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!

Champagne and roses

Today started off like any other day. Woke up much earlier than I would have liked. Worked the breakfast and lunch shifts. Did some grocery shopping. Took a nap. Then headed off to the evening shift which didn't look very promising on the reservations end. One table of two. That's it.

It was painfully slow. The table of two arrived, a young Asian couple, and the three of us working were nearly fighting for things to do. I never thought I'd want to clear people's plates, but when the other option is to stand there with n-o-t-h-i-n-g to do but stare at the wall and overanalyze the newest dilemma in my world, I'll take clearing tables any day.

The young Asian guy got up from the table at one point and was gone for about ten minutes. Huh, that's rude, I thought. Or... Wow, he must have really needed to use the bathroom. But when he came back, a huge smile spread across his face, he was holding a bouquet of red long stem roses. No baby's breath. No filler flowers. Just roses. And they were gorgeous. I thought bouquets like that only existed in movies or in the synthetic flower section at Michael's.

From the bar, I had the perfect view of his girlfriend. You could see the surprise take over her whole body, her hands flying to cover her gaping mouth. And within the next five minutes, I watched his proposal unfold (though since he was speaking in Japanese, I made up my own version of his speech and declarations of love and commitment for myself--and I must say, it was damn good). She had tears in her eyes and mine were brimming, and we all relished in the happy couple's moment. I think I even let out a gasp when I saw him get down on one knee. Even the guys were watching anxiously, all of them completely engrossed in the scene as it unraveled. We served them champagne afterwards, and the moment lingered in the restaurant for the rest of my shift.

And while I was setting tables for the morning breakfast, I couldn't wipe the smile off my face--not that I wanted to. But for a person that doesn't necessarily believe in marriage--and my own beliefs stem from more than just my own parents' divorce if that's what you immediately assumed--I was shocked at how sentimental I felt. And how happy I was for them and for their mutual commitment to one another. When I went to wish them congratulations afterward and saw the blue Tiffany's box sitting there, the white ribbon dangling off the edge of the table, and the young woman starry-eyed as she couldn't make up her mind whether to look at her new fiance or the ring on her finger, I thought... I want that. And no, I'm not talking about the diamond ring. That moment that was overflowing with their history, the thought of a future together, the possibilities, the love, the hopefulness and the belief in all of it. That's what I wanted. And someday, I hope, that will come along. Though I haven't yet felt it for myself, I believe in love. I believe in its unyielding potential, in its purity, and in its instinct to know exactly when to track you down, knock you over, and prove you wrong about everything and more you thought you knew about yourself and the universe's plan for you. I believe in it because I'm too stubborn, too hopeful, and too naive not to. And that's enough reason for me.

For now, I suppose being the witness to a truly magical moment in two people's lives was a gift in itself. And to that couple, I wish you greatness in every way. And obviously love. A never ending, consistent stream of love, love and more love. Congratulations!

And just because...

"My great hope is to laugh as much as I cry, to get my work done and try to love somebody and have the courage to accept the love in return." --MAYA ANGELOU