From A to Z

Since we have only been in Zurich for 6 months, the Boy and I are still treated to new traditions, holidays, experiences, etc. One of these new experiences is Fasnacht, a Catholic tradition of Carnival, a giant party lasting 72 hours celebrating and/or mourning the upcoming 40 days of Lent. The event culminates with an amazing parade full of confetti, elaborate costumes, human pyramids and cheer.

1. Confetti: They take their confetti quite serious here. It is rumored confetti was "invented" in Basel Switzerland, the home of the largest Fasnacht celebration. This rumor very well may be true considering I have never seen so much in my entire life. It was everywhere, and still is everywhere, including my apartment floor. Our friend Saskia was doused (assaulted) with the stuff, she may be finding it for years to come:

So instead of showing you Rome in several blog posties, I have decided to show you our trip in the form of a children's picture book. Enjoy!

Everyday my teacher looks at me and says "this will not translate to English". She then smiles and draws an evil smiley face next to the new grammar or subject matter that won't make sense to me. Her evil smiley faces usually consist partially of giant toothy grins, which mean "this german stuff is going to chew you up and spit you out".

For weeks, I couldn't put my finger on it. Something was missing in Switzerland. All the usual suspects crossed my mind: litter, crime, processed cheese, wine in a box...but nope, I knew those things either didn't exist or I half expected them not to. It finally dawned on me one day after a walk with my doggies, there are no freakin squirrels. In the five months we have been here, I haven't seen one rat in cute clothing. In case you didn't know, this is how the squirrel came to be:

God: We really need a cute rat. Otherwise, how will we spread plagues without people catching on?

God's Assistant: Hmmm, good point. How about the Sloth? I know you were thinking of introducing it soon.

God: Nah, I have other plans for the Sloth.

God's Assistant: Oh yeah, what?

God: You'll see...bwawawawa!

God's Assistant: Well, you don't have to get all scary about it. Well, how about giving the existing rat a big, fluffy tail that sorta curls at the end? People get all gooey when animals are fluffy.

God: You are onto something assistant. In fact I am so impressed, I am going to give you a name. How do you like Darwin?

God's Assistant: Meh, its ok.

So what happened to all of the slightly annoying but sorta cute nut-munchers that would rather move towards a moving car than away from it? Did something sinister happen? Were they victim of a mass animal cleansing campaign? I can totally see the ads:

I even resorted to asking my classmates in German class about this strange phenomenon. "Know it all chick" had an answer...the reason why Switzerland has no squirrels is because they don't have the "right trees". If there is a place on the planet with the "right trees", it is Switzerland.

Needless to say, I left class that day with more questions than answers.

I love food and I am no stranger to pots of hot, melted cheese. Back in the States I was famous for "Cheesy Beefy". There wasn't a Remick party without a pot of golden, cheesy goodness which consisted of Velveeta (the cheesy), meat (the beefy), a can of Rotel (the vegetables that help you rationalize the copious amounts of fat and sodium you just consumed) and a secret ingredient. When I learned we were moving to the land of cheese, one of my very first thoughts was "ooooh, I get to try real Fondue!".

Much to my chagrin, after consuming my very first cube of bread covered in melted cheese, I wanted to ralph. We had just hiked for an hour and 20 minutes uphill, in the snow which is hard work, like running in sand. Knowing there was a hot pot of cheese kept me going, precisely the same visual I would use if I were to hike Mt. Everest. What I didn't expect was the Kirsch. The Kirsch sounds like a health condition or a Medieval plague that decimated an entire population:

"Doctor, I think I have the Kirsch!"

"What are your symptoms young lady?"

"Well, I have a really bad taste in my mouth and it burns...my stomach lining tingles and I feel like I have a fever, oh and I feel drunk"

"Wow, that sounds bad. When did you notice your symptoms?"

"Well, I was minding my own business, eating a pot of cheese and then out of nowhere the symptoms came"

"Hmmm...well you are either really lactose intolerant, or you in fact have the Kirsch"

"What do I do Doctor?"

"Well, there is only one thing you can do. Eat the eyes of a toad while hopping on your right foot...oh, and stop eating Fondue"

Kirsch is a clear, colorless fruit brandy derived from Morello cherries. It is not sweet and tastes like fire water. I was sad to learn, the hard way, that it is considered the essential ingredient in Swiss fondue. For me, it completely overpowers the cheese, the supposed star of the show. Afterwards you feel like you just went on a bender with Rip Torn and you consider robbing a bank for fun. You are also highly flammable for 24 hours and it is illegal to be within 15 feet of a gas station during that time period.

To ease the mental pain I incurred upon my discovery that fondue tasted like a 21st birthday party, there was only one thing I could do...break out my lone brick of Velveeta and make some American Fondue. The Boy and I feasted like newly minted vampires for what seemed like 3 hours.

(too bad Warhol is dead and stuff, I would totally commission him to paint this photo)

I want to like Swiss fondue, really...I do. I know some restaurants use white wine instead of the Kirsch, but this will require some research on my end beforehand. It will also require the desire to try it one more time. Since fondue is indigenous to Switzerland, I am sure we will come face to face again. Hopefully the third time will be the charm, but if not, at least I will be drunk.

Whoopity freakin doo Kristi. You ran into a friend, want a Swiss made time piece (Swiss medal) or a chocolate bar (Swiss cookie)? I will take the chocolate bar thanks, I don't wear a watch.

So if you are an Expat or soon-to-be-Expat, one of your major concerns is making friends. I liken it to the feeling you had on your first day of school, or if you are like me, first year of college. Crazy questions run through your brain and you have several Stuart Smalley moments: Will I meet anyone? Will anyone like me? Will I have a social life? Will my social life consist of 3 year old American TV re-runs and half a bar of chocolate every night (hey, don't knock it)? Will I have to talk about George Bush all the time because I am American? Can I just say "I voted for Obama" and smooth things over immediately? Why is it snowing so freaking much?

For me, questions like these ran through my brain constantly before and during the first two months of living in Switzerland.

The good news is, making friends was and is easy. Far easier than I anticipated, but they didn't land at my feet like pennies from heaven. I had to make it happen. A future post will discuss this in more detail, but what I found bat crap crazy was what transpired yesterday evening.

On my way home from class, I saw my bus on the horizon. Anytime I see my bus, the one that drops me off a 4 minute walk from home, "Chariots of Fire" pops into my brain and I start walk/running towards it. Just the day before I saw this bus pull away when I was 15 steps away from it. No waving, no jumping, no mouthing of "I will give you a five spot if you stop", was going to stop this bus driver. If I didn't make this bus, I would then be stuck with a different bus which dropped me off much further away and let me tell you people, it is frackin cold out.

So I put my head down, concentrated and made a bee-line until this person started shadow defending me, like Kobe on Iverson. At first I thought it was one of those odd moments where someone coming at you was trying to move out of your way, and you were trying to move out of their way, but you moved in the same direction...only for one or both of you to pull a groin muscle in the process. I then however realized that I knew this person and this person was a friend of mine.

We stopped and chatted and I forgot all about the good bus. After exchanging pleasantries, I slowly walked to the bus stop, and like the day before I witnessed the good bus pull away when I was not but 15 feet away. I smiled as it pulled off as it was a very small price to pay for the realization that I had somewhat made it here. I never thought 5 months into living in a foreign land that I would randomly bump into a friend, a stranger yes...this happens daily actually, but a friend? No. It was proof that the Boy and I are slowly but surely building something here, what that something is, remains to be seen. As I got on the crappy bus, thoughts of the cold walk home exited my brain. I was warmed and amazed by the fact that I could at random, bump into a friend, in the city of Zurich and that dog-gone-it, people like me.

Oh lovely Lucerne, they should write songs about you. Not because you are lovely, but because you brought my goal of song naming all posts to an abrupt end. I was contemplating "Lucerne in the Sky with Diamonds", but that would insinuate naughty behavior of which I do not partake in. Although one could argue when looking at my pictures below that I was using my "LSD-trippy" lens because the colors were so bright and sun was out, which these days would most certainly be an illusion.

My friend Esther was visiting from Atlanta and our first excursion from Zurich was Lucerne (first of five, we painted Switzerland "Swiss Red"). I had heard great things from fellow expat friends, so off we went. Lucerne is the most populous city in Central Switzerland and a popular tourist destination. I did confirm it was a city because it met the following scientific criteria:

1. Must be on a body of water, preferably a lake or at least 2 rivers...oh, and it has to be water so clean you can drink it.

2. Must at the very least have a view of the Alps, although preferably surrounded by the Alps.

3. Must be cheek pinching pretty, preferably cherubic angel cheeks pinching pretty...clouds part and angels sing on a daily basis.

Hands down most popular site is the Chapel Bridge "Kapelbrucke" and Water Tower "Wasserturm", both featured in the picture above. It is the oldest covered wooden bridge in Europe, built in 1333 and host to a series of paintings from the 17th century that seem to be depicting death and/or escaping death and/or Halloween and/or Lucerne history. Back then it was all about death and history:

Lucerne is also host to the Swiss Transport Museum (Verkehrhaus der Schweiz) which came highly recommended by friends. Esther and I were the only adults sans kids, which I found odd because the museum is definitely interesting enough for adults. You could easily spend a day here as there is tons of info on the history of Swiss transportation, which they take VERY seriously and with a great deal of pride. The photo ops alone were worthy of a visit:

My kind of train, it takes you non-stop to chocolate..."Kristi Aboard!".

There is something special about real planes hanging from a ceiling.

This chick sorta creeped me out, which totally made her photo-worthy.

We rounded out our day by taking a walking tour of the Old Town. It was cobbly and cute and full of fountains and stuff. If you don't believe me that it was cute, just take a look at the name of the store behind this fountain:

Now who wouldn't want a MusikHug? No one, that's who...ok maybe Satan, or someone with a really bad case of Eczema or third degree burns.

I really enjoyed Lucerne; it helped I had the opportunity to enjoy it with a great friend during great weather, but it is genuinely beautiful and charming. It is worth a look-see and I plan on going back with the Boy soon but we will wait until the trippy weather returns as he needs to see it when it looks like this:

Over the holidays we had three sets of friends visit us from the States. All flew from Atlanta to Zurich, all arriving on different days at 7:45 am. As indicated in a previous post, the Boy and I believe the only way to get rid of the jet lag hangover is to treat the first day as a real day. No nappy naps, no sitting on the couch relaxing and above all, no whining. Chris and Lygia were our third set of friends to arrive so we figured there was no better way to keep them awake than take them sledding at Rigi.

Rigi is a mountain in the Alps and it is referred to as "the Queen of the Mountains". I am not sure why it gets this moniker, but I believe it has to do with the stunning views of 4 lakes including Lake Lucerne. We got a couple of the lakes in this pic, but don't ask me which ones...I am directionally challenged and can barely find my way out of a paper bag.

The weather that day was less than optimal for sledding. As you can see in the above pic, there wasn't any snow at lower elevations and we were informed they were experiencing "April Weather". The term was immediately unsettling as it was still frackin cold out, but more so for the fact it meant a portion of the sledding runs were closed. This was a bummer, but we couldn't be stopped. We needed to go down an Alp, on pieces of firewood, at break neck speeds, STAT!

For those who don't now know me, I am a certified, grade A wimp. I promised myself I wouldn't let my inner wimp stop me from trying new things, sledding included. To quiet the fear, the Boy and I rented a larger sled and went down as a team. The moment we hit the sledding trail and started to go, I quickly reverted to my 8 year old self. I giggled, howled, guffawed, screamed and made all sorts of other guttural noises...but while doing so, I had the time of my life. Here, take a look-see:

As you can see, the moderately slushy conditions slowed us down a bit but at times we did generate enough speed, granted these were some rather steep hills which I elected to not video for obvious reasons. I believe the Boy and I crashed 5 or 6 times, each time with the sled somehow knocking me in the head...but I felt no pain, just joy. The next video is a little lengthy, but it consists of a solo run featuring the Boy. It contains an ending that is equivalent to a Mary Lou Retton dismount, circa 1984:

No first day with friends is complete without a trip to the mountain restaurant. We felt obliged to feed them fondue, cured meats and beer. As you can see, the meat was the star of the show:

I know what you are thinking, not the best look for me. I suffer for my blog art you see, oh and I really like meat. Chris and Esther were taking a photo shoot of not me, but the meat as well. It truly was the star of the show, complete with paparazzi outside ready to snap a pic.

I bet those who have yet to visit are now starting to wonder what we have in store for you on your first day. What will the Remicks do to you to keep you awake? If there is a country full of thrills, this is the one...bwawawawa!

For us Americans who are used to handshakes or hugs for our greetings, saying hello or goodbye in Europe can be as messy and confusing as a Jackson Pollack painting. I can't remember the last time I have shaken a hand but I have experienced quite a few awkward hugs and inadvertent head butts.

The Swiss Way: The Swiss greet each other with three kisses on the cheek while lightly grasping the other person somewhere on the arm region. I remember on one social occasion that all this kissing made all my facial muscles hurt. I had to kiss freaking 10 people 3 times each. Doesn't take a rocket surgeon to figure out that is more kissing than a porn star does in one shift. I was quickly corrected on my form after complaining that my face hurt. You aren't actually supposed to move your mouth or kiss, you are just supposed to touch your cheek to the other person's cheek. Making a fake kissing noise is optional.

Just as my confidence in this fake kissing greeting was peaking, I learned that the Swiss way isn't the only way.

The Every Other European Except for the Swiss Way: Fake kiss twice while holding the other persons arm region loosely.

The American Married to a Swiss Way: Go in for the fake three kiss thinking that they converted to the Swiss way for their spouse, then find out they would rather hug the crap out of you because they are still American and still love to hug.

The non-Swiss European Who Has Lived in Switzerland for Less than Three Months Way: Fake kiss twice as they did in their Mother country, then watch as they awkwardly remember they now are supposed to fake kiss a third time, head butt each other in the nose, apologize profusely and blame it on the really good beer you are both enjoying.

The non-Swiss European Who has Lived in Switzerland Longer than Three Months: They have successfully adapted from the fake two kiss to the fake three kiss. By this point there are typically no more inadvertent head butts or awkward pauses between fake kiss two and three.

The Americans Greeting Other Americans Way: Hug each other as if it were your last day on earth and whisper to person you are hugging "I love to hug, just let me hold you".

The Dude Way: You can fake kiss other dudes and in the words of Jerry Seinfeld, "there is nothing wrong with that" here. A handshake is acceptable however.

There are so many combinations of the European greeting sometimes I feel like I need the Little Orphan Annie decoder ring from "A Christmas Story" to figure out what to do in each situation. Each greeting situation has its own code and its very own result.

I am happy to report that the results are getting less and less embarrassing and more consistent. I now only average one head butt per week and/or awkward transition. Much like the second language learning curve, soon I will be able to greet anyone without thinking about it first and without incident.

What do you do with guests who just flew 10 hours from Atlanta and landed in Zurich at 7:45am? You take them on a hike of course. You want to keep their jet lag demons at bay and there is no better way to do this than with some fresh air, snow and fondue. Art of Geneva, the Boy and I took our victims, err friends, Trevor and Megan to the popular hiking/sledding spot Hornli to exercise their demons. Can I get an amen? Holla!

We chose to take them to Hornli based on a recommendation from one of the Boy's co-workers. We hopped a train from Zurich and arrived in Steg, a tiny town approximately 30km due east of Zurich. I am not sure if Hornli is classified as a mountain by the Swiss, hard to gauge what they consider hills vs mountains here, but for us...it was all mountain and it was all snow. I haven't seen this much snow since my days in Roch-cha-cha (Rochester NY) and I couldn't believe how easy it was for me to adjust. I guess you can't take the lake effect snow out of the Western New Yorker.

We arrived to clear skies and "pretty" slapping us in the face every direction we turned. I just love the contrast between freshly fallen white snow and super blue skies, sorta like we were living in a Bob Ross painting.

Hey thanks Bob! (actually, thank you for your hair. It helped me out of some low points in my life)

It was a 1 hour and 20 minute straight shot up the hill-mountain, not for the out of shape I am afraid. Of course there was a restaurant at the top. Any hill-mountain worth their salt has one at the top, feeding weary hikers with bubbling hot pots of cheese and quenching thirsts with gigantic beers.

I had just enough beer to agree to sled the way down but unfortunately for us, all the sleds had been rented that day. During lunch the clouds rolled in all Stephen King style (fast and freaky) and we were informed by a friendly neighbor in the restaurant to start making our way down as it starts getting dark at 4pm. Yes, I said 4pm.

The hike down turned into short cut butt sledding which was all sorts of fun and of course more picture taking. At the end we were greeted by a family of gnomes just chillin. It isn't a Swiss hike if you don't see gnomes.

A great day with amazing friends thanks to Hornli. Hey Hornli...we loved you long time. (come on, you knew that was coming).

Hope everyone had a safe and happy holiday season.

Friends, there is a European pandemic and it appears to have been around for years. It is called "ThereIsNoSuchThingAsALine-itus" and there is no cure. People infected blatantly step in front of you while you are waiting at the cash register. They have vacant eyes, foam at the mouth and must, I said MUST, check out, get on the bus, get on the train, get on the tram, get through the door, cross the proverbial finish line, etc....before you. They can't help it, they were infected at birth. The WHO (World Health Organization) is baffled but has pin-pointed the gene that has been mutated. The "I will wait patiently for my turn" gene has become the "I don't give a rats ass if you were in front of me" in affected people.

Ok, ok, ok...so not all Europeans are rude and cut lines, but I am shocked by the push, shove, elbow in the gut or cut in line I experience on a daily basis. All my years of basketball have finally paid off, once a bench warmer, I now start in my very own basketball game everyday where I am the star center boxing the crap out of anyone who tries to do this to me.

Sadly, you do find yourself succumbing to this behavior on occasion or you would never get anywhere. Survival of the fittest at its best (or worst I suppose). I do however limit this behavior to emergency situations and I have even perfected a stare down. To shake things up, I purposely shove someone who is about to shove me, then turn on the doe eyes and say "oh, Entshuldigung!!!" That is German for excuse me...or "ha, winner winner, chicken dinner!".

All it has to be is unbelievable. So without further rambling, I present you with Volume 1:

So I am not fashion forward, I am probably somewhere between fashion diagonal and perpendicular. I have only started wearing boots over my jeans, which for this tomboy is a great accomplishment and one that hasn't come about without a little bit of angst. I get my hair cut once every 3-4 months, I don't paint my nails and I use Covergirl cosmetics. Maybe I gave too much away about my style (or lack thereof), but friends if I know anything about fashion, I know that shiny puffy coats are not attractive. I happen to own a puffy coat, albeit a non-shiny one. I actually think they can look cute if they aren't too big, or if you wear it with jeans and a pair of boots. I almost chose to do the post on the Floor Length Puffy Coat, but I decided the Shiny Puffy Coat was more offensive.

Here are 5 Signs you may own a a shiny puffy coat:

1. You can see your reflection in your puffy coat.

2. In addition to the popular choices of white and black, it likely comes in the other neutral colors of Fuchsia, Turquoise or Canary Yellow. It also comes with a fur lined hood option.

3. It doesn't keep you warm because instead of being filled with feather down, it is filled with bad taste.

4. A child has pointed at you and said "Hey Mommy, look! An Astronaut! I want to be her when I grow up!".

5. You are an Italian man.

Now if for some reason you are reading my blog and you own a shiny puffy coat with a fur lined hood, I can't apologize. Reason being, you my friend have the confidence of, well...someone really confident. You have something that transcends good taste and for that, you should be proud and give yourself a pat on the back...although if you are wearing your shiny puffy coat at the time, it is likely your hand slipped while doing so.

No, not of the running variety sadly. The Boy, Art of Geneva and I biked from the Zurich Hauptbahnhof to the scenic town of Rapperswil 3 weeks ago. We did it "Gangsta Rapper" style of course; the Boy on a retro mint green bike, Art of Geneva in all of his 6'2" glory on a bike that was fitted for someone of a 5'4" stature and myself, of course looking fabulous in barely warm enough gear.

Let's visit the mint green bike the Boy now proudly owns. I am sure if you live in the States, particularly the deep south, you have witnessed the "Real Men Love Jesus" bumper sticker. Here, I am thinking about making a "Real Men Ride Mint Green Bikes" sticker. The bike is pretty rad, however it has been pointed out in jest that it is a woman's bike. The Boy pulls it off though, in style, without impacting his manhood in the slightest.

Coincidentally "bike" is "Fahrrad" in Deutsch. We purchased our rad "Fahrrads" at an outdoor used bike sale in Zurich 2 months ago. There were hundreds, if not thousands of bikes to choose from and if you ever observed what new bikes cost in Switzerland, you leave feeling like you just pulled one over on Switzerland. "Pssst, Switzerland...guess what? I just made a reasonable purchase. Whatchoo going to do about that??? Oh, you are going to charge me 100 francs for a Turkey, ok then...you win" It is still a small consumer victory and I encourage anyone in the market for a bike, especially a street bike, to find one of these bike fairs. In addition to scoring a bike, you can get all your gear, bike registration and tune ups done in one of the many kiosks framing the fair. It really is a one stop shop.

Rapperswil is located 35 km southeast of Zurich on the Zurichsee and hosts a cute town centre (um, of course) and a castle and giant examples of poor dental work and/or hygiene:

Is it me or doesn't this outdoor fireplace at the foot of steps leading to a castle remind you of some shady dental work? Oh, and it isn't often a sentence consists of "outdoor fireplace at the foot of steps leading to a castle". Oh Europe, you are so complex and magical.

35 km works out to be roughly 21 miles for my American readers. For folks like ourselves whose longest bike ride to date may have been 10 miles, this was challenging although fortunately for us, mostly flat. The ride skirted the Zurichsee which lent to its flat gradient. The road we rode on was rather busy, we were passed by roughly 20 serious bikers, but we refused to let the 9 year old boy, who was gaining on us, pass us. Again, small victories are still victories.

We of course visited the Castle of Rapperswil which is one of its main sites. It was indeed a nice castle however I thought the views from the castle were its greatest asset:

The views seem to inspire the Boy and Art of Geneva into thought provoking conversation. My best guess is they were discussing Nieztsche and the Existentialist Movement or Bratwurst. My money is on Bratwurst:

We ended our day at a Swiss cafe, each enjoying a piping hot bowl of Aelplermagronen and a light beer. Aelplermagronen is the Swiss version of mac and cheese, complete with macaroni, potatoes, cheese sauce, crunchy onions and a side of apple sauce. Art of Geneva said he has had better versions, but after biking 21 miles we all agreed it hit the spot.

After our Swiss lunch we gathered ourselves, our gear and our inflated bike egos, and then headed to the train station where we trained it back to Zurich. Biking 21 miles to nowhere is not nearly as tantalizing as biking to an actual destination. Rapperswil was a beautiful destination spot and proved to be the perfect end to a wonderful day.