Tapas, tapas, and more tapas....

We have just returned from our most recent Mjaanes family adventure to Espana! (That's Spain to those of you who don't feel the need to sound cooler than you actually are.) One thing that became very clear on this trip is that the kids are really becoming great travelers. I think they have finally taken pity on us and realized that we don't have a clue how to travel with little kids. They seem to have given up the hope that things will go smoothly and now just suffer through our ridiculous traveling escapades with a look on their faces that says "I can't wait until I'm 18 and can ditch these dorks". I don't have high hopes that we'll end up in the nicest of nursing homes....

Like any intelligent parents of young children, we booked an early morning flight and woke the kids up at 4:30 to head to the airport. We were shocked when they all woke up excited for the adventure and treated each other with kindness and respect throughout our morning of traveling. I kept waiting for the arguing and fighting to break out, but they honestly acted as if they liked each other. They must have been delirious from lack of sleep. It was a beautiful thing.

When we arrived in Madrid we realized that packing 2 giant suitcases and a stroller was traveling mistake #1. Apparently Spain doesn't much like their disabled citizens to ride their Metro system so they keep them out by not installing elevators in many of their stations. So while I carried the backpack and the stroller up God knows how many flights of stairs while holding E's hand, Bryan dragged our giant suitcases up them while we both tried to keep an eye on the boys. After an hour of riding and lugging suitcases through the subway, we arrived at our stop in the middle of Madrid and headed to our rental apartment for the next 5 days. It was at this point that I realized that Madrid in June is about 12 degrees hotter than hell. We looked like we were on a death march with our red faces and sweat soaked hair. But fortunately our apartment was only a block from the station. As we approached the building, Bryan mentioned that we were on the 5th floor and as I began to mutter, "It better have a freakin' elevator" he opened the door to a building that clearly had no elevator. Exactly 103 steps later we arrived at our rental apartment.



Some might call our apartment the penthouse, as it was located on the top floor. However, attic would be the appropriate term in this situation. We walked in to find the ceiling sloped so severely that we had to hunch over just to stand at the kitchen sink. It was pretty hysterical. There was about a 5 foot wide area the length of the apartment in which Bryan and I could stand up straight and a small dormer that led to a balcony. The owner showed us how to work the air conditioner and kindly asked us to just make sure we turned it off when we weren't in the unit. From this point on, the air conditioner was cranked to 16 degrees celcius for the next 5 days. I'm sure she'll be cursing the sweat soaked American renters when she receives her electric bill.



The best part of the trip was that we got to spend time with Bryan's brother's family. His wife Mercedes is from Madrid and was our personal tour guide for the next 4 days. The kids LOVED spending time with their cousins Gabriela and Lucia and I don't think they cared what we did as long as they were with them. Bryan and I loved that they were entertained and happy and we got quality time with our tour guides Jeff and Mercedes. It doesn't get much better than that.



On Friday night we began the process of eating our way through Madrid. Seriously, it was kind of disgusting. If you can think of a Spanish dish, I can pretty much promise you one of us ate it. Z walked around with a chorizo stained face for a large portion of the trip, and E spit out more olive pits in one weekend than most people do in a lifetime. We had Churros and chocolate for breakfast, paella for lunch, and cerveza and sangria in the afternoon before indulging in tapas for dinner. We're hoping that between the pounds we sweat off while walking the city and the suitcase lifting workout we endured at the beginning of the trip, we didn't come home too many pounds heavier than we left.






On Sunday, Bryan and his brother decided they wanted to take a day trip to Segovia Spain for Father's day. We took a bullet train that traveled almost 200 mph and the boys, including Bryan, were pretty excited. We visited the beautiful cathedral in Segovia and although there wasn't a service taking place, I'm still taking credit for getting the family to church on a Sunday. We should be good until Easter Sunday now unless we shock the good Lord with a visit on Christmas Eve. Anything's possible.




We also visited the castle in Segovia and all 5 kids made it to the lookout point by climbing up a winding staircase of 164 steps. After the castle it was time to (surprise, surprise) eat again. I watched in quiet horror as my brother in law enjoyed the local specialty of roast suckling pig. Although they didn't serve it with the head on, we had great fun taking pictures of him gnawing on the pig hoof. I'll never look at Winnie the Pooh's piglet in quite the same way again. As we left the restaurant we passed table after table of people stuffing their face with roasted piglet. Very disturbing....





Probably my favorite part of our trip was when we sat at a cafe in Madrid's Plaza Mayor and drank sangria while the kids played in the plaza. It was one of those moments when you suddenly remember what it feels like to be relaxed. We sat there for 2 hours watching the kids play and get absolutely filthy. We laughed as we ordered another pitcher of sangria and hoped the waiters would continue to take care of the kids for us. By the time we finally left, E was so filthy she looked like an orphan child who had just crawled out of the sewer. And I'm ashamed to say she had been sitting in a dirty diaper longer than I'd like to admit. But in my defense, she was having a great time and the pigeons she was playing with didn't seem to mind her stink.





After a couple pitchers of sangria, we chanced upon Z's childhood idol as we left the plaza. It was such a special moment for my superhero loving son. There, in the flesh (and there was a LOT of flesh) was spider man. He stood in the plaza with a box to collect change, and happily let us take a picture of him with the kids. At the time, I laughed so hard I cried. Later in the evening, I wondered if Z would need therapy after seeing such a disgusting display of anti-superheroism. Sadly, he later told me he thought it was the real spider man. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Sangria may not bring out the best of our parenting skills...



All in all, the whole family had a great time in Madrid and I was so proud of what troopers the kids were. When we were offered the opportunity to spend 2 years in Switzerland, the idea that we could show our kids parts of the world that they wouldn't otherwise see, was too enticing to pass up. We've frequently asked ourselves whether the kids will remember any of our travels, and I'm not sure if they will or not. But I can already see that our adventures are opening their minds to trying new things, whether it be new foods or interacting with new people. They are becoming more independent, adventurous, and confident. And whether they remember our trips or not, I feel like they will walk away from this adventure with a broader perspective on life that will hopefully carry with them as they grow older. Now let's just hope they don't carry with them the memory of the creepy Spanish Spiderman for too long...

English as a first AND second language

I've come to a disturbing realization since moving to Switzerland. I'm kind of shocked it took me this long to discover that I have not one, but TWO learning disabilities. I always did pretty well in school and managed to muddle my way through a graduate degree and although a member of Mensa, I am not, I've always considered myself a reasonably bright individual. But my recent self diagnosis is quite a problem and really starting to effect my social life here. I may be the only individual to ever suffer from these 2 disabilities simultaneously. I'm also the one who named them and decided they truly ARE disabilities. Some day I'll get the recognition I deserve in the medical journals.

I first realized I suffer from the total inability to understand someone who is speaking English if they have even the slightest bit of an accent. Also known as, "What Freakin' Language are you Speaking?" Syndrome. Since arriving here, I have met lots of really friendly, outgoing, and fun women that have really gone out of there way to make me feel welcome and at ease here in Switzerland. I have met most of them through the boys school and from several playgroups that I attend with E. Seriously, these women are SO nice. However, these women are also SO British, Australian, Scottish, Irish, and South African. And half the time, I feel like they are speaking Swahili. They are all English speaking, and obviously so am I. So why the hell can't I understand 70% of what these women are saying?!?!?!? To make matters worse, I have been introduced to about 197 people in the past 8 weeks and I remember about 12 of their names. Out of the 12 moms whose names I remember, I can remember 2 of their kids names. I'm pretty sure I've asked most of these women the same questions about 6 dozen times because I can't keep most of them straight. It's very embarrassing. The other day a really sweet mom was sitting with me at a birthday party when I asked her what class her son was in. She looked at me with a "How sad for your kids that you so obviously drink during the day" look. She then told me for probably the 10th time that her son was in C's class. I only wish I had an excuse like "vodka in my water bottle" to explain my stupidity. Very embarrassing.




The other night there was a mom's dinner out with about 15 ENGLISH SPEAKING moms. They are really extremely friendly and welcoming, however I'm pretty sure they now think I am either partially brain damaged or into some hard core drugs. For the first hour I focused really hard on what they were saying and frequently asked them to repeat themselves with a polite, "I'm sorry, what was that again?" By the next hour I just smiled and tried to laugh at the appropriate times. At one point a woman was telling some of us that she was heading back home to Ireland for the weekend. This sounded like exciting news, but just as I was about to comment about how much fun it sounded, I realized everyone else in on the conversation looked less than enthused. This would be because I only understood the second half of her story and missed the part about how she would be attending her aunt's funeral. I quickly wiped the "Have a pint of Guinness for me!" look off my face before anyone labelled me the cold-hearted American. I spent the 3rd hour enjoying my wine and pondering whether it would be strange for me to take an ESL course with a British instructor.

Despite the fact the I don't know what they are saying half the time, I have to say that they sound incredibly smart, regardless of the content. Seriously, I think a British accent could make even Paris Hilton sound intelligent. "That's Hot" said with an English accent doesn't sound so ridiculous, does it? The fact that speaking with an accent gives anyone an instant 10 point increase in their perceived IQ, may be partially to blame for my second affliction. I've named this next affliction of mine, the "Madonna" disorder. This would be my bizarre and uncontrollable tendency to speak with a slight British accent after spending time with my new UK friends. I may not know what the hell they are saying part of the time, but that doesn't stop me from copying their speech patterns. I swear to you it's unintentional and if I could personally apologize to Madonna for all of the times I slammed her due to her sudden British ways, I would. And Madonna and I are not the only American expats who suffer from this disorder. A friend who moved here from the West Coast will suddenly throw a British accent into a conversation out of nowhere. It's hysterical and fortunately she has a great sense of humor or she probably would not appreciate the fact that I point it out and laugh every time she does it. Their vocabulary is equally as addicting and I've caught myself saying things are "lovely" on a regular basis. At home this would age me by about 25 years, but here I fit right in! I drive on the "motorway", feed my kids "biscuits" instead of cookies, and tell them to get their shoes on "straight away". My cell phone has become my "mobile", E poops in her "nappies", I hold my kids hands in the "carpark", and "queue" at the "market" while waiting to pay for my groceries. Extremely annoying to those of you at home, but remember it's an illness. Take pity.

So as the Mjaanes clan heads back to the states at the end of the month, we look forward to enjoying easy conversations with our American friends and family. You may all sound a bit less intelligent back in the ole U.S. of A, but you're all so "lovely" is doesn't bother us a bit.

If you can't beat 'em......

In an attempt to get over my anger issues about the insane recycling here in Switzerland, I decided to try to find something positive about the obsessive compulsive recycling tendencies of the Swiss. You know, other than the whole "Save the Earth" aspect of it. That argument is wearing a little thin these days. So while having dinner with my friend Stacey a couple of weeks ago, she unintentionally gave me a solution to my "recycling sucks" attitude.

She pointed out some handbags that LOTS of people carry here in Switzerland called "Freitag" bags. After she pointed one out to me, I started seeing them EVERYWHERE. She had already bought one because they are such a "swiss thing" and something that she couldn't get back home in the States. They are kind of cool, funky looking bags, but when she told me what was so unique about them, I knew I HAD to have one.




The Freitag bags are made of 100% recycled materials. But not your typical purse materials. Only the Swiss would come up with the idea to make purses out of used truck tarps, bicycle tubes, and seatbelts. Are these people crazy, or what?!?!?! These geniuses actually charge a nice size wad of francs for handbags made of truck tarps, bicycle tubes and seat belts!!!! Their rules for recycling may still be inconvenient as hell, but you can't help but admire their dedication to it. Because they are made from actual used truck tarps, each bag has a unique pattern to it. So I decided as a reward for hours of recycling I have committed to the cause, I should run out and buy myself a Freitag. And this is when I discovered that there was no end to the recycling opportunities in the minds of these fondue loving, chocolate producing, wonderful Swiss people.




I hopped online to find the nearest Freitag store and quickly found one in downtown Zurich. I thought maybe I'd find a store on the Bahnhofstrasse which is kind of the "Michigan Avenue" of Zurich, but I couldn't have been more wrong. The store is in an industrial part of town and, get this, is build out of 15 old freight containers. Picture the freight container that carried all of our wordly possessions across the ocean to Switzerland, and this is what the store is built out of. It isn't pretty, or convenient to shop in, but dammit, it's recycled!!!




Stacey and I made a trip to the store this week, and as a peace offering to the recycling gods, I bought myself a Freitag purse. It wasn't cheap and I couldn't help but think that with all the bottles, cans, and cardboard I have recycled over the past 7 weeks, I should really be entitled to a free one, or at least a major discount. Recycling would be much more tolerable if I knew that with each trek to the recycling bins I was one step closer to earning a free handbag. Fortunately for Stacey, I didn't pitch my idea to the less than enthusiastic sales guy at the register. Plus E was with us and kept making a mess of their wallet display, so I figured it wasn't the time or the place.




So this is my final blog entry about recycling. Seriously. I know this will come as a big disappointment to many of you. Okay, so it will only disappoint my one Swiss friend back home, but still, I hate to disappoint. But if the Swiss are willing to lug bags of bottles around town, ruin their nails bundling their cardboard, and carry purses made out of used junkyard parts, then I should shut my cake hole and get over it. Like they say, "When in Switzerland...."

Home Sweet Home......Kind of.

A friend of mine who moved here a couple weeks before we did, told me I would know I was settling in here when I have moments that I forget I am in Switzerland. She assured me that moving into our permanent flat with our own belongings would be a big step in that direction. Well, I'm not there yet, but it is starting to feel more like home. I'm still VERY aware, every waking moment, that I am in Switzerland and that everything is exciting and strange. I can't decide whether that is a good thing or a bad thing. It still has a little bit of a vacation feel to it, except I have to do lots of laundry and nobody comes in to clean my room while I'm away.



Finding our flat was kind of a leap of faith. When we visited in November, our crazy (not in a good way) relocation consultant showed us 2 apartments and claimed they were the ONLY 2 apartments to see even remotely close to the kids school. The first apartment was about 950 square feet and you couldn't fit a twin bed in one of the 2 bedrooms. The second was a good size, if you included the upstairs loft area. Unfortunately, unless you were under 5'2", you couldn't stand up straight in the loft. It would have made a lovely home for a family of little people. When we asked what other options we had, she just shrugged her shoulders and said "Zee market eez very tight". So moving to Switzerland with no idea of where we would live was WAY out of my comfort zone. Some might call me a control freak. I like to refer to myself as "extremely hands on". So when Bryan called me from Switzerland the week he arrived and told me he found us a flat, I was a bit panicked. I had him photograph every corner of the unit and email it to me for my approval. Now, I love my husband and trust his judgment in many areas. However, there are a few areas in which I don't trust his judgment. The first is dressing our children. He once brought the kids home from an overnight with their cousins wearing various pajama parts and articles of clothing that didn't belong to us. And they had attended a first communion that way. The second area in which I question his judgment is selecting a place for us to live. When I met him he lived in a nasty basement apartment and had paper cartons covered with blankets for his end tables. So who can blame me for being concerned when he wanted to select our home in Switzerland. But I took a deep breathe, said "Go for it" and luckily our application was accepted from a pile of applicants. I am pleased to tell you that I underestimated my husbands house hunting abilities and I LOVE our flat.



Moving day was 2 weeks ago and the giant green container that drove off with all of our belongings in Cary, arrived at our flat here in Thalwil, Switzerland. It was obnoxious how excited I got opening up the boxes. "Oh My God!!!! THREE bottles of grape jelly!!!! Honey, come look, I packed 3 bottles of grape jelly!!" I would like to say I am exaggerating with the exclamation points, but sadly, I'm not. The Swiss apparently think jelly should be made from every obscure fruit under the sun, with the exception of grapes. And because one of the 4 foods Z will eat is peanut butter and GRAPE jelly sandwiches, this has been a bit of a problem. So yeah, grape jelly was one of the highlights of moving day.



Our flat sits up the hill from Lake Zurich, in a town called Thalwil. I love the town and can walk to the market and shopping area, although dragging the kids back up the hill to the apartment takes some coaxing. Down the street sits a beautiful old church and throughout the day we hear the church bells ringing, reminding us what time it is. Sometimes we can hear the church bells from nearby towns ringing at the same time and it's one of my favorite things about living here. E now yells, "Church bells, Mommy! Church bells!" whenever they ring. It's really cute the first 36 times...



We have much more space here (including a guest room. hint hint...) and the main living area is surrounded by windows. From our balcony we can see a little of the Alps on a clear day and from the front we can see a bit of Lake Zurich. We love all the windows but think the Swiss need to wise up to the joys of screening their windows. I swear to God there was a bee the size of a hummingbird in our family room the other day. I'm NOT exaggerating. I honestly thought it was a bird until I saw the yellow and black stripes. And the only place I have found to be air-conditioned in this country is our car. So the windows in our flat are always open and the bugs are preferred over the heat.

We live on the 4th and 5th floors of the building and the parking garage is in the basement. It's taken some getting used to having to walk up a flight of stairs, unlock a door into the building, and take an elevator up to our floor. You wouldn't believe the arguments we have about who gets to push the buttons on the elevator. It is one of the mysterious joys of childhood to be able to push a button on an elevator. We now have it worked out that one pushes the button outside the elevator, one pushes the number inside the elevator, and one yells, "Open Sesame!!!!" right before the doors open. If fights erupt, I can usually distract them by looking out the glass elevator to see the view outside as the elevator rises. That trick is bound to get old soon and I may soon need to threaten to make them take the stairs.



Moving here has made our transition to Switzerland much easier. And although we have moments (and occasionally a full day!) when we ask, "What the hell were we thinking?!?!?", most days we are in awe of the opportunity we have been given. Sitting out on our balcony with a glass of wine, laughing about our ridiculous moments here, and planning our next trip to a new part of Europe, we know we are blessed and secretly fear our 2 years will go by too quickly.

Tomorrow we head to the Bernese Oberland area of Switzerland for a second attempt at getting to JungFrauJoch. We'll spend the night in Wengen before heading back down to Interlaken and hopefully I'll have worked up the nerve to go Paragliding! Although it doesn't feel like home here in Switzerland, and we miss our friends and family, we're enjoying the adventure every step of the way.