Laundry. The Swiss Way.

Today I am doing laundry and reflecting on my time in Switzerland. I have often blogged on laundry days because it is something I can do in the short time blocks between loads. Today is not really my official laundry day, but don't tell anyone else that. I am just exploiting a loophole in the system. See, this is the way the system works... Most people in Switzerland live in apartments. Some units have their own laundry but many have shared facilities. Like everything else in Switzerland, there are specific rules and schedules governing how and when you must do your laundry. In my building the main rules to follow are: 1) You may only do your laundry between the hours of 8 am and 10 pm. and 2) You have one assigned laundry day per week. There are 6 units in my building and 7 days of the week, so there must be an extra day in there, you say. No, because you are not allowed to work on Sundays here and laundry would most certainly be considered work. I'm quite certain all of our neighbors knew we were not Swiss right from the beginning since we moved in to our apartment on a Sunday, while everyone else was observing their day of rest. While one laundry day a week may seem a bit limiting, I have heard that in some larger buildings you may only have a small block of time per week. The Swiss seem to be fine with it and we have adapted just fine too. The only problem is when you are not at home on your designated day. Our day is Wednesday. Every Wednesday I look forward to my morning ritual of doing the laundry. There is some very reassuring about strict schedules and routines. I guess that means I am assimilating. Except for the fact that today is Friday and I am poaching time in the laundry room. Through a glitch in the system, there is one guy who doesn't do laundry here and hence has not signed up for a laundry day. His day would be Friday, so I occasionally use it as a backup day. That's my loophole. The other thing to know about the system is that each unit is issued a keycard that lets you activate the laundry facilities. A clever way to properly bill you for your energy use and to ensure that no one sneaks in and does any illicit laundering (I don't think that is a problem here). There is of course a whole list of other rules about what to do with your detergent bottles and boxes, how to clean the room after each use and other minutiae that I need not bore you with. Gotta go put in the next load...

Extreme Sledding II

It is summer here in the lowlands of Switzerland but I am still thinking about winter fun. One more clip from Extreme Sledding Weekend II in Grindelwald.



Walking the flats at the beginning to get to the downhill trail.

Halfway down we stop for lunch. Mountain restaurants like these are everywhere in Switzerland. You can't beat the views!

I am a Jelly Doughnut

My brother-in-law (BIL) and sister-in-law (SIL) came to visit us back in March (Yes, it has been that long since I wrote. You've probably noticed). We took them to Grindelwald to give them a little taste of winter in Switzerland and did some more "extreme sledding." When we returned to town we saw this sidewalk jelly doughnut making operation outside of one of the local bakeries (mmmm..... doughnuts). It is nearly impossible to walk by something like this (I didn't even try), and they know it. If you've ever wondered how they get the jelly inside (I have), watch the video and wonder no more.

In addition to the jelly filling process, there is some other interesting action caught on video here. You can see my SIL chomping off a big bite of jelly doughnut while Raven watches. You can see Raven's nose as she watches the doughnut eating and then turns her head to follow SIL's movements, making sure not to miss an opportunity to sample some jelly doughnut. The other thing you might notice, if viewing large, is the sign that reads "Frisch Berliner." Berliner is the German word for jelly doughnut, named after Berlin, obviously. My SIL pointed out the sign and made reference to famous JFK speech in Berlin when he said "Ich bin ein Berliner" (I am a Berliner) to show support for the West Germans after the building of the Berlin Wall. Although the statement is grammatically correct, some people have made a joke of it because one could also translate it to mean "I am a jelly doughnut." There are worse things that you could be than a Frisch (fresh) Berliner. They sure tasted good to me, still warm and melting in the mouth.

Happy Valentine's Day/ Ich liebe Dich

On Valentine's Day we went on our first backcountry ski trip of the season. We had hoped to get into the Alps but with a bunch of unconsolidated new snow avalanche danger was quite high. Instead we took a trip to the Jura mountains. The Jura mountains are located along the North/Northwest border of Switzerland and also reach into France and Germany. The Jura had also received a fair bit of snow-- 30-50cm in most higher elevation places (The maximum height of the area we were in was about 1400m)-- but due to the topography and absence of larger open slopes, the skiing there was considerably safer. The Jura reminded me a little bit of being in Vermont. We took a train to a small request-only stop called "Im Holz," which translates to "in the wood(s)." We stepped off of the train, walked across a small street and immediately put on our skis. We started up through a field and skirted above a small town before turning and climbing up a combination of small logging roads and hiking trails to eventually gain a high ridge. Skiing up through the initial deciduous forest woods made me feel like I was back in the NE US. As we were skiing up, I spotted a tree with some writing on it. I looked closer and discovered it was painted with stenciled letters (very neat and tidy graffiti, very Swiss-like) that said "Ingrid, Ich liebe Dich" (Ingrid, I love You). Since it was Valentine's Day I thought it was very timely graffiti. After working hard to gain the ridge, the plan was to ski down the other side and then possibly over one or maybe 2 more ridges that day. The wind was blasting over the top of the saddle where we emerged from the trees so we stopped in a lee area just long enough to remove our climbing skins and have a quick snack. We dropped over the other side into heavenly powder skiing down through some narrow meadows that resembled ungroomed ski runs. At the bottom of the meadows we intersected another logging/farm road and began following it down as it contoured around the ridge. When we stopped at an intersection I was still feeling so giddy about the fine turns we had had up above that I suggested that we go back up and do another lap rather than continue on to climb the next ridge. We climbed back up in a light snow, heading in the general direction of the small pass we had come over earlier. I was feeling quite pleased with myself when the small spur I chose to ascend brought us back exactly where we wanted to be. On the second lap down, the slope had more tracks but there was still plenty of untracked powder and amazing conditions that felt effortless to turn in. The fun skiing part went by too quickly.This time we continued down the road and had one more small meadow before we exited on to a driveable road that we skied down until we reached the main road. We had already decided to call it a day here. We took off our skis and walked 5 minutes to another train station. Although we had to wait a while for the next train, it is still such a convenient way to get around.

Pwefewences

A minor annoyance in my life is my Google homepage. When you are in Switzerland, even if you type google.com you will automatically be redirected to the Swiss site, google.ch. That in itself is not a big deal but it gives me a default language of German. Maybe I should be trying to do more in German-- that may be true-- but most of the time when I search I am looking for English language material and don't want to be directed to the German Wikipedia, for example. Sometimes I will leave the language as German, other times after searching I will curse and change it to English. When you go to "Preferences" to change the language you have many, many choices that I bet most have you never seen or contemplated. Right in the middle of my path to change between Deutsch and Englisch lies "Elmer Fudd." Sometimes when "I'm Feewing Wucky" I change it to Elmer Fudd. Try it sometime and see what you get. The "Wesuwts" may surprise you. Wemembew, Google's defauwt (10 wesuwts) prowides de fastest wesuwts-- wike dat waskely wabbit! There are some other fun ones in there (remember the Swedish Chef from the Muppets?), but I'll let you discover those. Ewmew Fudd is still my favowite.

Mr. Salamander's Wild Ride/Extreme Sledding

If there is one thing I can say for the Swiss it is that they make the mountains accessible for everyone. Our friend Liv visited us recently and we wanted to show her the beauty of Switzerland in the winter. She doesn't ski so we decided to do some walking and sledding. On one of the days we took her to Grindelwald to experience sledding Swiss-style. Many ski resorts here are multi-sport resorts that include winter walking/snowshoeing and sledding trails. The sled trails are groomed just like the ski trails and sledders can use cable cars, trains etc. to get to the top just like the skiers. We took a gondola to First, the same place we lauched from when we went paragliding. We rented sleds at the First gondola station and then began our approach hike. Most people here use the traditional looking runner sleds, which were heavy to drag but were fast and raise you above the snow surface. We hiked for over an hour (unusual since in most places you can get transportation that will deposite you right near the top of the trail. Remember though that this is EXTREME sledding.) following a groomed hiking trail and ascending toward the Faulhorn at over 2600m. (On the map the Faulhorn is the peak on the far left and the sled trail is the purple trail on the far left) The weather was a bit unsettled with light snow flurries and blowing winds. Our trail intersected the sledding trail at a saddle below the summit of the Faulhorn. We were anxious to get sledding and out of the winds that were blasting over the saddle so we didn't actually go all the way to the summit. We turned our sleds downhill into the blasting wind and started down the 15km track. Yes, that's right 15 km with about a 1600m drop that takes you all the way back to Grindelwald. It is claimed to be the longest sledding run in the world or at least in Europe depending on the source you consult. The first section dropped steeply, with poor visibility. When Liv, S and Raven disappeared out of sight, I followed. In a matter of seconds I was hurtling down, barely able to make out the trail in front of me and hoping I could negotiate any upcoming corners because 1) I couldn't see very far ahead and 2) it was likely I wouldn't be able to stop and 3) I wasn't really sure the best way to turn one of these things. I skidded wildly around the first few corners and headed down another straight part. Suddenly it dropped off steeply again and I caught air. As I continued through the runout I cruised past the girls who had stopped to adjust their clothing. I navigated another set of sharp corners and dragged my feet to a stop. My heart was racing. I started laughing. As a kid growing up in the NE US I had done my share of sledding but never anything as epic as this. When the girls caught up we continued down the first half of the run to Bussalp where there is a restaurant. Just before the restaurant I hit a big drop and caught some air again and landed on some uneven terrain and too far back on the sled. My coccyx made solid contact with the back of the seat frame before I fell off the back. Fortunately the sled went off into some soft snow and stopped rather than hurtling down to take out an unsuspecting sledder just off the bus at the restaurant. It is difficult to go anywhere in the mountains in Switzerland without encountering a mountain restaurant. Good if you are hungry, bad if you want to get away from such things. We stopped for some hot chocolate and fries. While we were warming up, S was clearing the snow out of her hair, clothes and every possible place that could collect snow. She said she had been having a hard time seeing and had to clean out her nostrils along the way because they were getting packed with snow. Her unique style of foot-dragging resulted in a constant snowblasting of the face. See for yourself.
The second half of the run had many more sledders (we had had the upper part virtually to ourselves) and was more family friendly, sort of. The pitch wasn't as steep but you could still get up some good speed. I saw several people who went off the edge on corners. The trail followed a road during this part and I felt like I was on a big Go-cart track. The next day my body was sore and my tailbone still hurts sometimes, nearly 2 weeks after the fact. I highly recommend it, just make sure your health insurance is up to date and covers sledding. Good thing I have the extreme sports rider on my insurance. A friend who had previously sledded the route commented (paraphrased) "I think it is the most dangerous thing I have done in Switzerland, more dangerous than any climbing, skiing..."

Black Gold

Last month we took a short trip to Italy to visit some friends and to celebrate our anniversary. Our first day there a group of us had lunch at an outdoor cafe. On the table with the other condiments was a small bottle of dark liquid. Pictures showed it being used on meats, cheeses, shrimp, strawberries and ice cream. Upon further investigation we discovered it is a balsamic vinegar sauce thickened and sweetened with a concentrate from grapes. We were all intrigued and tentatively tried it on salads and cheeses. Mmmm... that's good. Soon we were squirting it on everything on our plates. When the food was gone we squirted it into teaspoons and ate it. The next day our group split and 2 groups independently went grocery shopping. We both returned with various items for dinner and bottles of the delectable dark delight. It came at a price though, 4 euros (~$5) for a small 250g bottle. In Italy you can buy a whole bottle of decent wine for that price. That night we again indulged in the magical sauce and discovered that it does go well with just about everything, sweet or savory. Needless to say we returned to Switzerland with a bottle of the "Black Gold" in our luggage. Wondering when it would run out, I started searching our local grocery stores and discovered that it is sold here with slightly different packaging. I highly recommend trying it if you can find it in a store near you. Beware though, it is highly addictive.

Broken

Our kitchen faucet broke recently. S went to pull out the sprayer hose and the corroded metal tubing around the hose broke. Sharp metal next to rubber tubing also meant that we developed a small hole in the hose. A little duct tape held us over the weekend until we could arrange a plumber. On Monday I contacted our rental company and later that day a woman from the plumber's office called and said someone would be over shortly. I was happy to manage this in German. The plumber arrived and looked at the faucet and then left to go back to his truck to get the parts he needed. He left the work order on the counter and I looked at it out of curiosity to see how what I had told the rental manager had been translated to the plumber's work order. It was all in German, of course, and the problem description seemed accurate. At the end of the description was a line set apart from the rest of the text that said "Mieter spricht Englisch, gebrochen Deutsch." Tenant speaks English, broken German. I laughed. At least it is getting better.
The plumber replaced our old faucet with a new one. (In case you were wondering, I didn't watch the operation much but there was no apparent plumber's crack. This guy had well-fit pants and was a lean, mean plumbing machine). My favorite part is the happy red and blue dancing dolphins to indicate water temperature. The European market seems to have many more elegant solutions to everyday household appliances and functions. Among these is the integrated faucet and sprayer system.**Also available in the USA, with at least 191 variations. (See Anonymous hecklers in comments).

Brother-in-Blog

Two of my most ardent blog readers are my mother-in-law and father-in-law. Maybe it is because things are slower in retirement or because anything that your children and their families do is interesting, but they seem to enjoy my ramblings. My wife has a sister and she has a husband. That makes us brothers-in-law. If you like to be excessive in your possessives, as in the Wikipedia definition, you could say "One's spouse's sister's husband is (also) considered a brother-in-law" or you could use their example: Rob and Gwen are married. Gwen has a Sister, Claire, and so Rob is Claire's brother-in-law. Claire will marry Neil, who will then become Gwen's Brother-in-law. Furthermore, Rob and Neil will become brothers-in-law to one another. Let's say I'm Rob, that makes Neil my brother in law. I'm not Rob and I'm not going to call him Neil, because that would get too confusing. I'm going to call him BILL, an acronym for Brother In Law Likeness. Is that clear now?
BILL and I have a lot in common. We both have married sisters in a crazy family (what family isn't crazy?). We are both living abroad in Europe with said spouses. Our spouses are both working, we aren't. We both do a lot of sweeping and cooking. We both walk the dogs. We both like music and play instruments. We both enjoy photography. We both like potty humor. And now we both have blogs that chronicle our seemingly parallel expat lives. See his at When Rome is Home.
BILL is a funny guy and I look forward to his witty entries. However, there is that sibling rivalry that creeps in. If you have siblings you know what I am talking about. I have brothers. BILL and I have wives that were sisters. There is always some level of competition there. Then you get married and you have to impress the in-laws. BILL is making his move to gain big points in the favorite son-in-law contest. Here is where he is gaining points: He has short, pithy entries with lots of photos; compare that to my long rambling posts, sometimes with no photos. Last I counted he was up to 11 blogalicious entries in the last week, currently I'm averaging 1-2/month. He uses a nice Wordpress blog format. I have this old-lady-wallpaper-looking template (I though it would give a nice classic central European look). BILL is a snazzy dresser. I am not.
BILL's wife encouraged him to start a blog: "Why don't you start a blog like you brother-in-law?" Now he has. Pretty soon my mother-in-law and father-in-law will be saying "Why don't you write more funny entries with lot of photos like BILL?" Or maybe they will be more subtle and say, "I haven't seen any entries from you in a while. Have you seen BILL's blog? I love his blog. He is so funny." The brother-in-law arms race is escalating. I know the pen/keyboard is mightier than the sword but if we can't resolve this here, I may need to challenge him to a gladiatorial duel at the Colosseum when we visit Rome for the holidays.

What up, Yo? and other dialectical greetings

We resumed our German class in August after a break for most of the summer. Our new class is quite good. It is very convenient, especially for S because it is offered through the institute where she works. It is also easier because it is a 15 min.bike ride to get there rather than a 40 min. ride. It meets 2x/week instead of the 5 day/wk. class we started in the spring. Although it is not as intense, the level of the students is higher so we progress faster per hour of class. I must say that although I am attending class and doing my work, I am not putting in a lot of extra time and I don't feel like I am improving by leaps and bounds. I could be trying harder but here are my top 3 reasons why I'm not learning faster:
3) We don't do a lot of speaking in class and that is what I need the most help with, although as my teachers have pointed out, you can't speak until you know some vocabulary and grammar.
2) It is difficult to practice out in the real world because many people will switch to English if you struggle. Since communication is the most important goal I let them switch, otherwise we wouldn't get far. For example, I was just interrupted as I was writing the last sentence by a phone call. It was a woman trying to sell me a service for returning lost keys (which admittedly could be quite handy, see previous post). I muddled along in German for about 30 sec. until she got to what she was calling for and asked me if I understood, to which I replied "Do you speak English?" Her English was not great but far better than my German. I knew that she wanted to talk to me about keys and not much else.
And the number 1 reason....
They don't speak German here. What? you say. Yes, German is one of the officially recognized languages, but what is primarily spoken is Swiss German-- which is a dialect of true, or High, German. Oh, and on top of that, even if you learn some Swiss German, there are multiple regional dialects within the country. High German is what is taught in schools and it is the official written language, so reading labels, signs, newspapers etc. is relatively straighforward but there is still a lot of vocabulary that is unique to Switzerland. Before we moved here we did some traveling in Patagonia. Several times we met German tourists and when they found out we were moving to Switzerland, they remarked about how they couldn't understand Swiss German. That doesn't bode well for us if the native German speakers have a hard time with it. Since I know very little Swiss German, it is difficult for me to tell you the differences but I can tell you that they definitely sound different. During our first month here we were riding the train and there were some teenagers sitting in the row across from us. I was trying to figure out what language they were speaking and it finally occurred to me that it was actually Swiss German, but it didn't sound at all like the German I was learning in class. If you think straight-up German is harsh and guttural, Swiss German seems to have even more of the harder "ch" sounds-- however, it can be very sing-songy in its pronuncation as well.
At first I was frustrated by the dialect issue (and I still am) but then I started to think about the many dialects of the English language. My first thought for an analogy was that Swiss German is like African American Vernacular English (sometimes referred to as Ebonics). However, this also can become a racial issue so I don't really want to go there. Instead, I have decided for comparison's sake to talk about Southeastern US dialects in general. Think of it this way. You come from a foreign country and move to a small town in the deep South. Maybe you learned English elsewhere or maybe you are learning it now. It is Standard American English.
Here are S and I in Switzerland. We learn "Guten Tag" to greet one or more people. We see someone on the street and they say "Grüezi mitenand" (which as far as I can tell is derived from "Grüsse miteinander"- literally translated as "greetings with each other". Mitenand is only added when there is more than one person). That would be the equivalent of you, in the example above, learning "Hello" as a greeting and you are on the street in your Southern town and hear "Hey, y'all." They don't sound at all alike and even though you know it is a greeting you have no idea what they are actually saying.
Learning a new greeting is no problem. I have my Grüezis and my Grüezi mitenands down pretty well, by now. I can even modify it by region. For example a softer Grüsse sound for when we get more into the central part of the country (Bernese Oberland etc.). (Of course, I suspect they can tell I'm not Swiss even if I think I am doing ok). Just like you can inflect and pronounce Hello in so many different ways, so too are the Grüezis. What I love are the emphatic sing-songy greetings where the second syllable rises at the end. The Swiss are good greeters, greeting everyone they meet on the trail and on the streets of our local town. With a good emphatic Grüezi coming out of your mouth it is virtually impossible not to smile.
The problem isn't with greetings, which are recognizable as such. It is when the conversation continues that the problems begin. Seriously though, despite my frustration at the slow pace of language progress, I am learning and I can pick out more and more words. When I think about what I knew 6 months ago and what I know now, I have made progress. I just wish I could understand and speak more. My biggest frustration is that I am just adding another language that I can only use a at basic level (now I have 3 of those).

Learning to Fly

"Theres no sensation to compare with this
Suspended animation, a state of bliss
Can't keep my eyes from the circling skies
Tongue-tied and twisted just an earth-bound misfit"
-"Leaning to Fly" Pink Floyd
Humans have seemingly always had the dream to fly. The amazing invention of the airplane has made this possible for the masses. However, there are still those who want to soar quietly through the air and feel the air around them. Here in Switzerland, the mountain environment is well suited for paragliding and we see people doing it every time we are in the mountains. Ever since watching someone pull up their wing (that's what they call the large parachute part) and float off of the side of a mountain back in May, I have been wanting to give it a try.
Last week Susan's dad and his wife were visiting and we spent several days with them in the Bernese Oberland, in and around the Lauterbrunnen Valley. It is a spectacular Yosemite-like glacially-carved valley with steep walls and big waterfalls and is a popular spot for paragliding and BASE jumping. We saw many people with BASE jumping and paragliding packs on their backs on their way to fly from the valley walls. One morning S went for a run to check out one of the BASE jumping sites that was near where we were staying. She met a Finnish guy who was on his way to jump and tagged along to watch. BASE jumping involves freefall jumping off of a cliff or fixed object and pulling a small parachute before you hit the ground. Included is a BASE video shot in the valley so you have a bit of an idea what it looks like. (As a side note, the North Face of the Eiger, in the next valley over is also a popular BASE jumping location. Just this summer Dean Potter free soloed (climbed without a rope) a difficult route (5.12+) on the North Face with nothing but a base jumping pack. Presumably, if he fell he would have the composure to pull the cord and float back to the valley below. See news here).
When she returned for breakfast, S was still full of adrenaline from watching the jump and, although she acknowledged that BASE jumping was too scary for her, she was fired up to try paragliding. I didn't realize quite how serious she was until we ended up at the local guide shop later that morning and by that afternoon we had made plans to go the following day. The next morning we took a train to Grindelwald, in the shadow of the famous North Face of the Eiger, to meet our guides. The weather was cool but sunny with good thermals for flying. I wasn't really nervous about the mechanics of the flying in terms of safety. The way the Swiss are about regulations and licensing, I suspect it it one of the safest places to try it (I found out during the flight that my guide had been flying for 23 years). The one nagging concern I had was that my predisposition for motion sickness might make the flight less enjoyable. We took a cable car up to one of the hills above Grindelwald and walked downhill about 2 minutes to the launch site. Our guides spread out the wings on the hillside and we put on our harnesses and helmets. We flew harnessed to the wing and to our guide who sat straddled behind us. Within 5 minutes we were standing facing downhill and my guide said "OK, start running and don't stop until we are in the air". With the strong thermals that day it took about 2 steps until our wing pulled up into the air and then another 2 steps until my feet could no longer touch the ground. We immediately began circling and climbing in the strong thermals so that within 2 minutes when S and her guide launched we were already several hundred meters above them. This is S shortly after launching with the town of Grindelwald below and the Eiger on the right side of the picture. We floated above the valley for about 20 minutes. We were cruising at somewhere around 40km/hr as we gradually circled and drifted back towards town. It was amazing to just be floating above everything, to feel the wind rush past and to see the curious birds flying by, wondering what we were doing. I can't say that I was completely relaxed. At one point my pilot asked if I wanted to steer. He gave me the handles and told me to pull down on the right one to initiate a turn. I pulled it gently down about one inch not wanting to move too suddenly. "More," he said. I pulled another inch, we were barely turning. "Keep going," he said, "8 or 10 cm." I slowly pulled more and the turn was now more noticeable, but by no means extreme. That was enough for me. No sudden movements please. As we approached our landing site, my guide said "Now we will drop down" and started a sharp turn to drop us more quickly in altitude. The sharp turn thrusts you up more horizontal than vertical and the additional G-forces that the centrifugal motion create made my stomach drop. I immediately started to feel sick. "Everything OK, " he said. "I get motion sickness easily," I said. After that we descended more gently. Fortunately, it was only another minute or 2 before we landed. It was a great experience and I am glad I did it. The sick feeling passed within an hour or so. The one thing about it that felt odd about it was being guided. How can you feel free like you are flying free when you have a a guy strapped to your back? As I saw S come in and land after me, I laughed because she looked as goofy as I felt, strapped in with her guide straddled behind her. It is great that we had the opportunity to fly without having to go through the lengthy training involved to fly on our own, but I don't think this was intended to be a tandem sport. The other strange thing for me was to be on the other side of the client/guide relationship. Having spent much more time as the leader or guide, I also felt goofy just standing there and having everything done for me.

Tree Snails and Love Darts

My apologies for the precipitous drop in blog entries, a measly one for the whole month of August. One thing that has occurred to me is that I could write shorter entries more often. Of course, my problem is that I like to tell a full story with all of the details. I have been working on some other projects lately and have recently started German classes again (more on that in a future entry). I certainly have been busy and have a lot to say I just haven't gotten around to writing about it. Now that I have assuaged my guilt a little, let me tell you about my day.
It has been raining intermittently here all day and I have spent a good part of my day in front of the computer working on aforementioned-but-not-explicitly-stated projects. I recently looked out at the tree that is right outside the office window. Since we live on the 3rd floor, it is not uncommon to look out and get closeup views of birds flitting about in the branches. However, today I looked and saw a snail attached to one of the nearby branches. When it rains here, we see snails and slugs all over the streets and on the paths where we do our dog walking. However, this is the first one I have seen in a tree here. I am familiar with tree snails that may be found in sub-tropical and tropical environments but I never knew they existed in more temperate latitudes. I once helped out with a research project looking at tree snail populations in the Florida Everglades. The amazing thing about them was that they were isolated on hardwood islands within the larger wetland ecosystem and therefore evolved to have different shell markings (see photo here). I did some fascinating research on snails today so I thought I should share it with you. I believe my snail is from the Helicidae family and is probably one of these guys/girls here (they are hermaphroditic, so are both male and female at once). If you aren't convinced to have a look, just let me add that they have pictures of their "love darts" there (their term not mine). If you've never seen a snail love dart or heard about how they use them, they give a full explanation here (and more about the "whys" of love darts here). If you are not one for foreplay, and it can be quite long with snails, you can scroll down directly to the section entitled "Application of a Love Dart." If this doesn't pique your interest at all, then you either a) don't have much scientific curiosity or b) don't have the same juvenile sense of humor that finds topics like love darts interesting or amusing. If I can't appeal to you under either of these circumstances, then maybe we should just leave it at this... I saw a snail in the tree outside my window today. But how interesting is that, really?

Blind Dating (or Climbing...it is supposed to be fun)

I found my new climbing partner here in an internet forum for English-speaking expats. I had been hoping that maybe things would happen more organically- I would meet someone in my German class with similar interests, or S would end up meeting some climbers at work. After a month or so of finding nothing, I turned to the internet. Although I have never done it, I suspect my quest for a climbing partner is not unlike internet dating. I perused the postings and found one by someone who seemed intelligent, experienced (both in climbing and with the area) and was interested in doing longer routes in the mountains. I sent him a private message and fortunately he responded, because he was the only one I contacted. We corresponded by email and set up a time to go climbing. As I took the train to meet him, all of those first date kinds of questions rattled around in my brain, but mostly I was just excited to get out and climb. We had no problems finding each other at the train station. We chose a climb in one of his guidebooks and chatted as we drove towards the pass where the climb is located. Either I have good character judgement or I was just lucky because we seemed to hit it off pretty well right from the beginning.
One thing I have learned since that first outing is that the weather in Switzerland can be extremely variable within and among the different regions and it is always a good idea to have a Plan B. As the road narrowed, became more winding and began to climb more steeply, the small patch of dark clouds in the distance that we had been steadily approaching seemed to get darker and by the time we arrived at the trailhead we were in a steady, light rain. How does Plan B sound? We turned around and drove an hour back down the valley to where we had began and then started the process all over again as we climbed up into another steep valley. I am prone to carsickness and I was well on my way to feeling pukey after our first failed attempt. By the time we pulled to the side of the road at the second place I was feeling weak and listless. We hiked the 1/2 hour approach to the base of the wall and looked up at the climb. I let Colin take the lead when we started climbing since I was unaccustomed to the rating system and to climbing on limestone. I also hadn't been climbing in some time and had spent most of last season nursing an ankle injury, which further reduced my confidence level. The route was rated French 6a (5.10b-ish), which is about as hard a route as I was up for trying on my first outing. The route was 7 pitches long, with the last pitch being the hardest one. The last pitch was on a steep headwall with a lot of exposure, and the climbing was delicate and balancey on small edges. The combination of all of those things and my being out of shape for climbing left me feeling spent at the end of the pitch and glad that it was time to descend.

Me hanging out over big air on the last pitch... For perspective, if you look really closely (you can click on the pic to expand) you can see our packs as black dots at the bottom, follow the line of the rope strand hanging on left all the way to the bottom of the cliff.

Colin at the base of the wall checking out another route (look closely, he's in the center)

The Second Date
Will he call me again? Or was I too [fill in the blank] or not enough [fill in the blank]? Over the course of nearly 2 more months we tried to arrange a time to climb a handful of times. Our schedules weren't lining up very well. Believe it or not I had stuff going on. We finally arranged a mid-week day to climb with nice weather. This followed several days of rain that had also fallen as snow in the mountains. Colin had some work he had to do in the morning and I was sending off my mom and step father who had been visiting for the last week so the plan was for me to take the train to his town and then we would drive up into the mountains from there. I met him at 11am and we chose a route that wasn't too long since we would be getting a late start (again). The sequence of events was not unlike last time; take a train, get in a car drive for an hour or so up increasingly steep, windy roads etc. As we got into the mountains we could see that there was a fair bit of new snow at the higher elevations. We were planning to climb at about 2500m (8200ft), which was likely to be in that snow zone. Approaching the cliff at the top of an incredibly steep valley, we could see that the snow at the top was melting and the wall was completely wet. There was a nearby cliff that we could also try but it meant retracing the windy road back down the valley and then ascending by a narrow private road back up to the same elevation. I had already had just about as much windy road driving as I could handle for the morning before we turned around to head back down. By the time we went down and back up the other road I was completely nauseous and weak, very much interested in getting out the car and walking, but not so interested in the thought of climbing. This cliff looked drier but it was hard to tell from a distance so we decided to go check it out and climb what we could. The cliff looked close when we stopped the car and got out but there was still a good hour of steep hiking to get to the base of the climb. Most of the approach was covered in a few inches of wet snow. This normally wouldn't concern me much, however, it was loose wet, snow over steep slippery grass, which doesn't make for the best footing. The further we went, the worse it got as we transitioned into snow over loose scree while crossing a steep gully and then some scrambling on snow covered scree, crumbling rock and more steep wet snow-covered grass. At the base of the climb, I felt like I had already climbed the first pitch, only without a rope. We perched precariously on the steep slope and ledges to put on our harnesses and prepare for the real climbing. I was still feeling nauseous and weak from the ride up and once more relinquished the lead to Colin. For the first few pitches the climbing was ok but not great. I felt like crap and was thinking about how much I should be enjoying myself rather than how much I was not enjoying myself.
"How many more pitches do we have?" Low clouds that had been floating about the peaks were now enveloping our cliff. Climbing, even with a partner, can be a very introspective experience. You spend long periods of time in your own space, belaying your partner or climbing, punctuated by short times together at belay stations. I felt all the more isolated as the clouds swirled around me, and the valley below me and the mountains across the valley moved in and out of view. The valley was steep and you could see all the way to the bottom (probably 5 or 6,000 ft) and at times, when I couldn't see the bottom of the cliff due to the clouds or when I looked straight out, I felt like I was that high off of the ground.
"It is so beautiful up here." I am lulled by the surreal quality of the clouds. I'm on the verge of being cold and I still feel nauseous. "How many more pitches do we have?"
The next pitch traversed across into a chimney system. I couldn't see what he was doing, but Colin spent a lot of time at the base of the chimney. He yelled over to me to watch him closely. The chimney was wet and there were some tricky moves to get up into it. Once in the chimney he set up a belay and I joined him. We peered up into the chimney and didn't talk much. It was like a big drainpipe for the snow that was melting off up higher on the mountain. It was dripping wet and cold, the sides of the chimney were polished and slick, and the clouds were still swirling about, isolating us from the rest of the world. Now we were having the full alpine climbing experience. Colin and I both struggled up the wide chimney and past a chockstone, thrashing and pulling on gear, only to find it wasn't as bad as either one of us thought it might be. We prepared to descend and I was finally starting to feel better. We rappeled back to the base of the climb and begin to pack up our gear. Colin dropped a boot from our steep perch and we both helplessly watched it bounce down the sleep slope and over a small drop into a gully that continued down the mountain. With no idea how far down it continued, we began picking our way down the slope hoping we could retrieve it. The going was a little bit easier now because the snow had melted while we were climbing. However, the slope was still steep and wet and had a lot of loose scree. As we traversed under the cliff band into the gully, I scanned for the missing boot. Defying the usual trend of garishly colored European mountaineering boots, Colin's boots are actually all black, which made them considerably less easy to find. I was about to continue down the slope when I looked down almost at my feet and saw the boot. The clouds were retreating and we returned to the car with the beautiful evening light illuminating the mountains around us. Back at the car I ate my first real food since breakfast (other than the granola bar I forced into my queasy belly before starting the climb). I still had 3 hours of travel left before I arrived back home.



Third Time is the Charm.
Last week we planned another climbing outing. Colin sent me a few options by email the day before and they both looked great. Long alpine granite climbs. I wanted to be excited but I felt like I was carrying some extra baggage going into this one. Why was I not enjoying climbing? Was I done with climbing? Or did I just have to admit that these long days with driving on mountain roads weren't working for me? One of the things that I have always liked about climbing is the range of feelings and emotions it can evoke and how these can be both opposing and complementary, like yin and yang. Fear, euphoria, frustration, accomplishment, focus, drifting, exhaustion, excitement, isolation, camaraderie... the list goes on. All of these are part of the human experience and they are all a part of the climbing experience. Just like life, climbing doesn't always have to be fun. The night before the climb in my pre-bedtime brilliance I decided that it might be a good idea to take a Bonine to help my motion sickness. I reasoned that if I took it now at 10 pm, then it should wear off by late morning when we would be arriving at the trailhead. After chewing up the little raspberry-flavored delight I remembered that they are supposed to last for 24 hours not the 12 hours that I was somehow deluded into thinking. Too late now unless I want to induce vomiting. Maybe I'll still be a bit drowsy but it has to be better than the way I have been feeling the last 2 times out.
I woke up at 5:50 am before my alarm, ready to go. Left for the train at 6:30, Colin picked me up at the destination station at 8 am, we arrived at the trailhead somewhere around 9:30, hiked into the base of the route, including traversing a small glacier and were ready to start climbing by 11:30. So far that is about 5 hours of travelling just to get to the climb. I felt a little bit queasy on the car ride up to the pass where the trailhead started but I had plenty of fresh air and hiking before the climb started to forget about all of that. The day was beautiful and the climb took a line that climbed up into a prominent corner that ended at the top of a ridge. (On the photo the line leaves the glacier and follows the buttress just left of the dark corner that runs all the way to the top. At the top of the buttress, the route moves back into the corner and follows that to the top. The one big bummer was that in my haste to start the climb I left my climbing pack with camera and water at the bottom.) Colin shared some of his iced tea with me but you won't be seeing any photos from during the climb. The route was exactly what I needed, really nice granite climbing in a beautiful setting. The route had 10 pitches and topped out at nearly 3300m (10,800 ft.) on a narrow ridge with great views over the other side. I felt great and totally enjoyed myself. So much for being done with climbing.

Colin climbs the first pitch...

Pick and Roll, Kick and Score, Angels and Devils and other Sports-related Ramblings

I now have about a month of events backlogged in the blog partition of my brain. That is why today's blog is about the Tour de Suisse, an event that happened a full month ago. With the Tour de France going on right now, cycling is still a valid topic of discussion- and you can talk about nose picking anytime. Well, maybe you should use some discretion about when you talk about nose picking, but it is a topic that never really loses relevance. Europeans are serious about their cycling, as evidenced by the number of events, teams, sponsors and fans. I've casually followed cycling as a sport and have enjoyed watching some of the races on TV. We thought it would be fun to see part of a race since we are here in Europe. We went to see the first day of the Tour de Suisse. The route on that day started and ended in the same place and made 3 laps that all passed through the starting town, making for an attractive stage to watch. I was disappointed to see that they don't explode out of the start but rather they made a leisurely lap around town and then gradually pick up the pace over the next few laps until the frenzied sprint at the end. Even after the first lap around town the main pack was dropping the Swiss Military Team. Poor guys. I think they need a better sponsor.
The one problem with seeing one of these races live is that you don't really see much of the action and even the sprint at the finish line is just a big blur of riders zooming by. Unfortunately we didn't discover that there was a large screen near the finish line broadcasting the whole race. That is because we didn't actually discover where the finish line was until about 20 min. before the end of the race. We thought the town seemed a little dead for such a big event. It turns out we were in the wrong place. I continued to follow the rest of the race with daily race updates. There was a spectacular crash by Frank Schleck while in the lead on Day 5 that you can see here. The crazy thing is that he lands in a tree, is not seriously hurt and continues the race.
If Europeans are serious about cycling, then they are absolutely rabid about football (what we Americans stubbornly refer to as soccer). Incidentally, I find it funny that the German word for football is Fussball, which is pronounced just like "foosball", the table top game commonly seen in pubs, sports bars and frat houses. The fact that Switzerland was one of the sponsors of the Euro '08, the european football championship games, for the entire month of June and I never wrote a word about it probably tells you something about my interest in the sport. Football fans shouldn't take it personally since I don't really enjoy any major organized team sports, including American football, baseball, basketball, hockey etc. On the way home from checking out the Tour de Suisse, we had to connect trains in Bern, one of the Euro '08 host cities. We decided that maybe we should also sample a bit of European football culture. Bern is a city of about 100,000 and the night before the city was overrun with over 100,000 additional fans from the Netherlands, all dressed in orange, for their game against France. The city streets were still quite crowded with visitors. All of the major cities in Switzerland, and some smaller ones, had "Fan Zones" set up where fans could go watch the games on large screens. We went to see what the Fan Zone scene was all about. There was a real feeling of celebration and camaraderie among fans on the street. My favorite scene was this group of girls making their way to one of the Fan Zones- one dressed in an angel costume pushing a shopping cart with a keg and a large box of fresh pretzels, offering beer and pretzels to passersby, while surrounded by a group of devils.

The last sporting event of the day that i'd like to discuss is nose picking. I have a hunch that nose picking is practiced all over the world, however, the cultural norms regarding nose picking are likely to vary from place to place. Today was the first time that I had witnessed public nose picking in Switzerland. I might not have thought too much about it but it happened both on the way to seeing the race and on the way back, on the same train leg. Both pickers were somewhat subtle about it, using the technique of rubbing the side of your nose with your forefinger, as if you have an itch, while probing with the thumb- but neither one cared to look around first to see if anyone might see them. I began to wonder if maybe public picking was more common in this region or if maybe we were on a special train where picking was allowed. After a little investigating I found that, although smoking and cell phone use is not allowed, picking is in fact allowed on some cars. Maybe now my eyes have been opened up to nose picking on the train because this past week I saw a girl on our local train picking away with the full forefinger up to the first knuckle. I'm willing to cut her a little slack since she has a nose ring and those things probably need a little extra cleaning. I've adopted a term for nose picking on the train, it is in keeping with our sports theme and is inspired by my basketball coach from age 13 who used to yell from the bench "Pick and Roll! Pick and Roll!"

Business as Usual

In Switzerland it is mandatory to have public liability insurance. This insures you against damage you may do to another person or their property. Better to be covered, that way we can go about our lives recklessly breaking things and we don't have to take any personal responsibility for it. After finding a company to insure us, we received a bill that was more than our original quote. Susan emailed the agent and got back a response explaining why the charges were higher- including the following lines, which I found particularly amusing: "I dont want that you feel I tuck you over the table, it is usual Insurancebusiness. Is this okay?" What I find amusing is not that the agent's English is less than perfect (after all, my German is less than functional), but that she is the first insurance agent i've known to admit that "tucking" you over the table is standard insurance business. And then she asks if that is okay. Well, yes, of course, if that is usual insurance business. At least she is up front about it.

The waiting is the hardest part

"The waiting is the hardest part
Every day you see one more card
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part" Tom Petty.
I couldn't take it any longer. The waiting. I dutifully applied for my residence permit immediately upon entering the country. And then waited for the wheels of the bureaucracy to slowly grind toward a decision. I was granted a visa to enter the country with the intention of gaining residency, but the embassy had been sure to tell me that just because they approved my entry didn't mean that the my local canton (county) would approve my residence application. When you enter the country on a tourist visa, you must leave after 3 months. Although I wasn't exactly on a tourist visa, it was unclear what my status would be if I didn't have my residence permit after 3 months. I was rapidly approaching 3 months and my patience was running out. On Friday I decided it was time to go to our local town office and make sure that there were no problems with my application. I told the guy my name and a few words in German. He responded with a few words, including "Heute" (today). Today? Jackpot! My lucky day. He went to look in a pile of papers, made a phone call and then sent me upstairs to the cashier. The cashier presented me with my permit and a bill. The paying is the second hardest part. For just 161 CHF I was the proud new owner of a plastic sleeve with a piece of paper in it and photo of myself (that I had already paid for). I happily paid the fee in exchange for my plastic sleeve and the privilege of residing in Switzerland for the next year (until I would have to reapply). As I walked out of the building with a big grin on my face, I looked at the date on the invoice they had prepared to send to me and sure enough it was the same day. Not just a case of "oh yeah, we just got that today" now that you stopped by to ask, when really we've had it sitting here for the last month.
The waiting is the hardest part: Part II
About 2 months ago S lost her apartment key after a comical series of bad decisions that had to do with washing Raven in the river, Raven escaping and running about the forest, Raven being caught, S attaching her key to Raven's collar with a piece of string, key disappearing while running with Raven, you get the idea. Since then we have been operating with one apartment key and the combination of one garage key and storage area key. Most times I am home when S returns from work and she buzzes me and I open the door. If I am not going to be home I can leave the key in our storage area in the basement and she can enter through the underground garage, open the storage area and get the key. Then she must be home when I return. You can see how this might be slightly inconvenient. S requested a new key from our rental company and they told her it would take about a week. The keys are special security keys so we can't just go get our own copy at the local hardware store. After 2 weeks I inquired as to the status of our order. Then again after 2 weeks and then again about 2 weeks later. It was Friday and I was feeling lucky so I was going to head to the rental office and see why it was taking 2 months to have a key made. First I returned home and checked the mail. Jackpot! The key was in the box. Unbelievable. The 2 things I had been waiting months for both arrived on the same day! The paying is the second hardest part. One key, cut and mailed- 56.50 CHF. The freedom to live unmolested by the authorities and to enter our apartment at will- priceless.

It's the little things...

Sometimes it is the little things that really get you when you are living or traveling in a foreign country; those subtle little things that are familiar enough to make think you know what you are doing, but just different enough to frustrate the hell out of you. One thing I discovered about myself during my first week in Switzerland was that if presented with too many of these things at once, and thereby reaching a critical frustration threshold, my solution was to just walk away. Avoidance is a perfectly acceptable solution to the problem. If I walk away from the problem then it is no longer a problem, right? Or as Bob Marley says, "Tis he who fight and run away, Live to fight another day." I just need a chance to regroup and mount my attack with a new strategy.
There are many variables that can affect the frustration threshold, therefore sometimes it can be reached quite quickly, and other times more slowly. My first day of language class was a low threshold day. After class I was in the train station before returning home and had a sudden urge to use the toilet. I followed the signs in the international language of stick figures to the appropriate facilities and was thwarted by locked doors on the stalls. I remember the days of pay toilets in the US but they seem to be long gone, along with the accompanying "Here I sit all broken-hearted, paid my dime and only farted," graffiti that I still remember from my early years in store bathrooms. (As a tangent, I suspect that there are more Americans who can quote bathroom graffiti limericks and poems than true lines of literary poetry). The toilets required a 1/2 Swiss Franc coin. I reached in my pocket; no 1/2 coin, but I did have a 1 CHF coin. I went back out into the train station and went to the "Change" window. I don't think the guy who sits at the window is there just to make change for using the toilet but I appreciated his services. I returned to the bathroom and looked at the coin-lock mechanism with its foreign instructions. It can't be that hard, insert coin and open door. I inserted the coin and tried every combination of pushing, pulling and turning the knob. The door didn't open. No problem, thanks to my handy change man, I have another 1/2 CHF coin. Insert second coin, try again. Turn knob, push, pull and repeat. Only one thing left to do. Walk away. I don't have to go that bad anyway, I tell myself. By now, it is almost time to board my train so I head for the platform. Once on the train I found success with the non-pay facilities on board. However, I was shocked to find that my waste was just flushed out onto the tracks. So you mean I have to pay to properly dispose of my waste but I can just dump it on the tracks for free?
Upon returning home, I went out for my first solo trip to the grocery store. Supermarkets here are essentially the same, but there are those "little things." I approached the shopping carts and tried to pull one out of the line. Stuck. I pulled again and then looked down to see that the carts were chained together. I briefly pulled on the chain to see if it would come out and looked to see if there was an obvious release button. My low threshold limit already reached, I walked away. I think a basket will do just fine today. "'Tis he who fight and run away, Live to fight another day." Later I found out that the carts are coin-operated. You must insert a 1 CHF coin into the handle of the cart to push out the chain that connects it to the next cart. When you return the cart and re-insert the chain your coin is returned to you. My first thought was "Do they think that someone is going to steal the carts? And do they really think that 1 Franc is enough incentive to keep someone from taking a cart?" I had images of homeless people and bottle recyclers in the US pushing shopping carts full of all of their booty and thought if you really needed a shopping cart 1 Franc would be a "steal." So far the only thing I can think of that I have been able to buy here for 1 Franc was a package of yeast at the grocery store and entry to look at a waterfall that you could see from the opposite side of the river without paying anything. I have spent quite a lot of time thinking about this and have come to the conclusion that, since there are virtually no homeless people here, the coin system must have another purpose. I think it is simply to get people to return the carts in a nice, orderly fashion where they belong at the front door. No paying pimply-faced kids minimum wage to round up stray carts in the parking lot, clean out the cart corrals and drive the herds back to the front door- like they do in the US. The Swiss are such a neat, orderly and law-abiding lot that I suspect if you told them they had to do it, they would return the carts on their own, without the 1 Franc reward. As an extra bonus of returning your carts, you also reduce one more parking lot hazard for your BMW or Mercedes.
I have yet to return to the train station toilets to see if I can get them to work, but it would be in my best interest to do so before I have the additional stress of really needing to make it work. Kind of like last week in the grocery store. Up until last week I had only paid for groceries in cash. Although I had removed cash from the bank, I had yet to use my ATM card at the grocery store. If I was smart I might have pioneered this usage sometime when I was in there during the middle of the day with only a handful of housewives and pensioners with nowhere in particular to be. There are no grocery baggers at the grocery store (another way to cut out those minimum wage kids) so I usually am trying to bag up my groceries as quickly as possible so that I don't hold up other customers. When my purchase was totaled I had the sudden panicked realization that I was about 7 CHF short of being able to pay in cash. This was the only register open and by now there were 4 or 5 people lined up behind me. I fumbled for my wallet and pulled out my card and then looked blankly at the card machine. No place to swipe the card on either side, nothing on top. The cashier is very patient with me. Somehow I always end up at her register and she knows that I am a dysfunctional German speaker. She indicated to flip my card around and pointed at the bottom of the card reader. Ah yes, you slide the card up from the bottom, but it is hard to see when you are panicked and standing above it. There is no way around it, you look like an idiot when things like this happen. I don't think there is anything you can do to redeem yourself. You can't say "Believe it or not, I scored in the 95th percentile on the problem-solving section of my Graduate Record Exams." Just walk away. 'Tis he who fight and run away, Live to fight another day.

Talkin' Trash

Switzerland is a country overflowing with rules and regulations (but not trash). Everywhere you go there are signs to tell you what to do and what not to do. It makes it easy for those who can't think for themselves, but difficult for those who don't understand the language. The possibility of unknowingly breaking some law or regulation was a large source of stress for me when we first arrived here. (Oh, and we have broken more than a few minor ones, starting with my first day in the country , but we can talk about those later). When we arrived in Switzerland we had to register with our local town office. Upon registering, they issued us, among other things, a guide to local recycling regulations. During that first week, I probably spent a few hours with the recycling guide and an English-German dictionary trying to decipher how to deal with our growing pile of trash. Until I figured it out, I didn't want to throw anything anyway; fearing the "trash police" I had heard about who will go through your trash and fine you for improper disposal.
Switzerland reportedly has one of the highest recycling rates in the world and, due to the fact that you must pay for all of the trash you produce, the amount of unnecessary packaging is generally less than you would find in US stores. The payment systems can vary by where you live, but this is how it works for us. First, we must buy standard size trash bags (35l, 60l and 110l; those little l's are for liters, for those who are metrically impaired) with the sizes clearly labelled on them. Then at our local grocery store we buy stickers that must be affixed to each bag before disposal (see photo). I think the stickers were 3 CHF each (approx. $3 US). You use one sticker for a 35l bag, 2 for a 60l bag and 3 for a 110l bag. Due to my trash police paranoia, I made sure to thoroughly shred anything that had names or addresses on it for the first bag or 2. I also waited until after dark to make the trip to our apartment trash dumpster, so the neighbors wouldn't see me. Now you really think I am paranoid. Believe me they are watching, and they are just waiting for you to do something wrong. And they will tell you when you do too.
Compostable waste goes into a separate bin and is also picked up once a week. I know what you are thinking, it sounds easy so far, right? Now let's get to the recycling. The actual concept of recycling is not a difficult one for me to grasp, I have been doing it for years and have lived many places, with varying degrees of concern for recycling. The trick is to figure out what actually can be recycled, because it better not end up in the trash. Even for those who don't care about the environmental implications of not recycling, the trash police fines, the extra cost of disposal, and the thought of breaking any rules is enough for any law-abiding Swiss person to recycle everything possible. Once you figure out what can be recycled, then you need to figure out where to recycle it. Plastic milk jugs and soda bottles must go back to the grocery store (as do batteries and Brita water filters), glass and cans go to a town collection site that has very limited hours, old appliances must be taken to specific locations, old furniture can be stickered and picked up but only up to certain dimensions and only on a few pickup dates per year. Paper, cardboard and newspaper is also picked up on a few specified dates each year and must be bundled and tied in a specified manner with specific maximum dimensions. Apparently, this is the true test of whether you or Swiss or not (or at least if you are assimilating), if you are able to properly bundle your paper and cardboard for recycling. Since the Swiss distribute massive amounts of advertising flyers through the mail, I had no shortage of newspaper to bundle. We also had a large stash of cardboard in our storage area from our all of the boxed and unassembled furniture we bought at Ikea. In anticipation of our first pickup date last week, I bought a roll of string and began sorting and assembling bundles. For the large pieces of cardboard, I had to fold them multiple times to get them to the required bundle size. I must say I made some nice-looking bundles. I might even be able to pass for being Swiss.
Raven took great interest in the recycling project and helped with shredding some of the cardboard and unrolling the string for me. The part of her lineage that is German Shepherd, may in fact be Swiss German. Once the bundles were complete we proudly added them to the growing pile near our dumpster.
Apparently, the reason the bundles must be of a specified maximum size (and therefore weight) is because it is all collected by the local kids. I'm not sure what they get out of it, but it is a brilliant scheme for the towns to get some free labor. Although I missed the morning pickup, I was able to witness the collection operation in a nearby town when commuting to language school a few days later. It was like when the National Guard mobilizes for a relief operation. The streets were crawling with kids towing garden carts, which they would fill with the bundles and then bring them to a number of designated dumpsters and trucks. Seeing all of the stacks of newspaper made me flashback to when I was a kid and would do my friend's paper route when he was away on vacation. One house I delivered to was owned by an old couple who had a serious hoarding problem. I have since learned that this is not just eccentric behavior but is a form of obsessive-compulsive behaviour. The entire porch (and as far as I could see into the house) was filled with stacks of old newspapers and the whole place was dirty, dilapidated and smelled like litter box. The next house down had a large aggressive dog that would chase you if it was left loose, which was most of the time. The next house after that had a dog that was tied out on a chain and I found out the hard way that in his excitement he would spray sweet-smelling doggie urine all over you if you got too close to him. It was a street fraught with many perils for a paper boy.