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I embarked upon my first overseas (from Europe) work trip last week, a ten-day excursion to a strange, exotic and faraway land… none other than the southern coastal United States. I departed last Wednesday afternoon from cold, rainy, not-quite-done with-winter Zürich on a direct 10-hour flight to steamy Miami, where the war of man’s air conditioning vs. nature’s humidity never ceases. There began the first phase of my trip’s mission to meet and greet some key sales managers and a few customers, and begin the arduous process of assessing and planning our eventual attack on the U.S. petroleum market. Phase 2 of my trip was Houston, oil central, but that will come later.My company hosts a demo laboratory about 90 minutes north of Miami, where customers come to evaluate or train on our products. The lab sits quite strategically in a locale people don’t mind visiting, thus fortuitous for me as well. So I engaged Thursday and Friday in my various work-related politicking and marketing-schmooze talking activities; I think it’s called “a job” in other vernacular. But doubtlessly more important were my various cultural explorations and re-introductions to that smorgasbord of uniquely American goods and services after now nearly 1-1/2 years (can you believe it? us neither.) living in Europe. Yes, Steph and I truly have two worlds of entertainment--still discovering Europe and now re-discovering America, no kidding.Let me begin unfortunately with one or two negatives. The world economic crisis apparently forced all airlines (or at least American and Swiss Airlines) to economize and reduce already-cramped coach-class legroom by an additional four inches (or maybe I’m just a rusty traveler). Although an unexpectedly nice side effect is the laptop screen keeping my nose and cheek so warm while I type this blog entry in luxurious seat 27C. The other observation is what a car culture we are. If consumerism (which I think has largely positive effects) is first, cars are a close second. Since my years-long daily miserable suburban traffic-jammed commutes in Chicagoland way back when, I lost any zest for automobiles, and not driving now for 17 months has certainly bolstered that sentiment. So the vast quantity and size and speed of the vehicles, and the admittedly Southern regionally ridiculous preponderance of oversized pick ‘em up trucks, and the virtual total absence of any other transportation option--unless you count the airport group shuttle to the massive rental car complex as public transportation--tends to stick more than usual in my proverbial craw. But off that soapbox...I landed in Miami last Wednesday evening, rented my car, drove to the nearby Hyatt where Steph finagled me a nice rate, checked in and then tumbled into the small, informal bar for a bite before bedtime. The Cobb salad was quite satisfactory, but not as delicious as the ice-cold Sam Adams--we have plenty of lagers in our Swiss neck of the woods, but none in the Boston micro-brew category. Luckily (?) everyone in the bar was mesmerized by that evening’s installment of American Idol, bantering amongst themselves after each performance as if each one held some enormous gravity. So silly. It was lights out after that for me, toes up into my oversized bed to start work in the morning.
A recent note from a disgruntled member of my probably ever-dwindling fan base:"I am quite sure that whomever is running this site must have had some type of accident, possibly a skiing incident, to his hands and therefore has impared his typing and communication ability. I assume then that he is now incapable of continuing to post 'NEW' items to his site.Therefore, I am preparing to bid adieu to this fine piece of European literature, unless I hear of a miracle recovery."
Before this year I had forgotten that skiing was such a workout, especially on longer and more demanding runs. Although our skiing fitness continues to improve, imagine my embarrassment when Steph snapped this photo of me between runs on the slopes several weeks back. Right in the middle of changing my shirt, too! At least I had my sunglasses on.
Hardly a ski weekend passes without some unexpected craziness. Let's see if I can catalog our adventures. As background, ski runs are called pistes in Europe (the French name) and their difficulty ranges from category Blue (easy / shallow grade) to Red (medium / shallow-to-steep) to Black (difficult / roller coaster-plunging steep). Additionally for truly athletic hazard seekers, free or off-piste areas of non-groomed snow are available for cutting one's own trail in red and black-graded catgories. Our destinations so far in order of attack:
Flims-Laax-Falera (Dec 6-7)
No it's not a degenerative nerve desease, it's a string of three Swiss towns sharing marketing rights for a huge swath of mountainside with pistes as wide as highways. For this our maiden Alpine ski voyage, we joined a loosely organized group of 20(!) ex-pat Zürich friends and acquaintances, heavily tilted to the U.S., Australian and British persuasion. On my very first not-so-bunny-hill practice run with the new skis, I fell traveling about 5mph and twisted my knee quite painfully. Great start (and still my worst injury to date). The good news now is that it only hurts when I fall skiing and twist it again in the same manner. By the end of the weekend, however, I was managing down the red runs.
Our group of 20 reserved dinner Saturday night at a classic Swiss chalet, positioned slightly uphill from a final ski run into town. We all struggled more or less slipping up the rather long, steep slope (depending also on whether one wore nightclub footware or boots, I chose the latter), eventually arriving at the restaurant for cheese fondue, bottomless caraffes of wine, and drinking the proprietors completely out of Kirsch (cherry schnapps); everyone imbibed somewhere between three to six shots. Our group's raucous tumble down the slope back home included a massive snowball war, insofar as the targets could stand and weren't already rolling downhill. Grade: A
Hoch-Ybrig (Dec 21)
One can only pronounce the name of this smaller, more local ski area after living in Switzerland for a year; it's a tongue-and-throat twister. Steph and I daytripped it one Sunday for more solo practice and for the joy of being overrun by punk teenage snowboarders. We faced an unfortunately constant rainy drizzle, which without the aid of goggle windshield wipers made it quite tricky (and occasionally nerve wracking) to perceive if the run was heading down or up and how steeply. By day's end we were thoroughly dampened and chilled for the train ride home. Grade: B-
Flims-Laax-Falera (Jan 10-11)
Our second excursion to many Swiss ski snobs' favorite destination was a slightly more sober affair. We were flattered to be the only native English-speakers (of course everyone's English is nevertheless perfect) attending the birthday celebration of a German friend, a group of 10 mostly Germans with a sprinkling of Swiss and Finns. This group was all about skiing (not drinking) and Steph and I and two other casual skiers maintained a sensible Blue & Red itinerary, rendezvousing with the others after their Black & Off Piste missions. Après-ski and dinner were sensibly fun if not wild and crazy affairs. Grade: A-
Make sure to tune in for the exciting Pt. 2 post coming soon, where Stephanie nearly knocks Vladimir Putin off the chair lift..!
With spring right around the corner (perhaps?), Switzerland continues to enjoy its coldest and snowiest winter in over 40 years. In early November the snowfalls started in earnest and have barely relented since, piling up to twice the average annual depth. But don't worry about us (were you?), because to say that Switzerland is enjoying this winter is no euphemism--everyone here is ecstatic. Although the snow melts quickly in the city flatlands near the large lakes, such as Lake Zurich and Lake Geneva, it continues to accumulate across the vast Alpine heights and create possibly the best ski season anyone here can remember. And as we're finally learning this year, forget entirely about cheese, chocolate and Rolexes...this country is absolutely all about skiing.
As new arrivals to Switzerland in Nov 2007, we prioritized settling a few million lifestyle items over skiing that first winter. Without skis, friends, a car or a clue where to start, the thought of a weekend in the mountains instead of, say, drearily searching for new furniture, seemed a touch ludicrous. Ah, but the game had changed come Nov 2008, eh? After a year in Europe with our feet replanted partially-solidly underneath, we laid the groundwork for investigating the hubbub. Still carless but now comfortably employing the bus and hourly rental car service, we found a far-flung suburban discount ski outlet (discount is still an oxymoron in expensive Switzerland, but we saved 700 Francs at the very least) and each bought the whole kit--fancy composite carving skis, boots, pants, ski socks, goggles, gloves, helmets (very trendy), you name it.
So adorned, we sat around the apartment waiting for snow to fall and the phone to ring--and wouldn't you know, they did. Repeatedly. For reference, the last time we skied was two days over Thanksgiving weekend 2004 (an awesome trip to Whistler, British Columbia) and, at least for myself, less than half a dozen days prior to that in my life (Steph grew up skiing in MN and is much more experienced) . Now in the last three months, I've been out 10 total days on six occasions, still mild by Swiss standards, with at least two more excursions in the works.
This tiny country--half the size of South Carolina--features 157 distinct ski resorts. In the winter, it's not a stretch to imagine the entire Swiss transportation infrastructure built to accommodate their national pastime. 
Even reasonably-popular ski areas situate one or more lifts directly adjacent to or a short walk from a main train station; buses fill the gaps between resorts and several towns are even completely car-free. It's therefore quite commonplace (and we still find hilarious, although we'd like to try it soon) to see people fully geared-up on a weekday morning, clunking out of their city apartments in those terribly awkward ski boots to a local bus stop, then clunking through the busy Bahnhof, clunking onto any number of trains and then off in some resort town--100 miles door-to-gondola, no street shoes necessary.
I'll try to tell some slope stories next time, we have a few. In the meantime, here are some pics from several outings this season: http://www.kodakgallery.com/ShareLanding.action?c=2hd8fyj.cljaeiaj&x=0&y=1pik12&localeid=en_US
I embarked upon my first overseas (from Europe) work trip last week, a ten-day excursion to a strange, exotic and faraway land… none other than the southern coastal United States. I departed last Wednesday afternoon from cold, rainy, not-quite-done with-winter Zürich on a direct 10-hour flight to steamy Miami, where the war of man’s air conditioning vs. nature’s humidity never ceases. There began the first phase of my trip’s mission to meet and greet some key sales managers and a few customers, and begin the arduous process of assessing and planning our eventual attack on the U.S. petroleum market. Phase 2 of my trip was Houston, oil central, but that will come later.
