It's common knowledge that I'm a bit of a klutz. For growing up as a dancer, this seems counter-intuitive, but my feet only seem to move in sync if there is music playing. This weekend Tim and I met in Basel, which is about half way between Frankfurt and Geneva. On Saturday morning, before we even made it to the old-town/pedestrian zone, I stopped to take a picture of a fountain and then promptly fell backwards down 4 concrete steps. Somewhere along the way I flipped around, so that the lip of the last concrete step stopped my fall against the middle of my shins. Yes it hurt. It hurt so bad that I promptly turned white, then green, then thought I was going to pass out then started to cry without even wanting to. The good news is that I didn't turn either of my ankles. The bad news it that it looks like someone took a baseball bat to my shin bones (it feels that way too).
Tim was quite the hero. He practically carried me to a cafe to get me out of the way and to figure out what to do next.. He also convinced me to go to the pharmacy. They gave me this odd creme that acts as a topical pain killer (cool!) and convinced us that I didn't break anything (it really did hurt that much). We then went back to the hotel where I propped my leg up, iced it and longingly looked at the bright sun out of the window and cursed my clumsiness.
This put a bit of a damper on our trip to Basel. Primarily because I couldn't walk for 3 hours and secondly because about 3 hours later when I decided I wanted to walk again, I was limpy and slow. Did I mention that everything worth seeing is in a pedestrian zone?
But, I'm fine now. Achey from the fall, but fine. Walking is not a problem, but steps are a bit of delima. Going down steps is seriosly painful. How fortunate that my bedroom is lofted above the living room. I guess once I get up there, I'll just have to stay there.
Like my shins, Basel is a brilliantly colorful city. This is a place that loves Christmas almost as much as my mom does. Every building was decorated with angel's lofted over the awnings, santa's climbing into windows, bows, ribbons and lights, lights and more lights. 20 foot fir trees were placed along the streets and lit up with candles (electric). Basel boasts "the longest christmas street in Europe" which means the street of the main shopping drag is draped with lit up stars and lights from building to building. It was the opening weekend of the Wiehnachtmarkt (christmas market). The christmas market was nice for the atmosphere, but I found the hoards of people and shacks selling crappy knick knacks a bit overwhelming. Tim and I found a little stand selling foods I've never heard of and gluhwein, a hot wine/cider mix, that warms up everything inside and out. As long as they sell gluhwein, I will visit every christmas market in Europe.
So, bruised but happy, I'm back home, ready for the holidays and thankful that I didn't break anything.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
It's fun to be the American...although sometimes you feel like a turkey.
I'm in Brussels tonight for the Homecare Connect Days. This is our big dog and pony show where we convince all of the different countries why our innovation for the next year is great. It's called the connect days because we are supposed to forge friendships so that we don't spend the other 364 days of the year cursing at each other. In a corporate sense, this means big expensive meals and lots of wine. Tonight was the big expensive meal/wine portion of the event. Our emcee, the Assistant Brand Manager on Swiffer, gave me a bit of a shout out. In a room of over 80 people he mentioned that tomorrow was Thanksgiving in America and since we had one American in the room we needed to make her feel at home. To do this, he directed everyone to come up to me tomorrow and thank me.
I fear tomorrow may be a long day.
I fear tomorrow may be a long day.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Auerbach Castle
Tim and I visited the Auerbach Castle a while back. It's a "national-park" type castle: free, open to the public, a bit unkempt and with amusing little details to keep kids entertained. For example, in the courtyard there was a "lifesize" replica of something that looked either like a dragon or a dinosaur. I mentioned to Tim that I wasn't certain which it was. Tim looked at me point blank and said it had to be a dragon cause dinosaurs weren't around when the castle was built.
Who says that Germans have no sense of humor?
Who says that Germans have no sense of humor?
Golden Arches
I spent the majority of October with pretty rough bout of homesickness. It is quite a distinct feeling of heartache and distress, like you are looking for something you've lost, but you can't remember what it is you've lost. The last time I felt this way I was in grade school at a girl scout camp. My homesickness caused me to do something unthinkable...I went to McDonald's. I haven't eaten at McDonald's in at least 3 years. I tend to be fundamentally opposed to everything the company represents from fast eating to biggie sizing to childhood obesity(and adult obesity) to beef industrialization. I also haven't eaten fried foods for two years. But, I ached for something familiar, comfortable...something American. There are many things I missed: television, radio, newspapers, english-speaking people, cookies. I could go on and on. But for some reason when my bus home from work passed the McDonald's, I knew that only one thing was going to make me feel better.
That evening I went to my African Dance class. This is where I show up in a room full of French speaking people and learn traditional african dances from a south african man and women who speak such an interesting version of french, that I'm not sure I could understand it even if I did speak the language. They speak to me in french and I nod and follow along and try to dance a little better so that they don't stop me again to tell me what I'm doing wrong (which I don't understand).
I had told myself that after dance I wouldn't want the McDonald's so badly and would be able to go home and eat a sensible meal. Unfortunately the Mickey D's is on my way home. I got near and I felt the worst dichotomy of yearning and guilt. I wanted McDonald's so bad! But's it's sooo bad for me! And bad for the world! And bad for children! And bad for heart disease! But one smell of the quintessiantal fresh fried salty aroma and I was done.
I literally felt ashamed when I walked in. But oh how juicy the fish fillet looked. It's quite possible that the last time I ordered a fish fillet it came in a box with a plastic toy. I must say, McDonald's is pretty brilliant with their international menus. It was simply one board with 8 sections each with a mouth-watering picture of one of their products and a number. You need to simply grunt and point to get a full meal.
I grunted, pointed, paid my 7.60 CHF (!) and walked away with my fish filet and fries. I hid my face in shame walked out and fretted about running into all seven people I actually know in Geneva and trying to rationalize to them why I was eating at a McDonalds (silly American!).
I got home, laid my bounty out on my Ikea coffee table and admired how after at least 20 years (since the last time I remember eating a fish fillet) they still haven't figured out how to line-up the buns with the fillet with the cheese. Why is it exactly that the cheese is always askew and dripping off the side? Is this a strategic choice? Do they train their mc-droids to do this?
I ate my fries first...I distinctly remember that if you wait too long they taste like cardboard. It was salty indulgence heaven. Then I had my fish fillet. It was just as I remembered it. Every bite took me one step closer to home. It was a like a little magic sandwich with fat-laden buns that made me happy. I ate the whole thing...and most of the fries (yes they still taste like cardboard after the heat has left).
I felt great...for about an hour. And then my stomach reminded me that there's a good reason why I shouldn't eat foods like this. I crawled into bed, curled into a ball...and fell asleep achey...but not with homesickeness.
That evening I went to my African Dance class. This is where I show up in a room full of French speaking people and learn traditional african dances from a south african man and women who speak such an interesting version of french, that I'm not sure I could understand it even if I did speak the language. They speak to me in french and I nod and follow along and try to dance a little better so that they don't stop me again to tell me what I'm doing wrong (which I don't understand).
I had told myself that after dance I wouldn't want the McDonald's so badly and would be able to go home and eat a sensible meal. Unfortunately the Mickey D's is on my way home. I got near and I felt the worst dichotomy of yearning and guilt. I wanted McDonald's so bad! But's it's sooo bad for me! And bad for the world! And bad for children! And bad for heart disease! But one smell of the quintessiantal fresh fried salty aroma and I was done.
I literally felt ashamed when I walked in. But oh how juicy the fish fillet looked. It's quite possible that the last time I ordered a fish fillet it came in a box with a plastic toy. I must say, McDonald's is pretty brilliant with their international menus. It was simply one board with 8 sections each with a mouth-watering picture of one of their products and a number. You need to simply grunt and point to get a full meal.
I grunted, pointed, paid my 7.60 CHF (!) and walked away with my fish filet and fries. I hid my face in shame walked out and fretted about running into all seven people I actually know in Geneva and trying to rationalize to them why I was eating at a McDonalds (silly American!).
I got home, laid my bounty out on my Ikea coffee table and admired how after at least 20 years (since the last time I remember eating a fish fillet) they still haven't figured out how to line-up the buns with the fillet with the cheese. Why is it exactly that the cheese is always askew and dripping off the side? Is this a strategic choice? Do they train their mc-droids to do this?
I ate my fries first...I distinctly remember that if you wait too long they taste like cardboard. It was salty indulgence heaven. Then I had my fish fillet. It was just as I remembered it. Every bite took me one step closer to home. It was a like a little magic sandwich with fat-laden buns that made me happy. I ate the whole thing...and most of the fries (yes they still taste like cardboard after the heat has left).
I felt great...for about an hour. And then my stomach reminded me that there's a good reason why I shouldn't eat foods like this. I crawled into bed, curled into a ball...and fell asleep achey...but not with homesickeness.
Sarah Logic
Sarah's blog titled "If my life were a musical it would begin in Gruyeres, Switzerland" is the best reading I've had all week.
http://itsprobablysarahlogic.blogspot.com/
http://itsprobablysarahlogic.blogspot.com/
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Why the British might be crazy. And why I love the British.
Tim and I spent last weekend in London. Then I was back again for work three days last week. I love London and truly enjoyed my time there. But, after five days, I have reason to believe that the British might be crazy. Here's why:
-They drive on the wrong side of the road. I feel fully justified calling this the wrong side of the road because at every intersection they have painted along the curb "Look right" and "Look left" with an arrow to keep unsuspecting foreigners from being wiped out by the oncoming taxis. Nowhere else in the world feels the need to do this...shouldn't this be a sign that they may be driving incorrectly?
- The pubs close at 11pm at night. Seriously, this is too early.
- If you order fish and chips you have the choice of peas or smashed peas. Not only are peas one of the worst vegetables ever grown, but to have them smashed? I didn't actually order fish and chips while I was there, but I'm certain that I wouldn't want my plate of fried glory ruined by peas...or even worse, smashed peas. Oh...and of course, the chips are really fries...and they're served with mayonaisse not ketchup. Crazy.
- Breakfast comes with baked beans. They pour them all over your eggs and bacon (which is really canadian bacon). Yuk. Yuk. Yuk.
-There's no rhyme or reason to the roads...there isn't a straight road in the entire city. I realize that London is a very old city...many cities are very old...but like many old cities, they've had their share of bad things happen that the lovely people of London could have used as an opportunity to build roads that go in a straight line and corners that turn at 90 degrees. But alas, this has not happened. Instead if you are in a car in London you will get sick to your stomach.
- Again with the roads, we ran into a few roads that literally are named the same thing on all four sides of the block that it covers. In addition, the numbering goes up one side (both odds and evens) and then up the other side, makes a corner and continues numbering on one side. Both Tim and I (who arrived seperately), walked around 3 of the 4 sides of a block before finding our hotel.
- Churches are merely shrines to dead royalty. I know that the seperation of church and state is a truly american cultural expirement, but it was so weird to walk into church that had less to do with God and more to do with dead rich people.
But there's a charm to London that makes it one of the great cities in the world. I believe it's the people. Here's why:
- A British person can tell you off, but will do so in a way that sounds absolutely charming and you will leave smiling. This didn't actually happen to me, but I did see some "angry" brits and they were just lovely.
- Everyone you meet will offer you tea and expect you to take it. Part of my job is going into people's homes and asking them about cleaning products. (It's more fascinating than it sounds). Every home we went into either already had the tea going or started prepping as soon as we walked in the door. I love tea, so this was like a glorious caffeine adventure. I usually only drink two cups a day. I was averaging about five while I was in London. I'm not complaining...I didn't sleep at night...but I'm not complaining.
- Again with the tea. In most places in the world when you order tea you need to specially order milk which they will bring out in a little pot accompanying the tea. In England, the milk is assumed and added without even asking. Milk with tea is my favorite way to drink tea. This made me so happy.
They might be crazy, but they're my type of crazy.
-They drive on the wrong side of the road. I feel fully justified calling this the wrong side of the road because at every intersection they have painted along the curb "Look right" and "Look left" with an arrow to keep unsuspecting foreigners from being wiped out by the oncoming taxis. Nowhere else in the world feels the need to do this...shouldn't this be a sign that they may be driving incorrectly?
- The pubs close at 11pm at night. Seriously, this is too early.
- If you order fish and chips you have the choice of peas or smashed peas. Not only are peas one of the worst vegetables ever grown, but to have them smashed? I didn't actually order fish and chips while I was there, but I'm certain that I wouldn't want my plate of fried glory ruined by peas...or even worse, smashed peas. Oh...and of course, the chips are really fries...and they're served with mayonaisse not ketchup. Crazy.
- Breakfast comes with baked beans. They pour them all over your eggs and bacon (which is really canadian bacon). Yuk. Yuk. Yuk.
-There's no rhyme or reason to the roads...there isn't a straight road in the entire city. I realize that London is a very old city...many cities are very old...but like many old cities, they've had their share of bad things happen that the lovely people of London could have used as an opportunity to build roads that go in a straight line and corners that turn at 90 degrees. But alas, this has not happened. Instead if you are in a car in London you will get sick to your stomach.
- Again with the roads, we ran into a few roads that literally are named the same thing on all four sides of the block that it covers. In addition, the numbering goes up one side (both odds and evens) and then up the other side, makes a corner and continues numbering on one side. Both Tim and I (who arrived seperately), walked around 3 of the 4 sides of a block before finding our hotel.
- Churches are merely shrines to dead royalty. I know that the seperation of church and state is a truly american cultural expirement, but it was so weird to walk into church that had less to do with God and more to do with dead rich people.
But there's a charm to London that makes it one of the great cities in the world. I believe it's the people. Here's why:
- A British person can tell you off, but will do so in a way that sounds absolutely charming and you will leave smiling. This didn't actually happen to me, but I did see some "angry" brits and they were just lovely.
- Everyone you meet will offer you tea and expect you to take it. Part of my job is going into people's homes and asking them about cleaning products. (It's more fascinating than it sounds). Every home we went into either already had the tea going or started prepping as soon as we walked in the door. I love tea, so this was like a glorious caffeine adventure. I usually only drink two cups a day. I was averaging about five while I was in London. I'm not complaining...I didn't sleep at night...but I'm not complaining.
- Again with the tea. In most places in the world when you order tea you need to specially order milk which they will bring out in a little pot accompanying the tea. In England, the milk is assumed and added without even asking. Milk with tea is my favorite way to drink tea. This made me so happy.
They might be crazy, but they're my type of crazy.
Marrons
Autumn is upon Geneva. The leaves are just starting to turn with the yellows and golds already coming out. The air is crisp and today is a lovely day with temperatures in the high 60's and a light breeze. Tim and I went to the farmer's market this morning to get our groceries for dinner tonight. Every time Tim visits he brings another suitcase of my stuff...and regardless of what fits in he brings one of my Cooking Light Annual cookbooks. Tonight we're having Roasted Chicken with Dried Plums and Shallots and Swiss Baked Potatoes (how fitting). Before leaving, I went to my new favorite website, www.translate.google.com and translated all of the vegetables into french so that I could order what I needed from the stands at the farmer's market. The market is a closterphopic's nightmare...it's packed with people ordering and pushing through to get the best produce. I tend to go the least crowded stand I can find so that my lack of French doesn't slow down the entire food-buying community of Geneva. For the first time today I ordered everything I needed in French (with a bit of pointing due to my poor pronunciation). So now I've got a kitchen full of eschallots (shallots), oignons (onions), ail (garlic), fenouil (fennel), poulet (chicken) and pommes de terre (potatoes).
On the way back from shopping we passed a little wooden cabin on a street corner (that wasn't there last week) that seemed to have large vats of something smoking. Later in the afternoon, we passed another one in a different part of town. The sign on the front said Marrons and there was a line of people waiting to purchase whatever they were selling. Naturally, I had to try it. We got to the front of the line and I pointed at the 100 gram sign (I don't know how to say 100 yet), handed over my 2.60 francs and then watched the lady scoop in some piping hot somethings into a paper cone. I pulled one of the large nut looking things out of the bag and realized what I must have ordered. These are chestusts roasted on an open fire! It seems bizarre that I could sing the song every christmas, yet have made it through my entire life without actually eating a roasted chestnut. We peeled the shells off, careful not to burn ourselves and walked to lake. The taste overall is fine...I'd much rather have a nice piece of chocolate, but still, I love that there are these little stands all over selling these things. It felt like the perfect way to enjoy a fall day...peeling and eating warm chestnuts, walking along the lake and looking at the changing trees in the parks along the lake.
So ton
On the way back from shopping we passed a little wooden cabin on a street corner (that wasn't there last week) that seemed to have large vats of something smoking. Later in the afternoon, we passed another one in a different part of town. The sign on the front said Marrons and there was a line of people waiting to purchase whatever they were selling. Naturally, I had to try it. We got to the front of the line and I pointed at the 100 gram sign (I don't know how to say 100 yet), handed over my 2.60 francs and then watched the lady scoop in some piping hot somethings into a paper cone. I pulled one of the large nut looking things out of the bag and realized what I must have ordered. These are chestusts roasted on an open fire! It seems bizarre that I could sing the song every christmas, yet have made it through my entire life without actually eating a roasted chestnut. We peeled the shells off, careful not to burn ourselves and walked to lake. The taste overall is fine...I'd much rather have a nice piece of chocolate, but still, I love that there are these little stands all over selling these things. It felt like the perfect way to enjoy a fall day...peeling and eating warm chestnuts, walking along the lake and looking at the changing trees in the parks along the lake.
So ton
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