Secret of Our Unpopularity

While the cultural and social adjustments one must make when moving overseas are significant, certain actions may more smoothly facilitate one's eventual adoption by the local population. For example, learning the local language or dialect, purchasing or displaying affinity for local products, or attempting to mirror some personality traits or mannerisms in interactions with new local acquaintances. Conversely, one must remain diligent not to inadvertantly exhibit any cuturally inappropriate actions. Unfortunately, despite our little family's mighty strivings to adapt since our arrival in Switzerland last November, I discovered last week an incredible faux pas we've been committing. And one not limited to Switzerland, but consistent in virtually every country across the globe. Yes, in fact, nearly every expatriation problem we've encountered can now be traced back to one simple cause.

You probably guessed it already: for the past ten months we've been washing our clothes with water softener instead of soap.

It's amazing what you learn when you finally slow down long enough to pay attention. We've more or less settled on one brand of every household item in our extended need for simplicity. Our dishwasher detergent is Calgon, available in powder or fancy Express Tab form. We settled on the Calgon Express Tab because it's what we'd found in our temporary apartment way back in Kloten in November. Calgon also makes Express Tabs for the washing machine, so we simply bought those too. Voila! Kein Problem.

After repeating this easy habit about every six weeks for ten months, I finally became confused last week in the grocery store. My understanding of German continues to slowly improve, and after searching in three local stores I couldn't find the correct Calgon laundry soap, only Calgon water softener (Swiss mountain-fed water is quite hard and all appliances require periodic doses of special salts to reduce scale). I returned home empty handed to double-check the nearly empty laundry tab box. Hmm, wouldn't you know, it looked disturbingly similar to the grocery boxes. And the harder I looked, the more conspicuously absent any reference to soap became. Only a picture of a washing machine and references to water. And after sitting down and painstakingly translating the entire box, the true horror finally struck home--Calgon laundry detergent tabs don't exist, just dishwashing detergent tabs and laundry water softener tabs.

Steph and I enjoyed about the hardest laugh we've had since moving overseas. In retrospect, our clothes never came out dirty but likewise they were never particularly cleanly fragrant. I always chalked it up to European environmentalism and relative austerity with household chemicals. I returned to the store to purchase Ariel brand laundry soap tabs, and the next load of clothes' resulting flowery fragrant scent nearly knocked me over. So much for austerity. Luckily the drier sheets have had some pleasant scent to them, or we might not have had any friends over here at all.

Get Your Techno On

Rewind if you will to the second weekend in August, the hosting weekend the past 10 years of Zürich's single largest annual event. No, not the International Bankers Association convention, and not the Watchmakers-Clockmakers Institute flea market, but good guesses. Actually think something approaching the opposite. Yes, in its seemingly neverending paradoxical style, Zürich hosts the largest techno/rave party in Europe and one of the largest in the world, simply called Street Parade.

Zürich's techno club scene supposedly enjoys an outsized reputation for the city's modest size; we wouldn't know firsthand since it's not really our thing. But everybody here knows Street Parade. The kooks come in for one Saturday, from all over Europe and maybe the world, 800,000-1,000,000 people, a huge number dressed up or down or whatever you want to call it, the key themes being scanty and gothic. Maybe it's the way crazy ravers dress at 4:30am in hidden, pitch black, throbbing underground clubs, except in this case it's 2pm on a cloudless summer day and everything's wide open in public. The parade itself is a series of floats--each outrageously decorated blasting techno music and featuring gyrating costumed dancers--proceeding slowly along the side of Lake Zürich. The crowd masses alongside the procession (as shown above), drinking and dancing all afternoon. Good idea on somebody's part, I suppose.

So our core Australian friend invited us to her rooftop patio pre-Parade party along with more or less all the Rimini people and others, with only one catch--costume mandatory. Oh, what we won't do to build friendships, eh? Steph had been in Moscow (and liked the city!) for work the entire week prior, so we had precious little time to devise costumes. On our way to Zürich's flagship toy store (think FAO Schwarz) Saturday morning, we saw enough wackos already milling about to help focus our aim. Steph ended up in a boa and short skirt combo and I with a crazy devil outfit (sorry no pictures), both on the reasonable end of risque. As first time Parade-goers, we attained a more or less middle range of respectably weird at both the party and parade. Apparently with more experience, weird becomes more comfortable.

We partied it up on the rooftop on a beautiful sunny day (some people earning sunburns in strange places) and only descended in time to catch the tail end of the float procession, somewhat amusing but no great show. The crowd was crammed shoulder-to-shoulder for blocks upon blocks, but we persevered slowly to the event's center to be joined by other past Europameister friends (all parts of the same large group) near the beer tents; by early evening everyone was fairly swaying.

The group (not pictured here) broke apart slowly as sub-groups headed for different pre-parties or post-parties or all night rave parties or outdoor techno extravaganzas or who knows what. Steph and I and another Rimini couple selected a safe option, an all-ages free-of-charge techno party at the main train station; yes, the train station doubles as a big event hall. The station was (surprise!) packed solid, we hung around for one or two more drinks and danced with the sixteen year olds for a while, finally calling it quits around 1am. We'd later learn that we'd again achieved middle ground, with some of the rooftop group going toes-up by 10pm and others lasting until 5am. Ah, the luxury of youth.

So there you have it, our first and largest one-day outdoor costumed techno/rave parade party successfully completed. Is that the worst Zürich can throw at us? This is getting too easy...

Coastal Craziness

Way back on August 1, after spending all of 1-1/2 days back in Zürich since returning from the U.S. (just long enough for Hobbes to reacquaint himself with our smells), we boarded a train that Friday morning for a seven-hour trip through the Alps and down into Italy. Destination: the Adriatic Sea.

The Australian/American (Philadelphia) couple who first opened the friend floodgates for us at Europameister--Steph and he ride the same commuter train to the same office complex--invited us with a group of eight unknowns to the beach resort town of Rimini, Italy, for the weekend. Steph and I, still jet-lagged and generally travel weary, were slightly regretting our positive RSVP several weeks prior, generally grumbling about the 14 total train-hours and staying in a cheapo beach hostel (not our usual highbrow style) during the coming three days with a group of basic strangers. A work colleague of Steph's had characterized Rimini as a tourist trap for Germans, and blog followers may remember my generally mixed feelings on Italy from my first-ever trip in March. But far from being homebodies and willing to take chances to meet people, we dug down for a little extra social energy and set out. Funny how those decisions always seem to pay off.

We half-accidentally bumped into two group members--another Australian girl and American (Iowa) girl--on our train and chatted for most of the trip; it's easy to kill lots of time learning about everyone's background & situation and comparing notes on Switzerland. I absorbed the rather parched countryside views as our Swiss train passed through the famous Emilia-Romagna region's gourmet trifecta towns of Parma (prosciutto), Reggio (Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese) and Modena (balsamic vinegar) before switching trains in sweltering Bologna. We spent the 45 minute layover sampling some tasty panini-type sandwiches before boarding...the Italian Nightmare Train.

The final planned 70 minute ride seemed to last 7 hours itself. On a packed, crummy old undulating train with broken air-conditioning and windows that barely cracked, the relentless baking sun and humidity were stifling. The journey began with an hour's motionless delay. My lightweight shirt and drawers were soaked through with perspiration--with actual damp dark spots like spilling water on one's self. Quite lovely, but I certainly wasn't alone. At some point, things became comically uncomfortable; we just laughed. Ultimately we arrived in Rimini, deciphered the bus system (not nearly so organized Switzerland's but then, whose is?) and cruised in a somewhat better-ventilated bus down the town's long main strip to the hotel.

The tiny modest hostel room, also sans-AC, met our low expectations with a combo bathroom/shower that indiscriminantly sprayed water all over the sink, toilet and aging bidet (?). We walked the short distance to the beach and rendezvous'ed with the previously-arrived full group around 6pm, also enjoying a short beachside jaunt through the warm salty waves. The all-Zürich-based group featured two Londoners, two Scots, a Canadian, and one Swiss in addition to the already familiar double-Australian/double-American combo; all single (one dating couple) and mostly younger by several or more years; nobody had known each other before moving to Zürich anywhere from three years to nine months ago.

To make a long weekend story short, everyone was extremely friendly (keeping with my theory that not many ex-pats are duds) and we had a blast dining, drinking, dancing and beach clubbing until way too late both nights and relaxing in typical laid-back beach town fashion during the day. The beach was surprisingly large and uncrowded, full of Italians with hardly a German in sight. After only a day of unwinding, the hostel room seemed perfectably serviceable--it is a beach town after all, yes, not a global finance hub? Nearly every local was happy and friendly, food was inexpensive and occasionally delicious, our companions were fully entertaining and we felt right at home. My previously somewhat hard stance on Italy softened appreciably after a totally enjoyable weekend and I can say (gasp!) that I cautiously look forward to returning in the future.

Just to make us appreciate Switzerland all that much more, however, the entire Italy-based train ride home lacked AC and we fidgeted variously (I quite hungover, although Steph not surprisingly had behaved much more responsibly), uncomfortable under a constant slight film of perspiration for the full seven hours. I even unbuttoned five buttons and left my chest fairly exposed the entire trip. How's that for embracing the local culture? Doesn't seem so silly to me now.


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Nichten machen Spaß!

Hello again! How was that crazy Labor Day holiday last week? I'm hopefully going to fire off some short entries this week recounting August activities before I fall too far behind in September. Our social calender has indeed turned quite lively over here!

As a final follow up from our trip to Minnesota in July, here are some pictures I couldn't help but post. Given our three brothers' home bases of Minnesota, Madison and Zürich (formerly Chicago), full reunions are rare but we managed one for our July backpacking trip and very much enjoyed spending time with my twin brother's twin nieces in the process. Now 3 years old, they joined us at Steph's family's lake cabin for a day of craziness in the water and we rendezvous'ed later again after backpacking. So much energy and really wonderful girls!

Nichten machen Spaß (nieces are fun)!: http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=2hd8fyj.34mlbwd7&x=0&y=rgbhxl&localeid=en_US

A New Kind of Hiking

Not five minutes into the shrouded humid forest, we sensed big trouble. Mosquitoes swarmed virtually every step, especially for the poor soul leading the charge, kicking them up from the damp overgrowth obscuring the seldom-used trail. Yet our defenses held them at bay. We had hoped against but rationally expected this possibility and soldiered on. Alas, the Achilles heel of our tenuous stand-off with the blood suckers was its sustainability. The oppressive humid heat and exertion encouraged ample sweating, quickly diluting the OFF!. You know the feeling when your sunscreen application is wearing off and you just barely sense the sun burning your skin? We all sensed almost simultaneously the bug spray wearing thin and, of the dozens if not a hundred mosquitoes literally bouncing off us every minute, one or two buzzing jerks gaining purchase. For me, it began on the heels of my hands where my hiking poles had rubbed the protection off first; not normally a choice site for a mosquito, eh? Yeah well, these suckers were tough. We heavily reapplied with OFF! and moved along.

After perhaps two miles, we reached a clearing at a gravel county road and paused to reassess in the cool open breeze. Billy had sustained more than a few bites on his shaved head, having unwisely opted for a hat during our initial ten minutes before donning the head net and unfortunately trapping one lucky mosquito inside. Gavin unhesitatingly ditched his head net for the full torso net (including head, quite stylish) and Billy and I followed. The suits were comfortable enough that I accidentally tried to eat a Snickers bar through mine (either that or I’m just dumb); the Snickers was so melted that it almost worked. We crossed the clearing and plunged into more trees.

While perhaps less inspiring than Yosemite’s panoramas or the desert’s vast austerity, this GT section featured some lovely scenery, most notably serene forested lakes and reedy grasslands. The going got rougher as we near-bushwhacked through the completely overgrown trail over marshy terrain and muddy depressions. The mosquitoes and horseflies never relented, occasionally scoring a good bite through the nets. Our mental fortitude hung tough but ebbed gradually over five, six, seven miles with the dipping sun until another all-too common setback struck--we lost the trail.

Every case runs a little differently, but it happens to everyone. Too many four-wheeler trails and other hiking trails crisscrossed, our vague map was no help, we followed the wrong blaze on a tree, took a presumed shortcut to reconnect and found ourselves still off the correct trail and uncertain of our exact location with perhaps 90 minutes of sun remaining. That was the final straw—beleaguered and grumpy, we agreed on an evacuation plan, determining to follow a trail south and west to hit one of two county roads that reconnected with the GT.

We exited the forest onto a county road, nervous about trespassing slightly between disconcertingly junk-strewn farms showcasing rusted equipment and a burning garbage can, all the while imagining rock salt-filled shotguns pointed at our backsides. We traversed our ninth mile of the day on concrete to reconnect with the trail. In the rapidly dwindling daylight, we scouted both sides of the trail intersecting the road with equally dismal results—one side in a thigh-high-grass field bordering a particularly unfriendly looming farmhouse, the other side ensconced in dark wet forest, both sides swarming with dusk-enthused mosquitoes. No decent place to situate a tent (much less two), with road signs additionally warning against tents and trespassing, and no water sources.

We may have contended and persevered against one or two such negative elements. But faced with mosquito swarms, trespassing, no flat dry ground, no water and no sunlight, we ultimately differentiated between roughing it and stupidity. For the first time in any of our lives, we embraced a completely new type of hiking—hitch-hiking.

Yes, you heard it, UHR 2008 aborted. While Gavin attempted via emergency cell phone to locate and contact the few motels and bars in the surrounding towns, searching in vain for a shuttle or taxi or desperate proprietor to drive 20 miles to a remote county road to pick up three strangers, Billy and I started thumbing the infrequently passing vehicles. Several slowed enough to observe our spooky mosquito net and headlamp getups before accelerating on; some drunken teenagers paused for amusement to hear our story and offer a few words of useless advice; in the dark a blood-chilling cacophony of howling let loose from the nearby looming farmhouse as if from a pack of wild dogs or perhaps werewolves (minutes later, our throats remained surprisingly intact).

Finally a beat-up car containing a man and several kids stopped. A local farmer, he offered useful advice regarding exactly where to camp without trespassing and then thank heavens! further offered to drive us to our car or a town bar. I’m certain we appeared an equal measure of probably normal but perhaps slightly odd to each other (eek, Deliverance!) as we carefully negotiated him dropping off his kids and returning to carry two of us--Billy and me without gear--back to our trailhead car 15 miles away via pitch black county roads. He did, and during the drive he said his kids had asked him why he actually returned to help us. He explained that he’d lived in Alaska for fifteen years and knew exactly the feeling of being bug-bitten, lost, thirsty and exhausted. Our guardian angel that night, for sure. We found our car, followed him back to find Gavin and the gear miraculously unaccosted in the dark after 40 minutes alone, paid him $20, thanked him profusely and sped gratefully toward the nearest decent-sized town with a real hotel. Chalk up 2008’s short UHR as the weirdest one yet.

Epilogue: while the mosquito bites were TNTC (too numerous to count), Gavin won the tick contest that evening, removing 10 from his chest, back and legs, vs. 6 for me and Billy’s mere 4, all tenaciously grippy but none yet engorged. Following UHR tradition, we consumed as much pizza and draft beer as our stomachs could hold at a local bar later that night.

Click to enlarge the GPS/Google Earth track (above) as hiked from right to left. Pictures: http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=2hd8fyj.1e9zyexn&x=0&y=vlfjqp&localeid=en_US

Back in the U.S.A.

Our nearly two-week trip back to the Midwest in July started like a whirlwind and eventually settled down. Steph and I conveniently flew together direct from Zürich to Chicago, actually the return leg from our original outbound tickets from Chicago in November (lacking our final visas, Switzerland hadn’t allowed a one-way flight in without proof of return, sensible enough). Without delving into detail, we saw as many friends as possible during a short stint in Chicago and spent the most time at Steph’s family’s lake cabin an hour outside of Minneapolis. As happy as we are seeing a few friends during our too-short return trips, we’re equally disappointed for the majority we don’t see. Coordinating everything is tremendously tricky and we now realize that our expectations should revolve around seeing everyone once every three years, not every year (of course, not including people visiting us in Europe!).

This blog’s primarily U.S. audience certainly doesn’t want to read about Steph’s and my somewhat altered perceptions of our home country after nine months away, right? Such platitudes, however mild, simply aren’t entertaining. Suffice it to say that our culture is consumerism, for all the benefits and drawbacks that insinuates. Since the prior blog entries revolved around a favorite activity--hiking--I’ll stick in that groove and focus on recounting an ill-fated adventure during our U.S. return. You’ll recall that Sven and I partake in an annual backpacking group excursion that includes my two brothers and several college friends from U of Madison. The excursion is dubbed UHR—the Ultimate Hiking Reunion—and as one could expect with guy-only trips, it’s usually planned with equal doses of hardened experience and local geographic ignorance to challenge the group; we jokingly call it hard core.

Backpacking isn’t hiking per se (like a day’s nature walk) and it’s not camping (with your car ten feet or a mile away); we trek everything you’d need to survive outdoors for three nights or so, 30-40 lbs. each, into remote areas seeking solitude. Planning revolves around geography, distance and water. We’ve been slightly lost and removed from water sources in Death Valley (in 2001, not so funny), snowed in at 10,000 feet in the New Mexico Rockies (2002), traversed the rocky Joshua Tree desert in California (2003), soaked by a weekend of rain in waterfall-laden Red River Gorge, KY (2004), broken down weeping at the expansive granite cliff beauty of Yosemite (oh wait, that was the Mariposa battallion in 1851, not us in 2005), covered nearly a half-marathon per day across the forested rolling hills of the Superior Hiking Trail, MN (2006), and kayaked between islands across frigid, choppy Lake Superior until our arms fell off (2007).

With too many competing schedules, budgets and home bases among the group, UHR 2008 consisted of just us three brothers for three days and two nights on the Glacier Trail (GT) in the forests of northwest Wisconsin (Sven claimed our Faulhorn ascent as European or ‘EUHR 2008’). Our largest worry was not the sketchy GT trail information (especially unclear campsite/water possibilities) but the region’s wet spring and early summer—read, mosquitoes. But what’s a UHR without some risk?

The brothers rendezvous’ed Friday noon (Steph wisely stayed at the lake cabin) in the nowhere town of McKinley, WI, positioned between homesteads of Minneapolis and Madison. Interestingly, while Gavin and I waited for Billy (yes, aliases) in a Subway parking lot, a local sweet corn saleswoman in a pickup truck on the corner recruited me to stand in briefly while she used a restroom and grabbed coffee. At first I believed she had sensed from afar my MBA business savvy, but quickly I realized that her street-smart, Trump-style “Apprentice“ approach rendered my talent moot; her perfect location, location, location at the town’s main crossroads would have enabled any drooling fool to sell, as I did, $24 worth in five minutes. While I realize U.S. food prices have skyrocketed, her $6 price for a bag of 14 ears handily beat Switzerland’s usual $4.50-for-2 ears. My commission was a free bag of farm-fresh sweet corn, for me a $31.50 value or $378/hour!

As always happens, organizing our departure consumed most of the afternoon. Amidst a passing rain shower (bad omen?), we left one car at the planned endpoint and then carpooled with the gear to the trailhead 30 miles away. We divvied up items as equitably as possible, with tents, food and cooking equipment being the usual heavy culprits. A bright hot sun followed the rain showers, creating an instantly sweaty, steamy atmosphere that softened our precious king-sized Snickers bars before we even fully packed them. Leaving nothing to chance, Gavin had procured plenty of DEET and Deep-Woods OFF! as well as anti-insect head nets AND nifty full torso nets in case of extreme emergency. The forest-edge trailhead hosted a few buzzing mosquitoes, so we donned the head nets and doused our exposed arms and hands with OFF!. Thus charged, we entered the woods...

Pictures next time.