Zurich



SUNDAY, May 14, 1995.

When I wake up, it'll be time to go to work! I just got back from seeing "Bullets Over Broadway," a fine way to spend my final few hours of absolute freedom. The film was absolutely brilliant. Woody Allen is a genius. I walked out of the theater with the need to scream the way I'd scream outside after the last final of a semester at MIT. Somewhat fearful of trying this in a new city, I let out a mini-scream, enough to feel it and turn a few heads. Big deal, I'm not the weirdest guy on the street. I feel alive. What a fucking great 6 122 months! I never once regretted leaving Taligent. And so it has ended just like I imagined it, a movie and then home to a pseudo-settled into apartment in anticipation of my first day of work.


TUESDAY, May 16, 1995.

I spent my first weekend in Zurich running around doing errands. Friday after getting back from Paris, I went down to the laundromat at the train station to try and do my laundry (remember, the apartment house laundry room is closed on the weekend! Open M-F 8 AM - 9 PM, uh, so when am I supposed to go? another rule from Mr. A Knup, ultra-Swiss landlord at large), but it was locked despite the fact the hours posted on the door claimed it should be open. I stashed my laundry in a locker (try again tomorrow) and headed out to see "IQ" at a theater downtown near the station. It was a stupid feel-good movie, but it was the kind of light entertainment I was looking for. Note that I don't have a TV. Saturday, I bought groceries and then went down to the station and got my laundry started. Turns out you have to go to a little window and they do it for you. That's why the door was locked - I could've done it the night before. While the laundry was going, I headed out to explore downtown, the Bahnofstrasse, the shopping, and the sidewalk cafes. The scene was pleasant and lively. When the laundry was done, I took it home and then rushed back out to address my next high priority item - a stereo. Music! I bought myself a little one-piece CDTTapeRRadio unit. Of course, I have no CDs or Tapes and I'm not about to shell over 30 SFr ($26 for a CD!) just for a sample. I'll have to wait for Matt to send me some of the discs I already own. The radio works great, although the disc jockeys sound like they're speaking German. There must be a bad chip in there somewhere.

Surprise, the Swiss aren't perfect. My welcome letter from bank personnel invited me to meet my personnel officer on Wednesday the 15th. Unfortunately, the 15th was a Monday. We ended up rescheduling for Tuesday the 22nd because of the confusion. There was also confusion about when I would get a security badge. Who needs to get into the building anyway? (There's something humiliating about showing up in the morning and having to call from the lobby phone to get someone to come down and let me in. ) Though they sure seemed exact in Bern (though perhaps I saw what I wanted to) the trams and busses here in Zurich don't arrive exactly on time - though always within two minutes (usually within one) of the posted schedule. Of course this is unthinkable in New York, but still it shatters the stereotype for me. Despite these imperfections, I detect that the Swiss mind-set, the expectation, is that everything should be on time and precise and it bothers people when it's not. While the more anal-retentive (i.e. me) complain about tardiness in America, I'd say that it is generally accepted. Here it is not. When something happens precisely on time in the States, people say wow. Here, no one notices.

Moving into a new place, I'm suddenly reminded of household type things. Gee, you mean I have to go out and buy a sponge? My new towels that I bought needed to be washed before I could use them, so I'd been taking showers and drying dishes with the same little hand towel. Gross.

This morning when I woke up to my alarm at 7:30, I thought, "What? why can't I just sleep in?" On my way home from work on the tram, I had that eyes-glazed over, hungry, low-blood sugar, I've been working and it's been a long time since lunch, I'm on my way home from work feeling. Oh, yeah. Work.

So what about work? I've been brought onto the "Beyond-Sniff" project - a next generation version of "Sniff," a CCC++ development environment that Walter wrote and was then productized by Take Five software in Salzburg (been there). I'm in the midst of the steep learning curve, learning about the project, the tools, the environment - it's painful, but unlike at previous jobs, I'm keeping in mind that a learning curve is normal, and I'm not freaking out too much. Everyone at the lab seems to come from a research background, lots of people have PhDs or are working on them. They want to know my specialization. My specialization? Uh, I'm a software engineer, I'll write whatever you want me to. I suppose I know a lot about graphics, but when's the last time I got to work with them? Incredibly, the lab is not air-conditioned. I've been saying for years that I'm guaranteed air-conditioning at work because even if my employers don't care about me, they have to keep the computers cool. I guess not.

Here are some little cultural funnies:

* My office mate Kai mentioned that he likes to stop at "McDrive" (i.e. McDonald's Drive-Thru) on his way home to pick up some dinner. He likes it because "It's fast and I don't have to get out of the car." He's German, not Swiss, but he sure sounds American in this instance. I guess our culture isn't completely crazy after all.

* When I get off the 33 at Albisriederplatz in the morning, I need to cross the street to the tram stop. I could walk in a straight line (not in a crosswalk) or I could walk the sides of the triangle on two crosswalks. I tried the short-cut and got many disapproving stares. This reminds me of one of my favorite stories. When I was on a bike trip around New England, we were spending the afternoon in the thriving metropolis, Brattleboro, Vermont, and I got busted for J-walking (didn't cross at the corner). The officer approached me and said, "'Scuse me son, we don't J-walk here in Brattleboro. And I want you to tell your friends too. If I catch you again, I'm gonna have to take you downtown." I was thinking, if we're not downtown already, I don't know where it is.

* I was talking to an English guy named David at work. I was telling him that Dirk and I live in the same building. His response was hilariously British. "Oh brilliant, so you'll be able to grab some tea from him then."

* Walter and his wife told me that they absolutely cannot stand the taste of root beer. They had to spit it out when they tried it. Much like the way I felt about the "mountain cheese" (it weren't no cookie) in Krakow, Poland. To my American palette, root beer is a bit on the sweet side, but it tastes pretty good. I can't imagine having to spit it out.


THURSDAY, May 18, 1995.

Setting up a new life requires an endless stream of errand running. This week, I've been running around to the bank to set my PIN, to the local police station to register my existence (This really bothers me. The American in me says that I don't want the police to know anything about me as long as I am a good boy.). I had to give them 20 SFr. for the pleasure of giving up my anonymity. They said they'd let me know when I could come back to pick up my foreigner passport. (I'm a foreigner). I visited the UBS badge issuing center where I finally got a badge, even if my name is misspelled (Edelmann - common misspelling here in Switzerland). I didn't bother to correct them. Somewhere, a Swiss clerk is ready to commit suicide because he cannot reconcile his list of bank employees with the list of issued badges. I'm just happy that I can let myself into the building. I also applied for a EuroCard credit card. I'm not holding my breath.

Thursdays are full of traditions. Turns out that Thursday is Spaghetti Day at the UBS cafeteria, and it's very popular. Also, every other Thursday is reading group at UBILAB. The task of selecting an interesting paper or two to read and discuss rotates through the various groups to ensure variety. The lab provides a free (non-Spaghetti) lunch and we sit around and discuss the papers. Pretty cool if you ask me.

My home telephone is an ongoing drama. In California, I called PacBell and had a working phone line within 24 hours. The Swiss PTT is a bit more leisurely about it. Before I left for Paris, I filled out the application (I don't recall ever filling out an application for my phone in California) and sent it in. When I returned from Paris, I had a letter from the PTT issuing my phone number. However, it said that the line would not be turned on until I gave them a 500 SFr. deposit (about $435) because I'm a foreigner. I can see the logic in this. Unfortunately, I did not have 500 SFr yet. Anxious to have a phone (so you can call me), I borrowed 500 SFr from Walter. This morning I went to the PTT office at Albisriederplatz and gave them the dough. They told me that it should be turned on in four days! Gee, thanks.


SUNDAY, May 21, 1995.

Today, I took a boat ride across the Zurichsee (Lake Zurich) to Rapperswil, a cute little Swiss village on the other side. I had trouble getting out of bed in time to catch the 10 AM boat, but I'm glad I did it. When I woke up, it was overcast and I feared that it would rain, but something told me that I should go. Sitting on the boat, I watched the fog burn off and the horizon roll back. The sky was suddenly blue and the sun was shining, though the wind was cold and gave my face and hair that well weathered feeling. All along the lake I watched the green hills roll by, one cute little Swiss town after another. Each town has a high pointed church steeple, clock, more cute Swiss architecture, chirping birds and lustrous green hills capped by a few lines of evergreens. There were people out rowing on the lake in two man sculls. We crisscrossed the lake from one shore to another picking up people at the little towns along the way. At one point a large party got on and filed into the dining room for brunch. Looked like fun. The trip took about two hours. Rapperswil was a cute town with plenty of stone and frescoes and some steps that somehow reminded me of the Spanish Steps in Rome even though they were really nothing like them.


WEDNESDAY, May 23, 1995.

Four days passed and still no working telephone! There's always the possibility that the phone that came with the apartment is broken, but I don't think Mr. A Knup would allow such an atrocity. Yesterday, I had my office-mate Kai call the PTT to ask, "What up?" They said that they did not have proof that I'd paid my deposit. ARGH! The money has not yet registered in the central computer. They said I could get the phone turned on immediately if I came down to the main office with my receipt. Since this has become a crusade, I went down there this morning. After waiting in two incorrect lines and suffering from the lack of first-come-first-served (a line in front of each agent - pick one. I suppose we still do this at the supermarket, but not at the bank or at TOGOs or even at the DMV), I offered proof of my payment to the agent. She punched it into the computer and said, "Ok, it should be on within a week." What! I was ready to go ballistic. I told her that wasn't an acceptable answer. I told her that they told me on the phone that it would be turned on immediately. She told me that's the way it is. I asked to speak with her manager. I spoke with her manager who promised me service within four days. Gee, thanks. I applied for the phone on May 3rd! 20 days and counting. PacBell take me away. I should have a phone when I get back from Prague. Walter tells me that this is the difference between private and state run agencies. The state ones have no competition and are in no hurry. I guess not.

Photos of Rapperswil





Copyright 1997 by Bradley Edelman
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

E-mail: Brad Edelman