the proprietor shredding the meat by hand, "Schwein oder Rind (pork or beef)?" (answer: both). The spectators taste a sample and their eyes widen, "Ooh, ist gut!" It's the only BBQ we've seen in Europe in nearly eight months, so its exotically delicious stature shouldn't be a surprise. But we giggle anyway. Take that, international cuisine, still sneering that all we got is McDonald's??

EM Day 6 - ouch

Thursday was another rough one. Met the German/American couple (our new friends from EM Day 1, a.k.a. Saturday) at the FanZone to watch Germany v. Croatia on the big screen. Also rendezvous'ed there with the Swedish & Mexican guys and met a new German girl, all connected through work at ABB. Germany couldn't put it together all night and lost 2-1 to a deserving Croatian team, the first upset of the tournament. Wait to see which school of thought proves correct--an unavoidable bump in the road for a German team that will regroup and push to the final (my guess) OR evidence of real cracks that will be exploited in the second round.

Unfortunately for me, Thursday night ended up similar to Saturday. The group hit a neighborhood bar to watch the second game; all the people working Friday left at a fairly responsible hour (albeit well-quaffed) whereas those not working--the Swedes, a Mexican guy and me--stayed around way too long solving the world's mysteries (too bad I can't remember the solutions). The bartender kicked us out at closing time after generoulsy (ha!) providing a shot of some sweet pink liquor. Blech! Everyone is very nice, and the concept of possibly making friends in Zürich is still so foreign to Steph and me that we can't yet even grapple with it.

The Swiss have a pretty good sense of humor. Check out these bags from the local grocery (click to enlarge): Swiss-, Greek- and Spain-indicative food items decked out like soccer teams for the Europameister. Hilarious! Spain is the best.

Meet Hans

Time for a Schweizerhund update! Last October, I'd characterize Steph and I as fairly confident and unconcerned about tackling the challenges of our impending trans-Atlantic move, but worried sick about how Child #1 would adjust. If you had issued the true/false question stating the parents would wind up fairly frazzled but Hobbes would sink right in the groove, I'd have marked 'False'. That's why I always fail the true/false test.

Yes, the little boy has taken to Switzerland like a Wisconsinite to bratwurst. From the original farm fields of Kloten to our concrete neighborhood in Zürich city, he hasn't missed a beat. Perhaps primarily because he has constant semi-canine company (me) during his daytime naps, which appeals to his extraordinarily strong family pack instinct. But also because whereas Chicago was virtually limitlessly urban, the primary beauty of Zürich is its proximity to nature; we're 10-15 minutes by foot or tram to a choice of trails, trees, streams or lakes.

And since spring's onset, we've added to the regimen his all-time favorite activity--schwimmen! He loves to scare Lake Zürich's swans and ducks in the AM endlessly chasing a tennis ball into the water. Also important to his and our sanity, we've finally assembled his care network including dog-sitters, groomer, and vet; those are perfect examples of difficult elements to locate in a foreign city that keep one frazzled for a while. His new dog-sitter, a perfectly wonderful woman from Mexico we found through a Yahoo ex-pat exchange, loves him to death after he saved her from being bitten by an aggressively territorial dog by laying on the smack-down; don't mess with the golden 90+ pounder. By the way, this happened in St.Gallen--an eastern Switzerland city that we haven't even visited yet--during our recent Spain visit. So he's getting around and winning new friends.

He's also adjusting better to German than when I tried to teach him Spanish in Chicago. More direct cognates, I think, such as sitz! for sit!. He likes German food, too, such as little bites of bratwurst, cervelat sausage and crusty roll he's occasionally furnished when visiting our favorite sausage stand. The best part is his new German alias. On our morning walks, we often encounter groups of kids at recess or in parks, and it's so cute when they always ask "Wie alt?" (How old?) and "Wie heißt?" (What's his name?). But when I answer, "Er heißt Hobbes", they never really understand that English name and give us a weird look. So I started answering, "Er heißt Hans" and they LOVE it! And it's similar enough that he responds. Brilliant if I say so myself!

Warning: no humans appear in the following set of pictures: http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=2hd8fyj.a4286wgz&x=0&y=mjwvss&localeid=en_US

Don't Blink

This photo arrived in the mail this week from the Winterthur race photographer trying to entice me to buy more. I thought it was funny so I'm posting it. The guy must have great reflexes; I'm amazed he captured me, given my blistering speed. My favorite part is the caption--the event also featured a full marathon and they didn't print the "Half-" part on the photos. That's an extra 13.1 miles for free! We're still waiting for Steph's photo to show up...

EM Day 5 - Turkey and Swiss

Europa Meister update, Day 5

Switzerland scores!

One usually doesn't hear the words "poor" and "Switzerland" together, but today it's apt. The likeable tournament co-hosts gave up the winning goal to Turkey in the game's final minute to lose 2-1 after leading 0-1 (video) at halftime during a monsoon in Basel. Coupled with their similarly unfortunate opening loss to the Czechs, Switzerland is already eliminated from a second-round berth and have crashed out of their own tournament (other host Austria stands to fare the same after tonight). One game remains against group powerhouse Portugal, making salvaging even a shred of pride difficult. The German press calls both games sehr unglücklich (very unlucky) which is true, but as my should-be-a-professional-soccer-writer brother says on his blog, "...the Swiss were unlucky, but they were also not good enough." On a final note, this blog entry's title was shamelessly stolen from good friend Zeus Magee back in Indiana, who emailed, "I usually like The Swiss on top of the Turkey, but I'll eat the sandwich any way it's prepared."

Also yesterday, Portugal schooled a good Czech team in Geneva solidifying their bid as a tournament contender. The Zürich FanZone was packed to capacity last night, so Steph and I wandered the crammed streets taking in the atmosphere. We're extraordinarily lucky to live in a host city for a tournament most Europeans would die to have, but as I always say, timing is everything...

Franco-German Fusion

You're probably familiar with the Pareto principle, more commonly known as the 80-20 rule, that says 80% of effects are obtained by only 20% of causes. I love this rule and mis- and over-apply it whenever possible regarding all manner of mundane issues. A perfect application for it struck me again during our mid-May weekend excursion to Strasbourg in France's Alsace region.

The Alsace may ring a bell as a culturally mixed French/German area, a strip perhaps 100 miles long riding the border midway between the two countries (but lies in France). Reviewing my history, it traded hands a few times over several hundred years; France ultimately kept it, but the German roots remain fixed. Steph and I were familiar with some Alsatian recipes and wine, had it on our "short list" of nearby places to visit, and jumped at the chance for a weekend rendezvous in the Alsace capital of Strasbourg with two of Steph's college roommates when proposed earlier this year.

Not surprisingly, Strasbourg is yet another gem in central Europe's embarrassment of riches. Have I mentioned that one of Switzerland's biggest advantages is being central to everything? 2.5 hours on the train and we're there, arriving almost simultaneously as college buddies M (from the couple M&M living in Germany for a year, whom we've already seen in Heidelberg, Zürich and Rome) and newly arrived T, visiting from Chicago and admirably shaking off both her trans-Atlantic jetlag and pre-flight hangover from an extended work bash (we apparently all operate the same in Chicago).

We toured through Strasbourg's lovely and huge Old Town center all weekend, mostly eating and sometimes drinking, with no real additional purpose. Here's where the Pareto part comes in: although you might expect a 50-50 split, roughly equal French and German influence, the tilt was decidedly French. But they latched on to the 20% German that provides 80% of the benefit, namely, beer, sausage, pretzels, spätzli, and some cute rural architectural elements. That's not a knock on Germany, which I greatly enjoy, but let's face it, their traditional cuisine isn't exactly stellar. German signage and menus were fairly prevalent, but the rest was happily undoubtedly French (read, pastries).

The town's historic center is actually a large "Grand Island", or Grande Île, with a maze of quaint restaurants, cafés, shops and tourist fare. Towering above as the town's prevalent feature is the world's fourth-largest church, the Strasbourg Cathedral, enormous and ornately adorned in Gothic style akin to, but not quite as jaw-droppingly amazing as, Cologne's Dom.

The region's gastronomic specialty is tarte flambée (or Flammkuchen in German), a thin pizza-like crust topped with crème fraîche (a thick sour cream), onions and bacon. It goes equally well with a locally-grown dry Riesling wine or beer, I tried them both. Most restaurants offered a dozen tarte flambée variations with various toppings, perhaps reminiscent of pizza but richer and more complex. We also ate dinner in a perfect town-center riverside patio local at a restaurant specializing in spätzli (mine came clustered around a gigantic ham hock) and stopped at a Paris-chain pâtisserie providing the absolutely most fantastic apricot pastry in my known galaxy (T ordered it, not me. Rats!).

Great weekend for all in another dynamite location and a further reminder of what a blast it is touring Europe with friends!

Map below and a few pics here: http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=2hd8fyj.73zm66dv&x=0&y=-ailnw3&localeid=en_US

Undertrained, Overcommitted

If you're superhumanly attentive or monumentally bored, you may notice I sometimes attach a label or 'Category' to the bottom of blog entries. Honestly I haven't the foggiest idea why readers might filter this blog by category but nonetheless, it's easily facilitated by blogging technology. There's one category in particular you haven't seen in a loooong time. You've seen lots of 'Excursions'. You may remember seeing 'Housing' entries before and after we moved. Yet although we consider it a major component of our lives, 'Exercise' hasn't made a blog appearance since way back in Sep/Oct for my/Steph's last big triathlon/marathon, respectively.

Not belonging to a health club here (insufficient value for the Franc), we mostly kept in a shadow of shape by running the nearby farm fields in Kloten in Nov/Dec and running (weather allowing) or swimming in Zürich during Jan-Mar. Maintaining our customary regimen was nearly impossible, since due to initial stress and/or new germs or climate or something, I've been sick literally once every month since moving to Switzerland in November, after not contracting so much as a cold for over a year in Chicago; Steph hasn't fared much better. And this is without our much more frequent Chicago (often late) nightlife activities; we're teetotalers in comparison today.

Naturally, our exercise schedules themselves become less flabby once a goal is set and our bodies follow suit; therefore we had targeted the Winterthur (next big city over from Zürich) half-marathon in mid-May--13.1 miles. We enjoy the half-marathon distance for requiring some (but not too much) organized training, yet ending well before the marathon's masochisitic brutality begins in earnest.

Nonetheless, our demanding European vacation travel schedule (sympathy probably not forthcoming) combined with schizo mountain weather this spring rattled our training schedule. You're perhaps familiar with the endurance-training concept of tapering, that is, pushing yourself to the desired performance level and then relaxing or "tapering" in the week or two approaching the event? Well when Sunday, May 18 rolled around, I considered us extremely "well-tapered". That morning we rode the train (of course) from overcast Zürich to Winterthur, about 25 minutes, then found the registration area within the city, about a 15 minute walk, then obtained our race numbers and stored our extra gear (despite all-German and patently unclear signage), then lined up with another 1,600 fitness freaks at the starting line (1,600 is quaint compared to Chicago athletic events, which always unfortunately attempt the "World's Largest (fill-in-the-blank)" because of Second City syndrome).

Good news was miraculously avoiding rain despite every forecast all week predicting the opposite. Bad news was that every single other competitor had apparently not been gallavanting around Europe all spring and were already accustomed to Swiss germs and were teetotallers and have trained on mountains all their lives. That is, at least not trained on the world's flattest largest glaciated lake bottom for the past 13 years. Still not fully accustomed to Swiss topography, we'd term the race's first half as "rolling"; the entire second half was inclined with the only variation being a gradual burn upwards vs. occasional steep killer hills. Admittedly we never tried for a personal best and would have posted a lackluster result on flat terrain, but could only chuckle finishing in the bottom 10% instead of our Chicago-usual top third. The highlight was undoubtedly the charming Swiss spectators, scattered thinly but conspicuously along the entire course, spiritedly cheering even the dregs like us in their inimitable trilingual fashion, "Hopp, hopp, hopp!" (Swiss-German), "Allez! Allez!" (French), and "Bravo!" (Italian).

Now here is where I maintain that Steph and I, despite all our adjustments and obstacles the past seven months, must finally be clawing back to a semblance of our true social form. In addition to the race, we had several weeks back also planned to entertain our original Zürich relocation guide, the peerless Mr. Mssrli, for dinner that evening. In our Chicago heyday, a random weekend might include an endurance event, dinner party for eight, Chicago bar-hopping until 2am, an impromptu wine and cheese pairing for friends Sunday afternoon, and then baking pastry from scratch Sunday evening for everyone in the office Monday morning. Well maybe not entirely, but our deliberate overcommitment to Mr. Mssrli must mean we're feeling slightly closer to normal.

As further evidence, we insisted on grilling outside as originally planned (our imported U.S.-Weber grill was brand new and, yes, we bought the largest American-sized one available from a Swiss retailer and, no, I won't tell you how overpriced no matter how much you ask) under the new big patio umbrella despite the downpour that evening. And might I add, although we're usually befittingly humble, we nailed all three courses with possibly as good a meal as the best we've enjoyed in any Zürich restaurant to date. Our culturally-comparative conversations with Swiss/British Mr. Mssrli were as entertaining as always and before leaving at 11:30pm (one positive sign) that Sunday night he suggested (unaided) that we meet out for dinner again in the near future (another positive sign).

Thus completely exhausted and probably on the verge of our seventh sickness, we toppled into bed perhaps a touch more satisfied that someday soon our general overall performance in Europe--athletically, socially, psychologically, (linguistically?)--will improve a hair past that bottom 10%.

EM Pics (days 1-3)

A quick Europa Meister update as of Mon, Day 3, when we bought evening seats in Zürich's temporary FanZone stadium to watch unfortunately the dullest match of the tournament so far, flat France against a bunkered Romania. The late game (watched from home) more than made up for it, however, as a Dutch team played their opening match more like a final game and completely outskilled, outhustled and abused defending whiner world champs Italy, 3-0. Italy's luck finally completely deservingly deserted them, and we'll see how the diving, overdramatic, cheap-shot-artist jerkfaces fare without a complete cake walk to the semifinals like in WC 2006.

Various pics from Saturday's (Day 1) and Monday's (Day 3) craziness here: http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=2hd8fyj.42v3k5hv&x=0&y=nzqgje&localeid=en_US

Europa Meister 2008

I'll interject with a currently topical entry before continuing recapping our crazy May. In June, i.e., right this second, Switzerland and Austria are co-hosting the world's second-biggest soccer extravaganza, the 2008 Euro Championships or--here's a great German translation--Europameister 2008! The Euro format resembles the World Cup's and also occurs every four years, but only European teams qualify; every country fields its national all-stars and nearly every game feels like a virtual grudge match (since every country holds grudges from the past 2,000 years or so). You may know that Europeans revere soccer above all else (but here it's called football, fußball, futbol, etc.)--the continent's NFL, MLB, and NBA rolled into one--and Europeans are gonzo about its every facet.

Steph and I consider ourselves sizeable international soccer fans, attending the 1998 and 2006 World Cups in France and Germany, respectively, and waking up repeatedly at 3:30am during summer 2002 to watch the U.S. national team play at World Cup hosts Korea/Japan. For EM 08, four Swiss cities (Zürich, Bern, Basel, Geneva) and four Austrian cities (Vienna, Innsbruck, Salzburg, Klagenfurt(?)) host games. The epicenter of Zürich's tournament activities (the "FanZone") is none other than the Sechseläutenplatz, a mere ten-minute walk from our front door, where a miniature stadium with seating for 2,500 is now erected along with three gigantic TV's (including one standing in Lake Zürich, very cool) with viewing space for 45,000 fans (they say). The entire east side of the city's river and lakefront, from the main train station stretching two miles south, shuts down every evening all month for beer and sausage and pretzel and (did I mention?) beer vendors.

The FanZone opened Friday night, so we hit the scene after dinner to witness a relatively slight crowd and the city's opening concert by Mel C of the UK's now thankfully defunct Spice Girls (if that band possessed any talent, Mel C unfortunately wasn't it). On Saturday, Basel hosted the tournament's opening game--Switzerland v. Czech Republic--and the anticipation country-wide was almost palpable. The Swiss national team coach's wife had an epileptic fit earlier in the week caused by stress, and he looks like he's next, because there's SO much pressure for host Switzerland to reach the second round, but the competition is much tougher than the World Cup because the world's perennially mediocre teams (such as, sadly, the U.S., Mexico, Asia, Middle East, Central America, etc.) aren't in.

Steph and I hit the FanZone again just after the game start on Saturday to a much livelier setting, thousands of people milling and drinking and eating (and drinking) and talking on cell phones and watching the big screens (and teenagers doing what they're best at, overimbibing and acting stupid); mostly Swiss but also fans from Portugal and Turkey, who played later that night, and a few French, Germans and others. Switzerland played spiritedly but was unlucky to lose 1-0 to the tough-as-nails Czechs. After two beers and a currywurst each, Steph and I stood near the exit, watching thousands of dejected Swiss file out and debating hanging around to watch the following game when our whole evening changed...

Steph rides the same commuter train many mornings as a nice American guy (PA) who lives in our neighborhood and works in her same office building near the airport. As ex-pat strangers do, they somehow recognized each others' origin and have chatted at times, also once or twice with his girlfriend. Well, the two of them bumped into us near the exit, enjoying a grand time after apparently consuming three times our beers during the game (crazily enough, I recognized the couple because Steph had originally pointed them out on the identical weekend flight we took to Rome in March), accompanied by a small international contingent of two Swedes and two Mexicans. It turns out the American guy's girlfriend is Australian, fairly drunk and a fun riot who, after five minutes of chatting, instantly loves Steph.

When they suggested (unaided) that we hit our favorite bratwurst stand followed by our favorite British pub, we were sold. All six in the group were quite friendly; four work for ABB, an enormous Swedish/Swiss global engineering company and major local employer. As you might imagine, the evening's former sobriety deteriorated rapidly. Crammed into the pub drinking pint after pint of Whatever Lager, watching Portugal dismantle Turkey on the pub TV's, we met another very nice couple, American/German combo, and a friendly South African guy chatted me up. Which is why Steph and I love international soccer events--month-long parties with amiable people from around the globe gathering to meet and enjoy each other's differences and, more importantly, to uncover similarities and have a blast.

Without too much detail, the night was just warming up. Since nobody in Switzerland speaks Spanish, my new Mexican friend taught me some choice Mexican Spanish curses which we practiced yelling at Portugal's superstar player on TV (didn't help, they won 2-0). The group later staggered around town, among the other people staggering around, visiting several additional bars and being denied entry at a few clubs (I think); very late at McDonald's our new Swedish friend convinced us that Americans can't resist McDonald's french fries; we agreed, caved in and scarfed McDonald's for the first time in eight months. The clock read something like 4:00 or 4:30am when we arrived home to sleep almost entirely through an utterly useless Sunday...until the Day 2 games started at 6:00pm Sunday evening, that is...

I'll post a few pics tomorrow, gotta run now because we bought tickets to watch tonight's game in the miniature stadium...

Tour de Suisse, Pt. 2

Der Rheinfall - der grösste Wasserfall Europas

After traversing the central (Alpine) and western (French) reaches of Switzerland, Phase II of Steph's parents' May visit concentrated east. After a day's R&R in Zürich, we attacked another old stomping ground of Hobbes's (and ours), the very-nearly-in-Germany town of Schaffhausen on the Rhein River (yesterday's map, 'F'), like Bern another of our original November conquests. This daytrip was quite an improvement over the first (except for missing Hobbes), since our Nov visit--a mere two weeks after our original arrival!--featured cold wind, nonstop drizzle and Steph sporting the flu. Also the train stop for the area's biggest attraction, Europe's largest waterfall, the Rheinfall, had been closed, requiring over a mile walk each way; with picture perfect weather this day, the train stopped a one minute walk away (anti-Murphy's Law?).

We meandered through Schaffhausen's medieval Old Town and hiked up (should be good at it by now) to the Munot, the town's cool old fortress/mini-castle. As evidence of Steph's and my insanity as tour guides, we had originally proposed adding to the day's itinerary a leisurely 11-mile bike ride from Schaffhausen to nearby Stein-am-Rhein, a purportedly perfectly preserved medieval village. Kay and Archer, despite being avid cyclers, politely suggested this might just kill them, and Steph I were quite glad in retrospect to have heeded the parental advice (and we thanked them for their wisdom, how's that for good kids??).

We saved our final big daytrip excursion for their second weekend, uncharted territory for Steph and I, Switzerland's southern secret little Italian canton, the Ticino (G). I view the Ticino as a marvel of Swiss psyche--surrounded on the west, south and east by Italy, blocked from the rest of Switzerland by extreme mountains to the north, with Italian as the official language and only Italian food on the menus, they nonetheless view themselves as solidly Swiss.

Reviews from other Swiss locals (German and French alike) had been unequivocal--everybody loves the Ticino. The cultural elements are nearly purely Italian, but the organization and bank accounts are decidedly Swiss--the best of both worlds. That our daytrip enjoyed perfectly gorgeous weather didn't hurt either, as we explored the towns of Locarno on Lake Maggiore (the Swiss flipside of Italy's Lake Como) with its Alpine backdrop and Bellinzona, an amazing ancient Roman castle-studded village of utmost charm, which I joked would be called 'The-Town-That-Shall-Go-Unnamed-In-The-Blog' because I didn't want anyone to know about it. So there, I named it, I'm not a selfish jerk after all. But still, you shouldn't go there.

After ten (!) excellent days together which seemed to fly, we bid a glum farewell to Kay and Archer. Through all our conversations throughout the trip and also because of it, combined with that irreplaceable family effect, they helped Steph and I cross another important psychological obstacle to our ultimate European settling. Although I still agree with my own Theory of Expatriation (ha, big surprise!), it's easier for the brain to define than the heart (or the blog); in the end I suppose it's understanding that things from home you love are still there--and you appreciate them deeply during the short stints they're available--but also understanding that improving your tolerance for and acceptance of cross-cultural difficulties (there are so many!!) is key to fundamentally, emotionally appreciating the fantastic world of new experiences. Easier said than done, I'll tell you, but this trip helped a lot.

Did you want more pictures? http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=2hd8fyj.49i65wg3&x=0&y=-it9ntk&localeid=en_US

Tour de Suisse, Pt. 1

You've no doubt heard of the Tour de France: professional cycling's Holy Grail each July, the grounds for Lance Armstrong's storied achievements, the vanguard of creative athletic doping, etc. But are you aware of the Tour de Suisse, i.e., Tour of Switzerland, an annual June precursor to and often proving ground for its bigger, more celebrated French neighbor? Probably not, but that's quite all right because this blog is not about Switzerland's biggest bicycle race but instead about our route around the country during Steph's parents' early May visit! Check out the map:



Since blog pseudonyms are mandatory, we'll call Steph's mom Kay and her step-dad Archer. From their jet-lagged arrival early one Friday morning, extra tired from hauling along the first spate of gorgeous, sunny weather we'd seen this year, we rarely provided a rest. As our first visitors spending enough time to allow a really immersed touring, we hiked them all around Zürich ('A' on the map) that first weekend, especially up, down, up and down all the wonderful city hills providing the best views. Not simply content with Zürich's peak Uetliberg views (but well satisfied with the summit's enormous almond-paste filled pastries), we headed Monday to the heart of Switzerland's perhaps most renowned mountain area, the Berner Oberland region around and above Interlaken (B).

Interlaken means "between lakes" (quite fortunate, since that's exactly where the town lies) and plays thruway to the famous towering Alpine triple-peaks of the Jungfrau ("maiden"), Mönch ("monk") and Eiger ("ogre"), the latter's north face being one of mountaineering's most infamous and deadly challenges. Pictures are unfortunately lacking, since the fickle spring clouds obscured the trio during our 2-1/2 day visit; in fact we only needed to cogway-tram up to 6,000 ft., less than half the peaks' height, to witness an impressive, deep-snow encased winter wonderland in stark white contrast to the bright green of our home base in the Lauterbrunnen valley.

The Jungfrau region is a day-hiker's paradise, with the Swiss-engineered connectivity of lifts, trams, cogtrains and busses making seemingly endless hiking trails accessible. And wherever you wander, little villages always await for respite, i.e., espresso. Steph and I had actually visited two years ago (never dreaming we'd ever live in Switzerland) and enjoyed it, but upon our first return as "locals" (two hour trip) and our first mountain visit since moving in November, we felt a much deeper appreciation for the Alps as the immutable heart of Switzerland, with a cultural relevance making Zürich feel almost extraneous. Same food, same wine, same prices, same stores, similar people, and it all just seems to fit perfectly in the mountains. We hiked for two days and slept for two nights, ate schnitzel and spätzle and drank Swiss wine, trammed and walked and even stopped at the bar for a beer.

Rather than return straight home (too restful)--and to squeeze the turnip juice out of Kay's and Archer's train day passes--we departed Wednesday morning the "long way around", through the Alps (C) and the as-yet undiscovered (by us) Valais valley, across that invisible cultural border into the Swiss-French town of Sion (D) for lunch. The Valais is Switzerland's other major winemaking canton (we visited the Vaud in February) with Sion as its fairly bustling hub. No surprise, Steph and I wax poetic on anything French-food related, so lunch (with Stephanie dusting off the French yet again for a waitress who spoke no English) was predictably lovely. You can't go wrong with local food/wine combinations, so when we ordered a bottle of light white Sion wine, it was the perfect carbohydrate match for my otherwise "Atkins" salad (hey, it's healthy!) of two 3-inch-diameter breaded & fried Brie rounds with bacon-laden dressing; perhaps I remember some greens in there too.

Our only rainy weather of the visit spoiled the afternoon's plan of exploring Swiss-French Montreux on the east side of Lake Geneva, although it looked quite lovely through drenched train windows. We opted instead to loop all the way back to Swiss-German Bern (E) for a quick walk downtown and coffee, although its otherwise charming arcades and Old Town were also compromised by cold mist and blustery splattering weather (Steph, Hobbes and I visited Bern way back in November!). We headed back to Zürich (remember A?) to end the day and plot the visit's exciting second half.

Pictures to be found at: http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=2hd8fyj.33omt7c3&x=0&y=-dylrza&localeid=en_US