Survey Says

And now it's time for a little survey here at Six Hours Ahead:


Choose your answer before reading on.

Did you answer? Huh? Did you?

We were warned by people and guidebooks that the Swiss would be cold, aloof and perhaps even unhelpful. Our experience has been anything but that. In fact, my experience has been that these are the nicest, friendliest, most gracious people I have ever met. Even the teenagers will stand to give you a seat on the tram.

Everyone has been amazing. Yet, there does seem to be a little bit of racism running amok.

Example 1:

Health Insurance Guy: If you take this cheap insurance, your wife could end up sharing a hospital room with a Turkish woman!

Jason: Blank look.

Health Insurance Guy: Turkish!!!!

Now, truth be told, I don't want to share a hospital room with a Turkish woman. I don't want to share a hospital room with an American woman either. I did that in Doylestown and it was the closest I've ever come to murdering someone. I am glad we moved because I was afraid that Daniel and her daughter would end up in the same school class and I would have to deal with her again. She was so obnoxious and rude and screechy that I could hardly stand it.

So, no, I don't want to share a room with anyone. But if I do, Turkish is probably preferable to my previous roommate.

Example two:

Jason to Relocation Woman: What about Pratteln? Is that a nice area? (We asked because there is an LDS congregation out there.)

Relocation woman: Oh no, you don't want to live there. That's where the foreigners live.

Suzanne and Jason: (quite puzzled.)

Jason: But we're foreigners.

Relocation woman: No. For-eign-ers.

So, we get it. We're the right type of foreigners because we're white and have money. Pratteln has the wrong kind of foreigners, apparently. Probably Turkish. (But Turkish food, yum.) Plus, the Ikea is out there, so it's an attractive place for us.

Here's a little political advertisement:

The text means "For Our Security." Notice the sheep colors.

But it's not just about skin color. It's about ethnicity, apparently. Here's another political ad:



The birds are black, but this is apparently about allowing Bulgarians and Romanians to work in Switzerland.

Interesting, is what I have to say.

But, as I've said, everyone has been beyond nice to us. But I still don't want to share a hospital room with any of them.

Stroller Rage

I have never used a stroller more in my life. After doing research and talking with Bonnie about stroller usage in NYC, I bought a Maclaren triumph. It's a high quality umbrella stroller, with a basket underneath. It's compact, lightweight and easy to use. The basket is a bit small, but what do you expect for an umbrella stroller?

I, clearly, should have waited until I got here to buy a stroller, because apparently the proper thing to do is buy a stroller roughly the size of a Chevy Suburban. Then place your little darling in a sweater, coat, and hat (make sure the ears are covered!), then cover the baby in a sheepskin covering (or better yet, just place a live lamb on her lap), and head off. Never mind the fact that you, yourself, are wearing a short sleeve t-shirt and it's 22 degrees out. (I don't know what that means either.) Your baby must be freezing!

It's probably all that extra space in her ginormous stroller. Maybe there are airconditioners built in. That would make sense.

These strollers are so obnoxious, I don't know why you would feel the need for one. I guess they are expensive, so therefore, cool.

And another note. On all but the super new trams, there is only one car where strollers and wheelchairs can go. The other cars all have stairs. So, if you have trouble walking, it also makes sense for you to be in this car.

But, if you are healthy, it makes no sense at all to be in the one spot where people with limitations can go. I mean, are we so lazy that we can't step up two stairs? I've seen cars practically empty, but the handicapped car (where we are because of the stroller) is packed with people. Why? Why would you want to be there? I don't understand it.

And don't tell me that all these people have non-obvious problems that make negotiating two stairs difficult. I don't buy it for one second.

School Starts

Yesterday was Sarah's first day of school. We still don't have a car, so on the tram we went.

Sarah's school is quite close, as the crow flies (or even as the car drives), but there's no direct way to get there from our house via public transportation. We have to ride Tram 10 in towards the city--to Dreispitz (which makes me wonder, isn't all spitz wet?) and then get on Tram 11 to go to her school. It's about 30 minutes of tram time.

We left the house at 7:25 and went to the tram. We, of course, just missed the 7:29 tram and had to wait until the 7:39 tram, which started making me nervous. I mean, who wants to be late on your first day of school, especially in Switzerland.

We got on with a bunch of kids on scooters. Sarah was relieved to see that they had backpacks, as she was afraid that backpacks weren't the in thing in Switzerland.

Our transfer worked perfectly--our next tram was one minute after we got off the first tram. The only problem was that we need to get into the second car, because of Daniel's stroller. Fighting your way through a crowd, with a stroller is a bit nerve-wracking.

We had a brief orientation, and then headed to meet Sarah's teacher. Her name is Miss Sara, so that was a bonus. There is a full time aide in the class room as well, so that's great. They teach cursive lower case letters here. The teacher explained that it was beneficial to students with dyslexia because all the letters start in the same spot. I decided to smile and nod, since I know nothing about dyslexia and you can be sure I know nothing about handwritting.

They have coffee for the parents (read: mothers) on Monday mornings. Daniel and I were going to go home, but the mother of another new student asked me to come with her, so I did.

I met a woman from Bluebell, PA, which is about 20 minutes from Doylestown. Her husband also works for Novartis and she used to work for Merck. Small world. We talked about how neither of us wants to move to NJ when we leave Switzerland.

Sarah got three recesses, which is fabulous, and she thoroughly enjoyed lunch. "I had Thai food mom!" she said enthusiastically. She declared it delicious except for the raisins in the food. "Don't they know raisins are a snack food?" I thought it was an excellent question. Raisins should be thrown away, as they are nothing more than shriveled up grapes, but I digress.

This morning things were a little shakier. We didn't get up on time, so we had to rush. But, wonder of wonders, we got the NEW tram. There are a couple new high tech trams with television monitors that tell you what stop you are at, and where you can bring a stroller into any car. Sarah lives for these, so she was thrilled to get it.

She had a little bit of a clingy time getting into school, but I deposited her with her teacher and we headed home.

The trip home was much better, as the trams weren't crowded. Daniel made up for the lack of crowds by pooping. Yeah, pooping. Let's just say that the few people in our car definitely knew Daniel was there.

Please stay in this country

Sunday afteroon we rode the tram by our house (beloved Tram 10) all the way to it's other end, in Flüh. This is right on the French border. There were beautiful walking and riding trails, so we went for a walk.



Sarah loved the dandelion fields and she collected a huge bouquet, but then she got angry and threw it away. We're still operating on not a lot of sleep around here.


Note the pollen on Jason's pants. Lots of dandelions.

The path we took back had stone markers. One side said S for Switzerland and the other said F for France. Yes, we were strolling along the border. (This time, no guards with guns, thankfully.)

Sarah kept jumping over to France. How often do you say to your child, "Get back in this country right now!" and "Don't go to France without permission."

At one point, I pushed Daniel's stroller over the border, while staying in Switzerland myself, so we could say we sent the children to France without us.

I know, we're not as funny as we think we are. But, dang it, I thought it was funny, and it's my blog. So laugh.

I need to lower my hovering skills

There is a strange park next to Jason's office. It is fenced in and only open at certain times. What times those are, we're not quite sure, but it was open yesterday, so we went.

We had gone to Jason's office so that I could sign mortgage papers, accepting an offer on our house. (A terrible offer, with lots of contingencies, but an offer nonetheless. Better than no offers.) Jason took the baby with him to go scan it and e-mail it back and Sarah and I went into the park.

There was a tree house building section. Trees, boards, nails (rusty!) and hammers. Build your own tree house, kids. Then there was a zip line, which stopped you by ramming you into an old tire, and hopefully you didn't break your head. Sarah played on rope swings that started you four feet off the ground. (You pulled them up to a jumping off point if you didn't have a mother to lift you up.)

In short, it was the most dangerous playground I have ever seen.

And I was the only mother.

Sure, from time to time another parent would come in, call their child's name and their kid would trot off. But, I was the only hoverer.

It struck me that this park would never be built in America. The lawyers wouldn't allow it. I mean, "here kid, build your own tree house!" in a public park? No. A zip line without safety equipment and monitors? Never! (Sarah rode it twice and loved it.)

And let's just say, to humor me, that it was built. There would be mothers everywhere. "Watch your step, honey!" and "Pound that nail carefully, darling." Aiyee! So very different.

Sarah loved it. Loved it. She wants to go back next time it is open. I think we'll go, as we now have our Swiss health insurance. Plus, her tetnus shots are up to date.

Jason asks a stupid question

We walked from Jason's office to Germany yesterday. (Two days ago, we walked from there to France. We are truly international travelers!) It was a bit chilly and we were all starving and our destination was farther than we had originally thought, so when we got to the mall, we were crabby.

We headed straight for the food court, at which point Jason announces he needs to go to the bathroom and leaves me with the two children and a few Euros to procure dinner. Sarah spots a McDonalds.

I get to the counter and say in my best German, "Ein Happy Meal mit cheeseburger." The man behind the counter says, "With fries and a coke?" Shockingly, he has figured out that I am English speaking. Sarah gets her happy meal (fries and Sprite and mayonnaise on the side).

Then Jason reappears and takes the children to a table while I go order our food. There was a Greek or perhaps Turkish restaurant that was serving pita bread with meat and yogurt sauce and such.

Again, I look at the picture menu (thankfully!) above the workers' heads and order in my best German. The man looks at me blankly. Since he's probably Greek (or Turkish, hard to tell), he may easily identify me as English speaking but he does not speak English. He points. I say, "yes." He points again. I'm confused. He puts together an order. He asks a question. I say, "Ja!" No idea what he asked, but he starts putting things on my sandwich, so I guess he was asking if I wanted everything on it.

He makes two things up, which somewhat resemble what I thought I ordered, but had some definite differences. Then he puts it into a bag and hands it to me. I take it to the cashier who asks, I presume, what I had in the bag. Oh dear. I have food. I try to tell her what I'd ordered (which may or may not have any relation to what is actually in the bag). She asks another question. I shrug. She rings me up for some amount and I hand her money and she hands me change and I leave.

I make it to the table and Jason, noticing the bag, says, "Why did you get it to go?"

"Because," I said, "I don't speak German."

For the wrong order, it was very delicious.

Oops

There are two main stores here, Migros and Coop. Migros has a "budget" brand that is (we understand) generally good quality. It's also quite a bit cheaper than name brand. There is no picture of the product on the wrapper, and the wrapper is opaque, so you have to make a judgement based on the written description.

This would not be a problem if we spoke German. Or French. Or even Italian. But, we don't.

So, we bought what we thought was crackers. They were next to the crackers. We took them home and got out some cheese to put on our crackers. We opened the package and disocovered--vanilla sandwich cookies with chocolate filling.

So now when Sarah asked for an "Unhealthy treat" she asks for either "the cookies we bought on purpose" or the "cookies we didn't mean to buy."

Heh.