Swiss Army Hat



SATURDAY, June 10, 1995.

Patrizia at work organized an outing to a trendy restaurant here in Zurich - the kind of place where you need a reservation or the willingness to stand on line outside for an hour or two. We opted to have a reservation. It's called "Movie," and you guessed it - movies are the theme. It's not quite what I think Planet Hollywood is (a.k.a. The Hard Rock Cafe for film) because they don't have authentic movie memorabilia on display. What they do have is menus glued onto film canisters and an occasional dimming of the house lights to show a coming attraction. They're into getting the wait staff together for loud versions of rock'n'roll Happy Birthdays. For example, the Beatles wailing, "You say it's your birthday..." while a cake makes its way to the victim's table. Another spectacle was a dance performance (by a staff visibly struggling to remember the choreography) to the Blues Brothers' version of "Shake a Tail Feather." It was all unquestionably American (except for the small portions - no American theme restaurant would have such a restrained presentation of nachos, and my entree didn't even come with french fries) which explains why I was completely numb to its abrasiveness until the next day when I realized that it really was quite an obnoxious dining experience. While I was there, I liked it. A little familiarity goes a long way. Dirk, a German friend, was absolutely amazed by the birthday celebrations. Walking home with him, he just kept screaming "Happy Birthday" and then "I can't believe it. I can't believe it," laughing all the while. Just watching his reaction was hysterical. A couple of people ordered fajitas, which came with printed directions illustrating the "LOAD, ROLL, EAT" three step process. Uh, anyone had these before? The service was terribly slow, and we had incredible international confusion over how to tip bad service. In the end, we didn't tip at all and this satisfied about half of us (including me).

Speaking of birthdays, here's a shocking cultural difference: When they found out at the office that I'd had my birthday, they asked me why I didn't bring in a cake. Why didn't I bring in a cake? I was more wondering why they didn't bring in a cake. OK, I mean they don't have to bring me a cake; I wouldn't even say I expected it (though I thought it might happen), but I never would have thought they were expecting me to bring one. If someone threw themselves a birthday party at work in the U.S. it would be a little bit strange. Right?


TUESDAY, June 13, 1995.

I find myself incredibly hypersensitive to cultural differences. I need to get used to things but I'm not. Everything drives me crazy. Let's look at some examples. When I tried to make a reservation for my train from Prague to Zurich, there was a problem with the Czech computers so I couldn't get it. Instead, I filled out a form, and they said they'd work on it for me (cool). One day, they called me at work, but I missed the call. They left a number. I tried to call them back but the UBS phone system blocked the call because it was a pay number - like a 900 service! To call back the train station! Ok, I can see the logic on both sides. The train company is offering a pay service: reservation by phone. The bank is blocking me from using pay services with bank funds. Meanwhile, I couldn't call back the train station without leaving the building to go looking for a pay phone. Instead, I decided to just wait until I had a chance to go downtown. So much for letting my fingers do the walking. Somehow I cannot imagine this happening to me in the United States and it made me scream.

The stores being closed when I get out of work is another super annoying example. Add this to the fact that they are closed on Sunday and on Saturday after four! I can't sleep in on Saturday or I'll miss my one and only shopping opportunity for the week (assuming that I'm even in town for the weekend). I complained about buying orange juice in the early afternoon in Siena. That was nothing. I had tons of free time and could afford to wait until later. Now, I feel that shopping is almost an impossibility. I simply have to go in the morning, before work.

What else? There is my ongoing laundry battle. There was the battle to achieve a functional home telephone. Oh, here's a good one. I had a letter to mail the other day. I'd been going to the post office to buy stamps, but Kai told me about a stamp machine next to a mailbox on the way to the cafeteria. Oh, what good news! The machine was easy to use, but it gave me a stamp without any form of adhesive! (This turns out to be untrue, but that's beside the point...) Oh, what bad news! I had to take the letter and stamp back to the office and use a glue stick to finish the job! This led me to the idea of the "Swiss Army Hat." Just like a Swiss Army Knife which one carries because it has all sorts of useful widgets, the Swiss Army Hat picks up where the knife leaves off. I can imagine little drawers. One of these drawers would contain a glue stick because clearly this is a necessary part of Swiss life. The alternative is for me to buy a bunch of glue sticks and string and tie one to every stamp machine in Zurich.

My friend Matt, who had the good fortune to borrow my music collection while I'm on my European getaway, sent me some of my CDs so that I'd have something to listen to. I received one of a long series of little notes from the PTT that a package had arrived for me and that I needed to come pick it up. For awhile there, I was receiving one of these notices about four days a week. I thought it was a PTT conspiracy designed to get me to meet every last one of their employees. I had to pay a 19 SFr. (about $16) "import tax" to get the package. I explained to them that I hadn't bought these - I already owned them and was simply transporting my own goods. My Swiss friends at work say that this argument was a correct one and that I shouldn't have had to pay the tax. Still, without the luxury of a Swiss-German speaking attorney present, I was unable to persuade the apathetic postal employee. I am a foreigner.


MONDAY, June 19, 1995.

I feel like I've finally become settled in Zurich. I'm in possession of my "foreigner passport," my UBS Mastercard, and my first piece of junk mail. I even had a visitor last Thursday - my friend Michele from Siena came from Bern to have dinner with me. She reunited me with the package I sent to her from Nice when I was unloading weight from my pack. Last week I experienced a blast of genuine stress at work; oh, yeah, I remember stress. Last Friday morning at 7 AM, the PTT called and woke me up to ask me a few questions. "Do you have a TV?" No. "Do you have a radio in your car?" I don't have a car. "Ok, thank you." Turns out that if I'd answered yes to any of these questions they would have charged me money. Yup, I live in Zurich.

Decent weather has finally arrived in town! It's rained almost every day I've been here, but the past few days have been nice summer weather. Saturday, I got my first photo CD back and the weekend was largely devoted to a learning curve and then the creation of my Photo Album web site. Saturday, I finally went swimming - I found a great pool only a few blocks from work - it's great because I need exercise and swimming is great for my still ailing back.

I feel that I've slipped deeper into an American cultural void since I arrived in Zurich. When I was traveling everyday, I bought a newspaper every so often - but now, with the distraction of a daily routine, I feel really out of it. I don't even hear OJ Simpson mentioned for days at a time!


TUESDAY, June 27, 1995.

Last weekend, I met my aunt and uncle in Strasbourg, France. I left Zurich at 6:30 AM Saturday morning and was with them in our hotel across from the monstrous Strasbourg Cathedral by 10. Country-hopping, gotta love it. I scratch my head more and more everyday - why didn't I ever visit Seattle? Strasbourg has a new metrottram system which looks and feels like something out of a science fiction movie - I'm surprised that it doesn't levitate above its tracks. For all its sleekness, I'm not so sure about the "user interface" - I had trouble finding the doors. Though I mean it in the nicest possible way, Zurich has a certain "sterileness" to it. What do I mean? Take for example, the UBS building at Manesseplatz near my apartment. Everyday during non-working hours, metal shades are lowered over all the windows. This gives the building a closed and cold look. Around town, it seems that nothing is crooked or cracked. Even the construction crews seem orderly. Perhaps things are too utilitarian? Practical is good. Too practical is annoying. Strasbourg and Colmar do not have this sterileness. The buckled wood framed buildings sport flower boxes and lovely German-influenced tiled roofs. And of course, there's the French love of food. I had to stop myself from running into the first bakery I saw. We visited many museums and I had some long overdue lessons on Bible stories as my aunt, the art historian, explained to me what I was seeing. And of course, there were some tasty French meals. (Vegetarians may want to skip ahead to the next paragraph). I tried a local Sauerkraut specialty (this ain't the stuff they're dishing out at Candlestick) complete with surprisingly tasty goose liver, feasted on Foie Gras (which is great as long as you don't think too much about the duck), and lunched like a king at a Michelin three star restaurant in the Orangerie, a Strasbourg park. Nearby was a zoo with a large habitat of storks. Apparently, babies come from Strasbourg.

Photos of Colmar and Strasbourg

Photos of Strasbourg

Everyone wants to know what life is like for me here in Zurich. Here's a typical day, if there is such a thing. I wake up at 7:30, shower, drink some orange juice and head out to do some errands. These errands include the cleaners, the supermarket, the post office, the police station, the photo store, you name it, but it seems like there is always something and the morning is the only time that I can get these things done. After running errands, I arrive at UBILAB between 9 and 10 which is about when I used to arrive at Taligent - but it feels really different. When I would arrive at Taligent at 10, I'd have gotten out of bed at 9:30. Now, I've already been up for 2 hours or more. There's always a little "wasted" time reading e-mail and then it's to work on Beyond-Sniff. At 12:30 sharp, the lab heads for lunch - always to the UBS cafeteria which is a 5 -10 minute walk. Occasionally, my office mate Kai and I will go instead to an Italian sandwich shop which is closer, faster, cheaper, just as tasty and gives me a chance to speak some Italian. Unfortunately, it is not the accepted social norm. At Taligent, we complained about the limited selection of lunch places - but really we had a lot of choices. The cafeteria does vary its menu from day to day but somehow it all tastes the same. After lunch is the long stretch of the workday from about 1:15 to about 7. Then, I head home. By the time I'm home, cook dinner, eat, and clean up it's 8:30. Then I have a few hours that I spend writing or sorting photos or cleaning up yesterday's mess.


FRIDAY, June 30, 1995.

Today was a beautiful summer day in Zurich. After working long hours every night this week, I left today at about 5:30 to enjoy the day. I walked home, ate, and then headed out on an exploratory walk to the lake. I found a lakeside park and some locals about my age throwing a frisbee around. Before long I was throwing the frisbee around too, and loving it. I hadn't tossed a disc around since last summer. I was happy to see that I hadn't lost my forehand that I had struggled to develop while I was playing lunchtime ultimate in Cupertino. When it got too dark to keep playing (around 10), I spent a few minutes talking with the three local Zurichers and being eaten alive by mosquitoes. The locals were really friendly and spoke excellent English and I'm stupid for not suggesting that we get together again sometime. I'll simply have to go back to the park another evening and try and meet some more locals. We spoke a bit about language because I'm always apologetic that I don't speak Swiss German (though I've made no effort to learn any). They didn't seem to care. They said it was their pleasure to be accommodating. They complained about the absence of this attitude on the part of the French. I said that I could understand it - when in their country, speak their language. They pointed out that the Swiss French were equally unaccommodating, though they are still within their own country. I thought this was an interesting point.



Copyright 1997 by Bradley Edelman
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