Top of Europe - Take 2

Some of you may remember my post about our lame attempt to visit Jungfaujoch, the highest train stop in Europe. Without reliving the horrid details, the trip ended prematurely due to poor planning, poor parenting, and to be blunt, pure stupidity on our part. But the Mjaanes family doesn't shy away from a challenge due to one failed attempt, so a while back we made attempt number 2. Some adventurers take several attempts to reach the peak of Everest, the Mjaanes family takes more than one attempt to reach a mountain tourist attraction by train. Sad but true.




I'm happy to report that this trip was MUCH more successful. We had done our homework, (a.k.a. tried once before and learned the hard way) and decided to make it a 2 day trip. So we stayed in Wengen, which is a little resort town on the way up the mountain. Wengen was perfect because there are no cars, there is a playground in the middle of town, and it was off season so there weren't many tourists to glare at my loud American children. The owners of the hotel were extremely friendly, and really tried to make our stay a comfortable one. However, they didn't have any children, and this was immediately apparent when, upon arrival, they handed my 5,4, and 2 year old kids glass champagne flutes filled with juice. They also kindly let us know that if we wanted to have dinner at the hotel, they offered a children's dinner prior to the adult dinner seating so we could enjoy our meal without the kids. Aaaahhh... dinner without the kids........ Apparently here in Switzerland leaving your children unattended in a 2 story hotel room with a balcony isn't frowned upon. But Bryan and I are still clinging to a few of our American ways and decided rather than chance our kids pilfering through the mini bar while we enjoyed our quiet dinner, we'd enjoy dinner with the family.

Bryan indulged me that night and offered to put the kids to bed while I went out exploring the town by myself. I'm pretty certain he checked to make sure all the shops in town were closed before he granted me this gift. He also demanded payment for his services in the amount of 1 beer from the hotel bar when I returned. For an hour alone in the Alps I would have personally dragged a barrel of beer up the 5 flights of stairs to our hotel room and then gone back to grab a glass of wine for myself. But fortunately my husband underestimated my desire for alone time and I quickly agreed to his small request.




Wengen is the most beautiful place I have ever been. And although I haven't traveled extensively, it is hard for me to imagine there exists a place more beautiful. There was a church a little way down the path from our hotel that sits on what must be the best piece of land in the area. The church itself is quaint and cute, but you can't beat the benches they've placed in an out of the way spot in front of the church. You can sit and look out at the valley, with the snow capped mountains in the background and waterfalls in the distance. Although I'm not an extremely religious person, I consider myself to be spiritual and it feels like you can't get much closer to God than sitting on one of those benches. I could have sat there all night, except for the fact that I could see our hotel balcony from where I was sitting and I kept wondering if Bryan was cursing me as he beerlessly tried to get the kids to sleep on his own.



The next day we packed up our things and headed up to Jungfaujoch. Most of the train ride is through the mountain so there isn't much to look at. Which was fine because on this particular train ride, we were paid back for all the times that our kids were less than pleasant to share a train car with. There was a little German boy seated behind us who apparently had some ear trouble due to the altitude. And when I say had some ear trouble, I mean this poor kid looked like he had been possessed by the devil. He screamed at pitches that forced you to wince and worked himself into such a sweaty red faced frenzy that I even offered his mother our last dum dum lollipop to try to soothe him. I don't take lightly giving up E's candy pacifiers, so when the kid refused it and the obnoxious older brother grabbed it and shoved it in his mouth with a laugh, I embraced the Swiss custom of shooting a dirty look before enduring 30 more minutes of ear drum peircing screams and a few flailing arms to the head. My kids had no thoughts of misbehaving as they were too busy looking on in horror at the meltdown of all meltdowns happening in front of their eyes. I think I saw a look of respect in E's eyes as she witnessed a tantrum that put her little American outbursts to shame. It's so nice to be on the other side of things for a change....




When we got to Jungfraujoch, we were greeted by a zillion other tourists, many of whom were keeping the typical tourist stereotypes alive and well. It seemed as if a couple dozen Japanese tour buses must have dropped off what appeared to be a beginners photography class. They were on the glacier taking pictures of each other posing in numerous animated positions. I have never seen so many smiling happy Japanese tourists slipping and sliding on top of a glacier while cameras clicked away. One particular man chose to wear wingtips for his glacial adventure, causing me to curse myself for not tossing the camcorder in my bag. Picture a baby deer with a large camera on his neck on a sheet of ice. Now replace the baby deer with a tall lanky Japanese tourist, and it was as hilarious as it sounds.




Bryan and I enjoyed the views from the glacier, but the highlight for the kids was the ice palace. Inside the glacier there is a tunnel built into the ice. Aside from a railing you can hold onto, everything is ice. It's not the place for the claustrophobic, and with the high altitude it can feel a little closed in. As we headed toward the entrance to the ice palace, Bryan decided he was feeling a little lightheaded and wanted to sit down. I'd like to say I was full of compassion and concern, but I think I reminded him of how he used that same complaint to steal my thunder in the delivery room with 2 of our 3 children, and suggested he buck up. I wasn't about to experience the hell of Jungfraujoch with three young children while he hung out on a cot at the first aid station. Fortunately my tough love approach annoyed him out of his lightheadedness, and we enjoyed the day as a family of five.




The kids also got to take a dogsled ride which I think was another highlight of the trip for them. For some odd reason, I find dogsledding fascinating. I think seeing the Iditarod race would be a thrill (for about 5 minutes) and when I heard they had dogsled rides, I was all over it. But because I'm a moron from time to time, I actually thought they would let you crack the whip and yell "MUSH! MUSH!" while the dogs pulled you standing on the back of the sled. Apparently there is more to dogsledding that cracking whips and shouting "MUSH" because Bryan found it quite funny that I thought I was going to lead a pack of dogs on top of a mountain. It was much less exciting in reality and they just sat the kids in the sled and someone who apparently knows how to give dog commands took the kids for a slow ride around a short track.




So our second attempt at Jungfraujoch was a success and we feel like we are starting to figure out this whole traveling thing. I think the key is to allow twice as long as you think you'll need for every activity and accept that you won't end up doing half the things you planned on doing. Inevitably there are meltdowns, fights, 4 times as many potty breaks as a normal family needs to take, and 296 photo opportunities for Bryan to stop and take dozens of pictures of. On this trip I believe we took over 400 pictures. The happy Japanese tourists have NOTHING on Bryan. For our next adventure I may even buy him a fanny pack and some black socks to complete the stereotype. We're just doing our part to keep the typical American tourist stereotype alive and well in Europe.

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.

My new hobby

It has been awhile since I posted a blog entry, because I have been VERY busy. We moved into our new flat last weekend and have been trying to get settled. I started working on a post this week about our new apartment, but have had limited amounts of time to work on it, because of a new hobby I have become infatuated with. Really, it's all I think about and every spare moment of my time is spent on it. Now, some women enjoy scrapbooking and cardmaking. Others like to spend time cooking, reading, running. But not me. I have no time to spend on things like that. I am now a full time recycler.

Yes, recycling has consumed my days and nights. If I'm not awake working on saving the environment one cardboard box at a time, I'm laying in bed pondering how to best adhere to the rules of recycling here in Switzerland. I really wanted to update everyone on our new flat, which I love. I was hoping to post pictures of our home for the next two years. But I didn't have the energy to move the giant piles of cardboard that are stacked all over the main living area. And the bags of glass bottles that have been neatly sorted make too much noise to move when the kids are sleeping.

Here in Switzerland, recycling is a full time job. Particularly if you are new to the sport. At first I thought sorting out the different colors of glass bottles was a relaxing activity that I could do while catching up on my favorite reality TV shows. Then I realized that sorting the aluminum into a separate bag to haul to the recycling area in town would be more efficient. Next, a friend told me I needed to sort out all the PET items. Since we pawned off our only pet, a black cat, before moving to Switzerland, I figured this was an area of recycling I would be able to avoid. But here in the land of fondue, PET refers to all plastic items. These too need to be sorted into a separate bag and taken to the appropriate recycling bins in town. So, being an eco-friendly resident of planet earth, I started a bag designated for all the plastic items.

Are you all keeping up? I now have a bag for green glass bottles, a bag for brown glass bottles and a bag for clear glass bottles. The brown bottles consist of beer bottles Bryan has emptied while trying to understand this crazy new hobby I call recycling. The green bottles are mainly wine bottles that I have emptied to make my hobby more relaxing. (I know many of you like to enjoy a glass of wine while cooking or scrapbooking. This is pretty much the same thing, right?) The clear bottles are empty Nutella jars. Z eats lots of Nutella since it is the only food he has not added to his DO NOT EAT list since arriving here in Switzerland. In addition to the 3 bags of glass bottles, I also have a bag of plastic items and a bag of aluminum items sitting in my front hallway to be conveniently hauled around town. That's five bags of efficiently organized garbage to dispose of properly for the love of mother earth.



But wait, you ask. What about the stacks of cardboard you mentioned piled around your flat? Ahhh.....the cardboard. That beautiful brown packaging that Ikea feels must encase all of it's products from candles to couches. Yes, the cardboard is also recycled, my friends. The cardboard you must break down, cut into smaller pieces, and neatly tie into manageable bundles with some nice sturdy string. It's kind of like wrapping Christmas presents, until you realize you are wrapping up what most would consider to be trash. This enjoyable activity takes up a large chunk of the time I have dedicated to my craft. As I type this blog entry, the tips of my fingers ache from the many cuts and scrapes they have suffered while breaking down boxes and slashing them with a box cutter. My once well groomed fingernails are now jagged and brittle. A small price to pay for saving planet earth, wouldn't you say?

An entire wall of our living area was piled high with cardboard boxes yesterday. Today it has been transformed into a giant pile of broken down boxes in the middle of our dining area, awaiting the string tying process. We still have E's big girl bed in 7 boxes, waiting to be assembled. I can hardly wait to get my hands on those big beautiful boxes. They will provide at least a couple hours worth of recycling fun.

Of course the Swiss are reasonable people, and do not expect me to haul my bundles of cardboard around town. No, they provide a convenient pick up service once a month. I just set my bundles out by the giant trash bin for our building on the designated day, and the cardboard fairy takes it off my hands. Unfortunately, the day we moved in was the monthly pickup for cardboard in our town. So I only have 21 more days left to stare at the piles of cardboard that are quickly becoming just a normal part of our surroundings. Oh, how I love to save the environment one box at a time.

Bryan and I have spent an unreasonable amount of time on the computer trying to figure out what is considered cardboard here in beautiful Switzerland. We initially included food boxes, paper rolls, and milk and juice boxes (almost all beverages come in boxes here.)But after reading several lengthy internet articles about what the swiss consider to be cardboard, we sorted out all of these items and set them aside to be classified at a later date. I am guessing that later date will probably be when the milk cartons start to stink making our flat hard to inhabit.

I live in fear of being busted for not recycling correctly. Seriously, the garbage collectors will fine you if they choose to look carefully at the garbage in your bag and find you in violations of local recycling laws. Many people I know here have resorted to tearing their names off all mail so that the garbage guys can't trace their garbage back to them. I have not become advanced enough in my craft to research the paper recycling, so I am heading out this week to buy myself a shredder. I dare the garbage men to try to peice together the shredded remains of my mail. You don't think they'd do that, do you? Sweet Mother of God, tell me they wouldn't do that.....

The recycling bins are located across the street from our building, which is very convenient. Initially, Bryan said this would be a normal stop on his way to the train in the mornings so I wouldn't have to deal with it. Since then, he has walked past the 5 bags of garbage about 43 times without laying a hand on them. I think it's a little more of a hassle than he bargained for. When I took the bags across the street, I emptied the 3 different bags of colored bottles into their appropriate bins. I kept an eye out for any neighbors who might disapprove of the volume of beer and wine bottles I was disposing of. I was ready with a, "Wow, when you don't recycle these bottles for a few months, they really pile up, eh?" speech. The only person to join me at the recycling bins was a matronly woman with a wicker basket loaded with beer bottles. I had nothing to worry about.

Unfortunately, there was no PET recycling container. I was told these needed to be taken to the local market where they have PET recycling bins. So I carted my bag of plastic items to the market. While trying to quickly stuff them in the small hole in the wall labeled "PET", a market employee informed me in German that PET referred only to clear plastic. My yogurt and margarine containers could not be recycled here. So this garbage went back into my shopping bag to be taken back home. At this point, my hobby became a bit overwhelming and I considered crying in the middle of our local market. But the Swiss are not into public displays of emotion and I waited until I got home for my recycling meltdown.

Needless to say, all this recycling is making me a little crazy and has caused me to spend some time thinking about ways to simplify the process. The solution I have come up with involves me dressing in all black, heading out with my recyclables under the cover of darkness, and scoping out neighborhood dumpsters. And don't tell me it wouldn't have crossed your mind too.....

5 Things I Won't Miss About Our Temporary Apartment!

It has been almost a month here in Switzerland, and I think the whole family would agree that we really like it here. There have been LOTS of challenges but those have been well outnumbered by the moments when we realize how blessed we are to have the opportunity to see and experience life in Europe. Everyone we've talked to who has been an ex-pat says there are highs and lows. At first they are very drastic but as time goes by they begin to even out. I have a fear that we are at a "high" point right now and that there will be a horrible low around the corner. I've stocked up on Chardonnay, just in case.


One of the hardest parts of living in Zurich, has been living in our temporary apartment. It is in a great location for exploring the city, and has a beautiful view of the lake and mountains. But other than that, to put it bluntly, it blows. So as we just received the news that our freight container has arrived and we will be moving out of this apartment on Friday, I thought I would celebrate the occasion by blogging about the 5 biggest things that suck about this apartment. So here goes...... ( I feel like a half ass David Letterman)


#1 The lack of sound proofing

My little angels have made quite an impression on the residents of our apartment building. Since I don't speak German, I'm not sure what they are quietly chuckling about when I trapse past them in the entryway with the three kids. If I had to bet, I would guess they are referring to my kids as "The American Screamers" or perhaps "The kids that belong to that mother who always looks like she needs a drink". Bryan discovered that when one of the kids is crying and wailing, it can be heard very clearly 5 floors down in the lobby. Which leads me to believe that when I yell at the kids (hardly ever happens), that too can be heard all the way down to the bottom floor. This has caused me to invent something I like to call the "whisper scream". It's a lot like yelling at the kids. I get the same "crazy mama" look on my face, and speak in a "mama's gonna lose it" way, but I do it in a whisper. In my opinion, it's a lot creepier than the common yell, but unfortunately not very effective.


#2. The elevator


Now, I know some people have a fear of small spaces and find elevators to be very intimidating. I am not one of those people and have never thought twice before getting on one. That is, until we encountered the elevator from hell. Before the kids and I arrived, Bryan mentioned that the elevator was small. He didn't mention that it feels like you are being entombed every time you step into it. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that there is no way for the elevator ride up to our apartment to be a family affair. The 3 kids and one adult can hardly fit in it. When we first arrived, Bryan needed to fix our stroller and had to drag it up 5 flights because JUST THE STOLLER ALONE would not fit in the elevator.

Fortunately, they do have a button to push in case you get stuck in the elevator. I only know this because on several occasions, I have inadvertantly pushed it while trying to manouver myself around to "whisper scream" at the kids. When the German voice comes over the speaker, I assume asking us if we're still alive and well, I very loudly say "I'M SORRY! I DON'T SPEAK GERMAN! IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!" and then quickly try to hang up on her. It recently occurred to me that she probably has no idea what I am saying, and if I did in fact become trapped in the elevator with the 3 kids, the communication barrier would be my demise. They'd probably find the kids sitting atop my dead body several days later eating whatever snacks I had stashed in the backpack. I can just see the doors finally opening and the maintenance man finding me curled up in the elevator with dum dum lollipops stuck in my hair. What an undignified way to go.




#3. The bathroom/laundryroom.


There are 2 bathrooms in this apartment. One has a shower, a sink, and a toilet. All normal bathroom items. The other has 2 sinks, a toilet, a bathtub, and a washer and dryer. That alone isn't a big deal. The big deal is that if you are not under the age of 8, or a dwarf, you can't sit on the toilet without having to wedge your knees between it and the washer. This doesn't make for a very relaxing place to hide from the kids and I may need to start hiding in the elevator. To make the bathroom situation even more comical, we quickly realized that the washer is hooked up to the bathtub faucet. When we do laundry, we turn the handle on the bathtub to adjust the temperature setting. There are several hoses that hang over the side of the bathtub so the washer and dryer can drain into the tub. It's quite an ordeal at bathtime with the kids when we have to unhook the washer and dryer to fill the tub. I considered sticking the kids in the washer to save time, but C wouldn't fit.



#4 The dishwasher


See blog entry, "My Nemesis". I have conceded defeat and will continue washing dishes by hand for ONE MORE DAY. Damn Klarspuler.....


#5 The lack of wireless internet.


I know this one makes me sound like a spoiled American brat, but let me explain. Our computer serves many purposes in this apartment. My laptop is our only TV, our only means of communication back to the States (thanks to skype), my means of therapuetic ranting (a.k.a. this blog), and our translator for all things in German thanks to Google Translate. This makes it the most sought after item in the apartment. I've even stooped to luring my kids away from their Webkins activities with chocolate, so I could get on the computer. As if it's not bad enough that we all have to fight over it, when we do use it, we have to sit in the most uncomfortable chair at the dining room table. Have you ever tried to sit and watch 2 hours of The Biggest Loser while sitting upright at a table? It's almost enough to make you want go get off your butt and exercise. Almost.

But tomorrow is a new day and a brand new apartment. The difference in the two is night and day. Literally. The old apartment is dark and dreary and the new apartment has windows throughout and just feels bright and cheery. Plus, we'll have all our favorite furniture and comforts from home to make us feel at ease. I've always thought that "stuff" was very unimportant and found it sad that people got so attached to the the "things" in their lives. And though I still believe that the friends and family in our lives are more valuable than any material things, the "stuff" in our lives plays a part in the memories we build and gives me a sense of who I am. Hmmm.... I think that sounds both deep and shallow at the same time. To put it in simpler terms, I can't wait to sit my back side down on my comfy couch and enjoy the beautiful view from our new apartment. And let me just tell you, the dishwasher better damned well work.