Chamonix: The French Alps in all their non-seasonal glory!

Ahhhh, Chamonix! It just sounds romantic, doesn't it? No surprise then that Marki and I chose this little ski town nestled deep below the towering, snow-covered French Alps for a weekend away--our honeymoon destination if you will. The train ride there, well, that calls for another story altogether. You know, since Marki and I clearly find a way to keep our journeys interesting. For now though, I can tell you that the train from St. Gervais to Chamonix is worth the trip itself! The Mont Blanc Express glides you through little villages and up toward the Alps, carving alongside and in between the mountain cliffs. A seafoam green colored river flows directly next to the railroad tracks adding to the already mystical-like surrounding. And then BOOM. After winding around a cliff, all of a sudden there is the Mont Blanc, the statuesque and tranquil looking beauty posed right before you just begging for attention--and that it gets. Nearly every tourist moves to the right side of the train to get the best view, craning their necks and squinting their eyes against the snowy white glare of mountain peaks and ski slopes. And that's only the train ride...

The nice Indian man took a photo of us in front of the famous train. Then he proceeded to ask Marki and I to take photos with his wife--snap snap--and then with him--snap snap. God, we must be that good looking.

The honeymoon suite. Hotel Le Chamonix was adorable and just what we needed. Great location in the center of town--though I should probably tell you that Chamonix only takes about 15 minutes to walk anyway--and the wood covered walls made for a wonderfully cozy lodge-like atmosphere. And then of course, there was the view...

See those mountains in the background? And the one dead center? Yup, that's Mont Blanc, and yes, that was our view. Drooooool. Our balcony served as the ideal post-hike wine-drinking spot until we got too cold and had to retreat inside.

Our hotel is the building on the far right. Talk about adorable and oh-so French! Though... The hotel itself was run but some English ladies. Ha. Typical.

Sunset view of the mountains and our friendly town square. Just add some ringing church bells, people clad in hats and gloves and scarves, and you can try to imagine its charm. And that's just in the off season! I do have to admit, their was something missing while we were there. As in people. The season doesn't actually start until December/January, so there wasn't much activity. When I asked our lovely dinner waiter, Pascal, about possible bars or pubs we could go to, he responded with a sympathetic (and adorable) smile and explained that we'd be out of luck since little if anything would be open. So we sat at the restaurant and crushed on him instead. Hey! We got free champagne and digestifs out of it!

Wine, cheese, meat, and chocolate specialty shop. The smell of cheese was intoxicating and slightly intense upon entering, and it only seemed appropriate.

God I loved this place.

On the gondola up to Aiguille de Midi. Summit: 3842 meters. Number of people packed into the gondola with us? Only about 40. Say hello and make friends with your neighbor!

And the top! I present to you... a cloud-streaked Mont Blanc! Even with three pairs of pants and about every other piece of clothing I had layered on, it was cold. Okay, let me clarify. It was fucking freezing. I was so excited to see the view that I was skipping stairs as I climbed up to the lookout platform. That is until the altitude caught up with me and my head was spinning. Yeah, not the greatest feeling when your standing on a platform perched on the tippy top of a rocky peak.

Oh hi there Alps! In this photo, you're looking at the French, Swiss, and Italian Alps. On a really clear day you can see the Matterhorn in the distance.

Bundled love.

One of the staircases. Slightly nerving and entirely exhilarating!

On my to-do list for next time: hang gliding! Along with a highly trained (and slightly crazy) professional, you can go flying over the Alps at any time of year. January perhaps... Any takers??

The epic train ride, round one: Gruyères

*Famous last words*

"You know, I'm so impressed with the Swiss train system. It's just so easy! My mom was right. They're always on time and they're pretty clean," said Marki, after her first three days of training around Switzerland.

"Yeah, I know. The Swiss trains rock! God, almost too easy sometimes..."

Then this happened...

Waiting ever-so patiently for our train to arrive in Gruyère to go back to Montbovon (we had to switch trains once in Montbovon to get back to Montreux), we were slightly distracted by the really really cool Swiss teenagers lighting up and blowing smoke directly into our faces. According to our schedule, our train was supposed to arrive at 3:59pm. And just like usual, the train rolled to a stop at precisely the correct time. We hopped on, found some seats, and proceeded to get comfortable. Two minutes later, another train traveling in the opposite direction stopped at the station. Wait a minute...

"Pardon, monsieur. Est-ce que ce train va aller à Montbovon?" I asked anxiously to the guy sitting behind us.

"No. À Lausanne." He replied without a smile or reaction of any sort.

"Shit, Marki, we have to get off. We're on the wrong train. That's the one we want," extending my finger to point to the train just five feet away on the next track over.

We booked it for the door and I pressed the open-sesame button furiously just in time for our train to start moving in the wrong direction.

"Shit! Shit! Shit! Fuck! Shit!" Yes, this all came out of my mouth along with a few more well-chosen words. And those lovely little Swiss teenagers I mentioned thought our paniced faces were hil-arious because they could not stop laughing. Assholes. Without another option, Marki and I reclaimed our seats and got comfortable while trying to hatch a new plan with a train schedule that did nothing to help us since we had no clue as to where the hell we were going.

Finally, I asked a nice kid guy a few seats away how we could get back to Montreux. We had to take the train to the end of the route, then switch and take another to Lausanne and from there, catch a train to Montreux. No biggie except that I only had a ticket for the Montreux-Montbovon-Gruyères route (Marki's Swiss Rail pass granted her a free ride on any and all Swiss trains--yeah, slightly jealous). Trying to decide when to make our next move, we sat, me anxiously looking at my watch every twenty seconds trying to estimate when we could potentially arrive in Montreux. Thankfully, we had left plenty of time to get back, so I didn't need to freak out about being late. Instead, I focused all my energy on praying that no conductor came and asked for tickets. Please please please, train gods. I just need this one thing. I promise to be good to you! Pinkie swear!

Twenty minutes and no conductor later (hooray!), we arrived in Bulle. Now, to stay on the train or not? Gamble the no-ticket/we-got-on-the-wrong-train excuse or disembark? And like one of those annoying, low-flying planes that repeatedly circles streaming a long banner behind it across the sky, all that kept repeating in my brain was: This is bullshit! Bullshit Bulle! Ultimately, I made the executive decision to abandon the Lausanne idea and see if we could a train back to Gruyères and then continue on the same route we originally wanted to take, just an hour later. And a good decision it was. The train would get us in 15 minutes before I had to start work. Slightly stressful, yes, but I could handle it.

Marki and I got coffee and walked around Bulle, taking advantage of the time to see another no-so-planned stop during our afternoon. Really, could the city be named anything else more appropriate?? It was actually quite charming, I will admit. And we did catch the train back to Gruyères, going in the right direction. Whew.

Oh, but don't worry. My story is not over...

We got off the train in Montbovon and along with a number of other people going to Montreux, we waited for the next train to arrive. It did, on time and at platform 1, just as the schedule said it would. We boarded feeling confident and relieved. Waaa waa waaaaaaaaaa.

"No, this train is going to Chateau d'Oex," responded the conductor when the people next to us handed him their train tickets to Montreux.

No. Fucking. Way. This cannot be happening. Marki and I took one look at each other and both started laughing. Hard.

Mustering up my strength and ignoring the fact that my stomach at just dropped down to my toes, I asked, "So how and when can we get back to Montreux?"

The kind conductor (and fyi, this is a rarity as most ticket-checking personnel wear permanently angry and bothered expressions) told us where to change trains and that we would get in at 7:15pm.

Fuck. Double fuck. I work at 6:30.

Using Marki's iPhone (which I intend to include in my "what are you thankful for" speech on Thanksgiving), we looked up the hotel number online and I called to let my co-workers know that I would be late. Steve told me not to worry at all. No reservations, no problem. That out of the way, we proceeded to dissect the situation and figure out what we did wrong.

Fact 1: Both trains were late, which is why we got without hesitation. The trains are always on time in Switzerland, right? Wrong.

Fact 2: Because some of these train stations (they shouldn't really be called stations at all) are so small, there are no personnel and nothing is well marked or even marked at all. Then how the hell are you supposed to know which train is which if you can't figure out the number or letter of the platform without blatantly assuming and getting yourself into trouble?

Fact 3: We are not idiots. Or at least we were not alone in being idiots since six (or more) other people were waiting at the Chateau d'Oex platform for the train to Montreux after also taking the wrong train from Montbovon.

And believe it or not, we did make it back to Montreux at 7:15pm. Only three hours after our initially planned arrival time. Oh! And one crazy thing... While walking around Chateau d'Oex (a really cute mountain village known as being the place where Bernard Piccard and Brian Jones took flight in the first successful non-stop hot air balloon ride around the world), Marki and I met an old Canadian couple who knew and had visited Coeur d'Alene. They were adorable. Maybe meeting them was the sole reason for why our train mishap happened in the first place. Like it was all supposed to happen that way.

Go figure. At least our afternoon to Gruyères and back proved didn't disappoint. And on the memory scale? I'm going to say that this would be pretty high up there. Maybe not hot air balloon status, but close nonetheless.

More cheaaaase please!

Ah, Gruyères! Where the cows graze with decorative headdresses and massive bells hanging from their necks, the grass grows spring green even in the midst of fall, and the tourists come from near and far to taste the smelly goodness of aged swiss cheese. It's like Disneyland for the cheese lover. There's the cheese factory, cheese souvenirs, restaurants devoted to making cheese a main course in a variety of ways, and then there's the cream. The Gruyères double cream drenched over meringues and fresh strawberries.

Not even a milk allergy could stop me.

Needless to say, I had to bring Marki here. It's just too cute of a village to pass up, especially when the train ride there takes you through the Swiss Alps, granting surreal views of Lake Léman below and farm land clinging to the mountain side. Those cows must have some serious balancing skills to keep from falling down the steep hills like little kids rolling hot dog style down grassy runways. And the little village of Gruyères stands at the top of a hill in the center of all of this, a medieval walled-in city with cobblestone streets and a castle to add to its appeal. I've been here several times before, once when I was eight-years-old when the double cream and strawberry dessert left a permanent mark on my memory; a second time with Chels on our pre-Nice travel adventure; a third time with Nick and Nat on Omi's 81st birthday trip; and finally, a fourth time with Marki. What can I say? I like cheese. And I find it a fabulous thing to share with people.

So between my 7-11am and 6:30-11pm shifts, we hopped on the train and made the nearly hour and a half trip to Gruyères where we ate quiche--what do you know--oozing with the famous cheese and raclette, a typical Swiss mountain tradition that involves heating a block of cheese and scraping off the bubbling goodness layer by layer, placing it over boiled potatoes with lots and lots of grey pepper. Hello heart attack at thirty-five. Then because we could not eat any more, we bought the meringues and a tub of double cream for dessert later that night. Let's just say that I didn't have to eat much dinner after our feast. A short walk around the village to burn 3.1974 calories, and violà! We called it a day!

(Photos courtesy of Marki's camera.)

Grass, cows, cheese, and castles. Yup, it's Switzerland!

Only the beginning. We shared both dishes and I freely admit that we were not total American fatties. We did not finish our food. Thank god.

Waiting for the cheese to melt...

* * *

Flashback...

Nick and Nat eating raclette during our trip two years earlier. It only took us 30 minutes to figure out how the hell the machine actually worked. Step 1: Make sure cheese heater is plugged in. Step 2: Place cheese block under heater. Step 3: Wait patiently. Step 4: When the cheese starts to bubble and is begging to be swept away, take special cheese knife and glide it across blistering surface. Step 5: Drench over potatoes and eat eat eat.

The village in April. Not as many people as when Marki and I visited, but with the snow, it felt fake. No way could an actual place look like this

View from the castle.

Only one thing left to do... If I grow my hair out for two long blonde braids, I may just have to move here and change my name to Heidi.

Une petite pause

Today was one of those really good days. Like so good that I don't want to go to sleep and let it end, so I decided to linger over it all once more to share my contentment with you. Here are the highlights:

1. Woke up at my aunt and uncle's house to the sound of my little cousin running around, his high pitched voice beaming down the hallway into the guest bedroom. "Mélanieeee!"

2. Morning coffee with the family and a crackling fire.

3. Talking with my aunt. She is possibly the most kind-hearted, wonderful, warm person I have ever met. You can't help but just be peaceful in her presence.

4. Play time with Yann, the little cus. We made a fort in my room at the hotel, played pirates, and made hamburgers, pizza, french fries, and crêpes for pretend breakfast. Mmm, cholesterol!

5. Sunset. It. Was. Glorious. (See photo below.)

6. Skype dates with four amazing people. Maman, mi padre, Marx, and Shananigans.

7. And finally, one of those great moments when you really feel how lucky you, as if all the planets and stars align and pause for a brief moment of clarity. You are and that's enough. In fact, that's just perfect.

Now go and have a happy day everyone!

And just if you were wondering, this photo is 100% natural. No computer editing, no fiddling, nothing. Say hello to my backyard.

Word of the week: October 19-25th

I've been wanting to start this up for some time now. For those French language lovers out there, hopefully my word of the week will enhance your French vocabulary just a bit. And for those of you who could care less about learning French, no worries. I promise to only to choose words I find entertaining and fun to say. Besides, I thought, what a better way to keep me on the look out for new words! Now, whether or not these words may be incredibly useful, I cannot say. But that is not my intention. You want to learn a word you'll use everyday? Consult your nearest French-English dictionary. Or of course, you could insert these words into everyday language to impress your peers or to sound like a total idiot, but please do not hold me responsible. Just consider me the word fairy, if you will, fluttering around plucking only the most shining and sparkling gems from the already pretty polished bunch.

And now, without further adieu, the word of the week is:

pouf

*pronounciation: like the english word "poof"

*meaning: bean bag (told you these were random)

where I learned it: while talking with my co-workers about the hotel renovations and looking at photos of the new additions to the lobby and future restaurant, I started laughing about how cool it would be to have been bags everywhere. Okay, not quite four-star status, but wouldn't that be awesome?! When I asked my boss how to say "bean bag" in French, he responded with pouf. It was love at first sound.

*additional notes: wordreference.com also gives "pouf" the definition of cushion but bean bag is so much better.

9.10.09: Lucerne in photos

What you need to know:

Lucerne is one of the most visited cities in Switzerland. German-speaking. German pastries, German pretzels, German beer. Located on Lake Lucerne.

The River Ruess in Lucerne. Despite all the Swiss flags, Marki and I were thoroughly confused as to which country we were actually in. A three-hour train ride and suddenly you're surrounded by German-speaking people who look at you strangely when you instinctively respond with "Merci bien." We are so not in French-land anymore.

Trying our best to get acquainted with the city. Hello map-clutching, water bottle-carrying, googly-eyed-looking tourists!

They love their bicycles here. Can you tell?

Mismatched buildings stuck together like lego pieces line the river along the old town, green turning to orange and red-colored ivy squeezing its way in to every free wall space it can find. Hmmm... I wonder what it's like to live in a fairytale city.

The "Lion of Lucerne," famously claimed by Mark Twain to be the "most mournful and moving piece of stone in the world" (thank you Wiki). Commemorating the deaths of the Swiss Guards killed in the French Revolution, the lion is quite impressive. Although, when you're standing in its presence along with a group of camera-happy Asian tourists and platform-wearing, bad ass attitude Swiss teenagers, the emotional effect is slightly lost.

Yes, we are Americans and yes, we indeed found and endorsed the local Starbucks.

Just a little street market. Why is it that fruit and vegetable stands, along with their artfully decorated signs, umbrellas, and apron-clad vendors cultivate such a sense of romance? Or maybe I just love food that much. I think it's a combination of both.

Lucerne's Chapel Bridge and Water Tower. It would be difficult not to find a postcard of Lucerne without one or both of these monuments plastered on the front. The bridge, claimed to be the oldest wooden bridge in Switzerland, dates back to the 14th century. And the tower is likely the most photographed monument in Switzerland!

*Lucerne history and facts brought to you by my trusty handout from the tourist office.

Train ride through farm land and forest back to Lausanne. Tired from a day of walking, eating, drinking, and playing tourist, we were slightly delirious yet we still managed to make a friend...

This little boy found Marki and I to be hilarious--ha, smart kid! It all started by a simple game of peek-a-boo. Then he was dropping things on my head, playing with my hair, and jumping up and down on his mom's lap while Marki made faces at him. And right before his mom led him off the train at their stop, he came over and said goodbye to us. Such a cutie. And his chubby cheeks and pudgy belly made him that much more lovable.

* * *

Along with a bag of hot, roasted chestnuts and a wiener schnitzel lunch (I told you I love food), we had a wonderful day. Lucerne (or Luzern, whichever you prefer), it was a pleasure!

7.10.09: Day 1 with Marki

So seeing as Marki is my first official guest (Hotel Mel is now offering vacancies if any of you are wondering), I wanted to take her everywhere and show her everything. But with two days off this week, yeah, not happening. No worries though. Thankfully Montreux is small enough that an hour of strolling is enough to get a fairly complete tour. We stopped for coffee at the café and made "plans" for the rest of the day. Lakeside walk to Chateau de Chillon, food, wine, relax, then who knows! And obviously since we're us, our chatting followed us throughout the day. Two months is a long period to be apart especially after spending our summer in retirement together. Oh how I long for the seemingly endless days when the most brain-consuming decision we'd have to make would be... eggs or pancakes? Hmmm... that's a toughie.

The weather gods must have known how much I have been hoping and praying for sunshine on Marki's first day in Switzerland so she could experience the lake, the mountains, and drama of the lake meeting up to the mountains. And it was a beautiful autumn day indeed with enormous falling yellow leaves and those brown ones already sacrificed to the ground that make the perfect crunching sound when you jump on them. I took her to most of my favorite spots around Montreux, and we made the trek lakeside to Chateau de Chillon, joining in on all the tourist fun with our cameras hanging from our wrists and rented iPods and earphones that tell you all about the castle's history. I had done the castle thing when I was ten-years-old with my mom and uncle, and it was still a blast this time around. The rooms are remarkably well preserved. I swear, sometimes I'd step into one and I felt catapulted back in time. It could be 1565. Oh god, please no. The toilettes would suck. And the people would seriously smell. Ugh. And the beds would be way too small. And then the lady talking in my ear starts telling the story about Lord Byron and the time he spent at the castle and 2009 feels so wonderful all over again. Ah modernity. How I love you.

Starving after our history lesson, we feasted on Italian-style pizza from a restaurant I have been eyeing since I arrived here. I think I actually lost my focus during our conversation a couple times because the marinara and cheese and ham and mushrooms all swimming in olive oil were consuming every bit of my brain and body capacity for a few isolated moments of heaven. Oh la la la la, cheesy heaven it was.

And just to make sure we did the first day right, we sat by the lake in the sprinkling rain drinking wine out of the bottle. Ah, the Swiss life. You are so good to me.

Hello there fall!

My favorite bench. With one of my favorite people. Love them both.

See? I told you the beds were too small. Yes, the people back then were not graced with as many inches as us modern folk, but they also slept propped up on pillows. No thanks.

Boo!

Looking out from the watchtower.

And finally, picnic dinner! Tuna sandwiches, bread, cheese, wine, salad, and chocolate.

"A good friend is a connection to life--a tie to the past, a road to the future, the key to sanity in a totally insane world." --LOIS WYSE

Thanks Shan :).

An afternoon abroad: Evian-les-Bains

"So, what did you do yesterday?"

"Oh, I just took the boat to France for the afternoon."

Yeah, these words actually came out of my mouth when my co-worker was asking me about my day off. You know, I just decided to go to France for a couple hours and violá. No big deal. I couldn't help but start laughing at how weirdly normal this seemed for a moment.

But onto my actual day... Evian-les-Bains is a charming little town on the lake, about a thirty minute boat ride from Lausanne. And yes, this is the town famous for its water, though you won't find any obnoxious signs or tourist attractions other than the spa in the center of town.

So then, what did I find in Evian? Well, apart from the quaint stores and boutiques and cafés, the highlights include a tiny, two-story bookstore, a bar called Bar à l'église (yes, as in "the bar at the church," and it was directly behind the church for convenient location of purging sins... or drinking them all away), and the sex shops. Yes, I said sex shops. For a town that easily took twenty minutes (max) to walk its entire length, I came across a surprisingly large number of them. Tasteful, but blatent nonetheless. No, I refrained from entering although the thought of browsing through different flavors of edible underwear and his and her's bongade costumes sounded oh-so-appealing. Another time perhaps.

The thing that surprised me the most was the small things I saw that repeatedly reminded me of the fact that I was no longer in Switzerland anymore. There was a Monoprix, PMU, and 8 à huit that immediately transported me back to my semester in Aix. And the fact that I had to use Euros again definitely messed with my head a bit. And finally, when I started walking back down to the dock, I noticed a lonely plaque on a stone wall dedicated to a young man who died during the Nazi occupation. I looked out across the lake and tried to imagine what that life would have been like over sixty years ago. Just on the other side of the lake was neutral (and nearly indifferent) Switzerland with lights and food and safety. And where I stood? Devastation. Starving people. Death. And in relation to the history of Europe, sixty years doesn't seem like much.

I continued walking and thinking, letting the sunny day work it's magic on my soul. And as the boat departed from Evian back to Lausanne, I let my thoughts wander on time and how quickly things can change. I often associate such permanence with the places I visit. Like if I went back ten years later, everything would be exactly as I remembered it. I guess it's easy to assume that when you're not there to see the changes happen gradually, to be a witness to it all, then nothing must be changing.

Maybe that's what drives us to travel. To gain perspective in other places and bring it back home with us. I can already list a number of quintessential American things that I miss that I would have never quite appreciated had I left at all (don't worry, a list will be published in the near future). And at the same time, while I miss those things from the states, I've come to find the small (and sometimes big) differences between the various cities and countries I visit to be endearing and interesting. To see what different people consider "normal" and "habitual" makes you completely reevaluate those words in the first place.

But enough overanalyzing for one post. Here are some photos of my few hours spent in Evian. Sadly, I forgot to snap photos of the sex shops. Maybe I'll make my next visit a tour of adult stores and the clientele. Real investigative journalism kind of stuff. I'll let you know how it goes.

Woman who posed for me in front of 8 à huit. Sadly, my camera did not catch the sparkle from her golden front tooth.

Walking up from the city, I found this park and a number of spectacular, rose-covered villas.

What is it about sailboats that make them so romantic?

The city of Evian.

Catching the sunset on the trip back. Photo taken at the Lausanne port.

Catch-up

Okay, so this week I am devoting myself to a serious game of blog catch-up, so be on the lookout for new posts and photos and stories. Hope you enjoy!

17.10.09

I finally sit down at my computer with a fresh cup of hot, way-too-strong French pressed coffee steaming profusely by my side. The paper cup that I saved from this morning's 6 am coffee at the train station with Marki is a weak stand in for comfort (or a companion), but seeing as it prompts several memories from the past week and a half of Marki and I searching aimlessly through cities to find the largest cup of coffee possible, it makes me smile.

Yes, as you may guess by the tinge of melancholy and nostalgia in my voice, Marki's stay in Switzerland came to an end this morning, which is why I have been avoiding my computer. And my camera. And anything else that may make the tears start flowing. Oh, and what do you know, there they come. Dammit, I knew this was inevitable.

But at the risk of turning this into a cryfest, which I refuse to let happen (or I will just choose to not tell you more about it), I have to admit that the past week and a half was the best week and a half I've had here. Picnic dinners provided by the Coop, coffee dates, being blatant tourists--sneakers and all, train rides, more train rides, wine and chocolate, "cheaaaaase," the epic hike, and plenty more that I will refrain from writing about for now (in some cases, you need the whole story to fully appreciate our adventures).

I know that coming to Switzerland by myself for, well, however long I end up staying, was a great decision. New experiences, some unexpected twists, and some much needed post-grad perspective on my life--all of which I would not have found (at least in the same way) had I stayed in what I knew at home. And as much as I value and need the time I have alone here to think and brainstorm and be, I can't deny how much happier I am when I'm with someone who knows me better than I know myself. But it's more than just a comfort thing. Yeah, obviously walking and talking and caféing with one of my best friends is more fun than doing it all in silence by myself. Duh, no surprise there. But what I realized on the second day of Marki's visit during a rainy afternoon in Vevey is that I am the best version of myself when I'm with the people I love. I care less about what other people think and I make choices based on what I feel and want and need--something I have struggled to do since I was little.

So perspective on life? It's actually pretty simple. Strolling lakeside with Starbucks coffee cups glued to our hands, Marki said it perfectly. "Life is short. Why not spend it with the people you love?" I'm sure you've all heard this a thousand times, maybe more. And although I'm not one for clichés (I personally despise them), this one is undoubtedly true and consequently vital to my own happiness--and sanity. Maybe I am missing out on some great friendships by not morphing into the social butterfly I could be with my co-workers, going out, bar hopping and dancing on tables. But when you already have friends like mine, a quiet evening alone doesn't sound so bad. Especially when it involves planning your future life with your best friends.

So of all the great things this post-grad gap year could teach me, I'd say the most important is realizing what I want and what makes me happy. Being with my best friends? Yeah, I think you get the picture. Oh, and those Starbucks cups I mentioned? I still have them both, and no, I have no intention of throwing them away even if they are merely paper cups.

See what I mean?

P.S. Marx, if it wasn't already clear, I miss you. A lot.

P.P.S. And since I find it only appropriate, here are some wise words from Dave Matthews that have been hanging on my wall for the past five years. (Thanks Marki. :)

Hey my friend,

It seems your eyes are troubled.

Care to share, your time with me?

I know you say you're feeling low and so

A good idea would be to get it off of your mind.

See you and me

Have a better time then most can dream of,

Have it better than the best,

So let's get the pull on through.

Whatever tears at us, whatever holds us down,

If nothing can be done,

We've got the best of what's around.

Chinese food and gummi bears. Mmm. Delicious!

A night off of work and what to do... Ah! So many choices. Wine tasting in Lavaux? Drinks and dinner in Lausanne? Or, I could start drinking with Marki at 3:30 in the afternoon while she plans the rest of her epic trip and I relish in the fact that I can get drunk in the afternoon and not worry about going off to work in a few hours... Oh yeah, follow that by chinese food take out, more bottles of cheap wine, and a dessert of Haribo gummi bears and chocolate. I bet you can't guess what we did! Was it a success, then? Well, considering that my teeth looked as if I had dyed them a rich, deep shade of burgundy by the time I went to get ready for bed, I suppose calling operation night off a smashing success would be an understatement. Add a little Gossip Girl to the equation and there you have it. One fabulous night off and night in. Oh the Swiss life, how I love you.

And you can't really blame us for wanting to stay in and save our energy for the adventures of today and tomorrow. Armed with as many layers of warm clothes as possible, Marx and I are trekking to Chamonix today. As in the Mont Blanc, the highest point in Western Europe and the third most visited natural site in the world! According to Wikipedia that is. If all goes according to plan (and the probability of this happening is slim), travel time will take about four hours before we get to the valley city of Chamonix. Perhaps some hiking, city-walking, eating, and drinking. I'm pretty sure our itinerary will be close to that. And tomorrow morning, a gondola ride up to Aiguille de midi. Google it for kicks and then you can be jealous :).

Okay, time to get ready. Don't worry, my camera (and brain) is fully charged. Plenty of updates when we get back! La la la love you all.

Discrimination!

While my wife jetted (or trained) off to Zermatt for the day, I had some very important business to attend to including buying minutes for my cell phone and opening a bank account. The latter is something that I have been avoiding for a while now, but today felt like the day. The air is fresh, the mountains looking more vivid than usual, and the idea of actually owning my own Swiss bank account (if you can really own such a thing) sounded especially enticing today. So I headed to the bank with a boost of self-confidence in my step and a few new French words I looked up in the dictionary to impress the bank staff with my vocabulary, you know, before they switch to English and we both breathe a sigh of relief.

Well, that lovely little dream of having my very own bank account with my very own debit card went pop! Nope, not happening. The moment they asked me for ID and I asked if my American Driver's License would work (I am paranoid about carrying around my passport), the kind lady looked at me with disappointment dripping from her pale face and responded, "I'm sorry, but we cannot open accounts with Americans anymore." Let's see, are you at all acquainted with that UBS scandal that happened just a few months back? Where thousands of Americans were holding (and still are as far as I know) Swiss bank accounts to save their asses and their money? Ummm... tax evasion much? Yeah, well apparently that whole situation is preventing me from starting a bank account here. Surprised? I actually wasn't. When they nice lady told me this, I smiled back and said, "You know, I had a feeling this would be a tiny problem. Oh well, thank you for your time! Have a nice afternoon."

Pivoting on my toes, I walked out feeling no less confident. Okay, so maybe I didn't get that account number I wanted, but how many people can say that they attempted to open a Swiss bank account? Yeah, I still think it's pretty cool, even if they refused my money. And strange as it sounds, and I don't want this to come out arrogant in any way, I don't think I've ever been refused something by being who I am--an American. It felt kind of liberating and identity forming, though in a slightly twisted way. I suppose that if you are discriminated against, that means that you must stand for something or someone, even if that person is yourself (and your country in this case). Obviously they had good reason not to take me as a new customer based on recent events, and I am in no way supporting or condoning the Americans that hold such accounts to avoid taxes. I guess the whole experience was something I had never encountered before, and knowing that I associate with such an infamous (in this case) country felt good. I may not be proud of everything my country (or its inhabitants) does, but that doesn't make me any less American. And in addition to the time I have already spent abroad, I have to say that living here makes me appreciate my country more than ever, even if it is known as the birthplace of Walmart, George W. Bush, and Freedom Fries. I'll pass on the fries thanks, but American? Yes please, I'll take it!

A quick hello

I have to apologize for the lack of posts this week. Married life with Marki is rather busy these days. And seeing as I am currently the main provider, my blogging free time has been temporarily eliminated to ensure that my wife and I can enjoy family meals together, long walks along the lakeshore at sunset, and train rides that take you all over the Swiss Alps (by mistake). Yes, I have a great story that you will surely hear more about soon.

So for now, I leave you with some words of wisdom passed on by a fellow American and a wonderful new friend. (Jamie, thank you for sending your brother and Aaron my way! It was an absolute pleasure to meet them both!) Bon courage à tous!

"Place yourself where you want to be and you'll see that life happens around you."

Care-package tips

Do you remember how exciting it was to get mail when you were eight-years-old? Opening the mailbox and seeing an envelope with your name handwritten on the front was like receiving an award of some kind. Well, take it from me. That same enthusiasm and near fanaticism for mail applies to those of us living far far away from home where the effortless cellphone calls and emails are not quite as available or possible at all. And while any personal mail is good mail in my opinion, the care-package, a thoughtfully crafted and personalized assemble of items, deserves a category of its own.

For those of you who don't yet know the art of care-packages, please contact Nick and Nat in Austin, Texas. They are experts. Like serious experts. Not only did the package they sent win bonus points for the surprise factor, but it included items that I didn't even realized I missed. Yeah, like I said, they know their shit.

So for future reference (though don't even try to duplicate), here is a list for the ultimate care package if you so choose to send one my way (hint hint...):

1. Magazines. Gossip magazines. Perfect for bathtubs and train rides.

2. Chapstick. Three words: I am obsessed.

3. American peanut butter. What can I say? It's one of those things that stigmatizes me as an American and I could care less. I love the stuff, hydrogenated oil and all.

4. Socks. Really good comfy socks for my aching feet. I'm pretty sure that if the socks weren't covering my feet, my toes would be singing praises of joy.

5. A book. And not just any book, but one that I literally almost bought here a week ago and it is so my style. How did they know?!

6. A scarf. Those of you who know me, well, you know I love scarves. As in I wear one every day like it's my job--a job I'll admit I'm really good at.

7. Earrings. Only my second favorite accessory.

8. Goldfish and Kashi granola bars. American goodies appealing to the comfort factor and simply practical for the person on-the-go.

9. Printed photos. Straight to my heart. This one got me good, tears and everything.

10. Tide pen. Yes, doing laundry sucks and this magical creation (which is way over the heads of Europeans--sorry to say) may save several items of clothing each week.

11. Oatmeal. Since sending me a box full of steaming hot chocolate chip oatmeal pancakes may be slightly more complicated, packaged oatmeal was the runner up--and a close one at that.

12. Notes. Little notes attached to each item explaining their importance. Okay, yes I could have figured it all out no problem, but being walked through each item by the sender makes the experience of the package about one-hundred times better.

13. Card. A piece from the person(s) who put the whole thing together. Nick and Nat, I love you guys. You have no idea how much the package meant to me. I figured a blog post dedicated to your awesomeness would only be appropriate.

*Note to future senders: Please do not be scared by this list of items. Yes, I know the examples listed above may seem unbeatable, but I fully support the sending of any American goods to my Swiss address, even if it is a card with your name on it. A piece of home is a piece of home, no matter how big or small. And thank you again to those of you who have already sent me mail: Mom and Dad, Nick and Nat, and Mary (though I haven't received it yet, I am anxiously awaiting the letter's arrival).

Oh, and obviously, if you send me mail, you are guaranteed to get a little Swiss something in return. Just putting that out there :).

Lucerne/Luzern. Just pick a spelling already.

Marki and I took the three-hour train ride to Lucerne today. It was gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. We ate roasted chestnuts, German food, drank beer, and galavanted around the city like two very American tourists who only speak about 10 words of German combined. It was AWESOME. Oh, and on the train back, we made friends with a four-year-old boy who took a liking to my hair and Marki's peek-a-boo skills. And don't worry, we have photos that will be posted in the near future. Having a partner in crime rocks.

Update: the roommate

I have a new roommate. Yeah, I know. She is okay, I suppose. She kind of smells though.

Ah! Just kidding! Marki got here yesterday night and I could not be happier! (And I'll just say that A took care of the other roommate situation... Snapped his fingers and poof! What roommate??) And as for Marki and I, yeah, you could say that it's a pretty decent match. I'm convinced that we kept most of the 5th floor guests from sleeping with our giddy laughing and retelling of stories all the while freaking out about the fact that we are reunited again, in Switzerland!! Obviously a volume check was not that important as we are excellent representatives of our country and that "loud American stereotype" so many people believe in over here.

The plan for today? Coffee, chat, eat, walk, more eating, maybe some wine tasting, then whatever the hell we want. And don't worry, we'll throw down a couple extra bottles of wine to celebrate us and you and well, anything would be worth celebrating right now my opinion. Cheers! Hmm... Cheers to celebrating a Happy Life Day!

"What a night for a dance, you know I'm a dancin' machine..."

In addition to having magically skilled hands when it comes to food in the kitchen (I can only imagine what else they can do... Ha, that was just too easy to pass up), I have to compliment the cooks on their excellent taste in music, especially Marc. While I'm stuck in the front of the restaurant listening to easy rock tunes that don't merit any foot or finger tapping or just-kill-me-now love songs that you know end badly, the kitchen crew is jamming, sautéing and grilling to late 90's pop songs that still bring back memories of middle school dances and all those catchy R&B or Hip Hop numbers that make me want to start a solo dance party right there in the kitchen.

And tonight Marc brought his iPod along with a brand spankin' new playlist that rivaled everything I had previously heard from the kitchen speakers. No Snoop. No Sean Paul. Nope, not this time. Only the best of the best including K-Ci and Jojo, One Republic, Rihanna, Chris Brown, T.I., Ciara, and of course, Michael Jackson. There were plenty of other awesome dance tunes, all of which flung me back into memories of second semester senior year... Senior Prom (or Senior Banquet if you prefer), Beachcomber, Senior Night, Spring Formal, and basically any night the group of us got together since a dance party inevitably started wherever we were. I could not wipe the smile off my face and it still lingers along with the memories playing over in my head. God I miss dancing, especially with the crew--you know who you are. So here are some highlights from the end of last semester. Okay, I'll admit, the photos are mostly for my own pleasure, but I think you'll enjoy them too.

P.S. Thank you Kings of Leon for inspiring the title of this post.

Monday 5.10.09

My roommate arrived this morning. I still haven't met her but her suitcase is sitting here and the anticipation is KILLING me. From what I can see in the opening of her bag, she likes plaid. Lots of plaid. I don't quite know what personality traits this would allude to, but at least she's probably not boring. More analysis to come. Don't you worry.

Newsflash

They are putting an entirely new roof on the hotel, raising the top floor ceiling by several feet. I think they're planning to construct some pretty awesome rooms up there. I found all this out tonight at the end of my shift when I saw the enormous and rather intimidating pieces of machinery being hauled down the middle of the street. It looks like a war zone out there. Rusted pieces of scrap metal, trucks like tanks, and sometimes there's so much white dust floating in the air that I actually think the snow has decided to come early. But no, thankfully I have at least another month before I have to acknowledge that winter does exist now that I'm no longer in San Diego.

As for the roof though, I have NO IDEA how they are planning to do this. When I left work at 10:30pm, I saw the seriously well trained army of construction works lined up, passing massive pieces of metal from one to another and constructing what I think may be the infrastructure of the roof down the middle of the street (which is closed completely for the night). I'm guessing that they will tear down what is there now and somehow lift the shiny new roof (or the basis of it) up to the eight floor. All in the dark and in the middle of the night. Holy shit is right.

And the best part? I can hear all of it right outside my window! I'm just going to pretend that the rumbling of trucks and cranes and the clanking of metal hitting metal are coming from one of those sound makers that you buy for a baby who won't go to sleep or for a desperate insomniac with a weakness for nature sounds. Too bad I can't switch the channel to "soft ocean waves" or "rain forest lullabies."

Raison d'être

My work schedule can be slightly erratic and even frustrating at times, but on days like today, the over seven hour break I have from 11am to 6:30pm does wonders for my overworked mind. I have an even greater chance of turning a regular work day into something more, so that when I lay in bed at night going over the day's events, they don't simply include serving bread to clients, redressing tables, or making a fool of myself while I sputter out some barely comprehendible French sentence to the person who just asked me a question about the menu (though this only serves to make me laugh a little at my stupendous language skills).

Feeling energetic from a lovely day off yesterday, which I will detail in another post, I decided to walk to Vevey to enjoy the absolutely gorgeous weather. From Montreux to Vevey, it takes about an hour at a steady pace and the path runs almost entirely along the lakeshore. And because the temperatures have finally dropped slightly, resembling that of what fall normally feels like, the skies are clearer and bluer than I've seen since I arrived, making the view of the French Alps across the lake match that of the postcards sold in the souvenir shops on every corner. With the added breeze and the fact that most people are out celebrating the weekend, an abnormal number of sailboats zigzag across the lake's glassy surface, their crisp white sails waving hello as they cruise on by.

I walked, listening to music and thinking about this coming week. Marki gets here on Tuesday and I could not be more excited. I seriously cannot wait. And everything about the walk to Vevey--the music playing in my ears, the fresh sunshine warming every ounce of my being, and knowing that I'm really squeezing the gorgeous day for all its worth--makes me feel refreshed down to the deepest part of my soul. I walk lighter than I have in days, weeks even, and every tiny detail about this beautiful place seems to be showing off a little extra today. And I realize, that that's what I love so much about Switzerland and Europe in the larger sense--the details. I've always been a detail-oriented person, though most of the time I find this as a side-effect of an ailment I've suffered from since I was a little girl. Something I like to call perfectionism. But in a place like Montreux or Vevey, it is the details in the surroundings, the people, and the architecture that give them that special charm. It's the red shutters with heart shaped cutouts. The cafés serving tea in hand painted porcelain cups. The old woman sitting on a bench wearing an expertly matched navy and white sailor-inspired outfit complete with a pearl necklace and pearl earrings. Obviously, I don't catch everything, not even with my fine-tuned eye. But that's what makes me love this place and the time I have here even more.

Spending the afternoon at a café with brightly colored, flower-designed tables and matching chairs with a cup of coffee, a great book and a bag full of fresh food from my favorite market, I guess you could stay I'm just feeling a tad more appreciative today. The two women next to me babble on in French and I seem to actually understand a part of their conversation despite how quickly they're speaking. Something about her neighbor maybe? Or no... maybe she said raisin instead of voisin. Ha, no clue. I turn my attention back to the sparkling lake about 100 feet in front of me. Sigh. What a great day.

A cute little port between Montreux and Vevey. I'm not exactly sure, but I think that structure on the right is a house. Built on its own island. On Lake Leman. Jealous much?

Caféing, what I do best (and yes, I am now making that my new verb).

Dream apartment #5387. The sunshine yellow paint, a balcony with just enough room for a lounge chair and a view very similar to the picture below. Yeah, I guess I could live here if you made me.

October on the lake. Say hello to my mountains!