Inside-Out World

Strange

scleary — Tue, 30 Aug 2011 18:42:07 +0000

One of my German instructors, and I now have two, is trying to explain what merkwürdig means. She says, “It means strange, abnormal…it has a negative connotation” and she thinks for a minute. “Strange, like someone who stands in the square and sings and dances.” I, chuckling, say “that’s not strange, that’s fun, hahaha…” And the rest of the class seconds my notion, giggling at out straitlaced Swiss professor, from the perspective of Italy, Russia, Cape Verde and China. We teach her as much as she teaches us.

License plates = rank

scleary — Thu, 07 Jul 2011 15:10:54 +0000

My husband was glued to his computer last Saturday. In itself this is not unusual, but he remained there even after I offered to buy him a beer – I remain speechless.

What’s more important than beer? License plates – Zürich license plates, to be exact.

The city of Zürich has been doling out license plates since cars were driven. The first plate looked something like “ZH 1”. Pure and simple, just the way the Swiss like it. If you went to the Zürich DMV today, your license plate number would be 750,000 give or take a few thousand – roughly the number of registered cars on the road. (uh yeah, this place isn’t large).
Here’s the equation: A low numbered license plate equals urban credibility – you were born here, maybe your grandparents were born here, your family moved off the farm generations ago. A high-numbered license plate says “recent immigrant! Pull me over!” My Zürcher man can’t bear the thought of anyone questioning his city credentials – the mere idea brings on an identity crisis. So he’s obsessed with online license plate auctions, because status can be bought. How much? A license plate with four digits goes for CHF20,000 or more. Don’t expect us to spend that – my man is searching for an overlooked bargain…

Humans can’t avoid hierarchy, can they? Even in Switzerland, where the locals sniff at outward signs of wealth or status, rank matters to those in the know.

Mutant German

scleary — Wed, 02 Jun 2010 15:20:21 +0000

Language is one of the most frustrating things about Switzerland.

After 5 months of daily German language study, I can get by reasonably well in German, aka Hochdeutsh. But Swiss German? I understand barely a word. And when 8 people are speaking it at once? Forget it. Here in Zürich, Hochdeutsch is the language of schools, universities, newspapers, and official business. But Swiss German is the language of the street – it’s what a neighbor will use to say hello or ask you to trim your side of the hedge, it’s what the conductor uses to announce a tram has been rerouted, it’s the language of family dinner times, etc…and every hill and valley has a different dialect. So Swiss Germans use it to sort the locals from the foreigners – foreigners being those who grew up, oh, say, 10 km away. Oh, and did I mention it’s not a written language? And it’s so variable that my husband Micha can barely understand someone from Wallis or Valais, a Swiss German and French speaking cantoN to the southwest. So how am I supposed to understand? Seriously. And me, an American from New York? I might as well be from another planet. I often feel like I am.

Anyway, I speak French or German or English at twice-weekly family dinners, but no Schweizer Deutsch (or is it “Schwyyzer Düutsch”?).

Last night we celebrated my sister-in-law’s birthday with a fabby shindig at her house. Good food, good friends, happy family – sounds like the perfect evening, right? It was! Except that everyone was speaking Swiss German. And speaking about things I want to discuss with Swiss people, like new social policies, how Zurich differs from the rest of the state, economics. But I speak (or am learning) Hochdeutsch. Everyone was chatting quickly and happily, filling and refilling glasses of wine, cutting each other off, finishing sentences, referring to old stories, news of their childhoods, etc…It was wonderful, the way conversations among friends are supposed to be. Except I basically couldn’t participate, which made me pretty damn sad. My lovely mother-in-law, Bea, sat down next to me and translated bits and pieces in Hochdeutsch, so I had some kind of clue. I don’t think she has any idea how much I appreciated the gesture. Sending big hugs her way!

Fun party, but frustration and isolation to boot.

So, rather than learn one language – isn’t that hard enough? – I must learn two. I will, it’s just a matter of time, right?

In der Fremde

scleary — Sun, 09 May 2010 19:13:41 +0000

Month 5 of my Deutsch studies began today. A different month equals different classmates, and May is no different. The two new students are…drumroll, please…Jai (sp?), about my age, originally from Syria, raised in Toronto and Amsterdam, and has lived in New Jersey. And, after learning I was from NY, surprised me by apologizing that his primary US experience is in NJ. (Poor NJ, you get such a bad rap). Prusum, meanwhile, is originally from Turkey. He married a Swiss nearly 30 years ago and has a construction company somewhere out in the ‘burbs. He works with other Turks all day, and speaks little German. He’s a stocky man with a shock of white hair and a quiet smile, like he desperately wants to share a secret he knows will make you laugh. During break, we talked about Istanbul, a city I love, and how living in lovely, calm, orderly Zürich makes us crave disorder and noise (and good kebap). I like him.

Dazed and confused

scleary — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 16:22:29 +0000

The nationwide minaret ban passed in Switzerland and my husband is as alienated and confused by his own country as I was when the US re-elected Bush in 2004. A stranger in one’s homeland. So that’s one more thing we have in common.

Cor blimey, guvnuh

scleary — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 16:20:30 +0000

To London!!! For Thanksgiving at my spectacular cousin Vivienne’s house. Not sure what we’ll do, other than play with 3-year old Stephen and drink some pints at the neighboring pub. Sounds perfect to me.

Swiss Miss

scleary — Sat, 19 Sep 2009 19:38:07 +0000

The great staff and postdocs at CGT threw me an awesome fantastic surprise going-away party. My parting gifts included Muesli, a guide to tax evasion, a cow bell and Swiss chard (inspired), a How-To-Yodel manual (with CD). I’m sure they’ve already come to regret the last – I have no fear of yodeling or of noisemaking of any kind. Thanks Rachel!

No brainer

scleary — Fri, 29 May 2009 19:42:35 +0000

A good friend is having a no-good, very bad day because…

“This girl I had been kind of seeing insisted on keeping on seeing other people, which I wasn’t wild about but also didn’t mind all that much because it wasn’t like it was serious or anything (she’s moving away in two months anyway). Now I have been downgraded because – and I’m sorry if this makes your brain pop – she found someone more “sexually compatible” (who insists on being monogamous). At first I was like, “eh,” but increasingly I am thinking that is a rather insulting thing to say to someone. Learn how to lie better, girlie!”

Clearly, she is pure evil. Second, she is an idiot. No brainer. Don’t diss my friends.

Office politics

scleary — Thu, 28 May 2009 21:09:19 +0000

One of the perks of my job is listening to Adam and Rebekkah arguing in the neighboring room. Usually, Rebekkah begins an indignant rant about a quotidian indignity and Adam follows up with baiting questions. You can tell he has a little sister…Today, it’s about street canvassers. The streets around Columbia are lined with people with laminated paper on clipboards – they look reliable, but…

R: “Like I’m going to give my credit card number to someone on street!? Usually, I’ll go to the website later and check it out, but no way!”

A: “What if they are legitimate? What if you’re walking by a perfectly sound cause? and because YOU don’t give, some kid starves?”

R: “Even if I believe them, I’m still not going to be giving them my credit card number…I’ve been looking for a way to give something to Amnesty International, but I’m not giving it to you, teeny girl on the street! I’m surprised people even walk around with $40 cash!”

A: “Well, ya, ya, I would have that kind of cash, but…”

This was one of Adam’s poorer showings. Stay tuned for more.

Backsolving

scleary — Tue, 26 May 2009 09:09:30 +0000

My mother wants to stockpile gold coins in the basement.

This is what she tells me as I make mustard vinaigrette.

“Uhhhhh…I’m sorry, but where did this idea come from?”

“Well, I was talking to a friend of your father’s…”

Uh-oh. In a nursery-school game of “telephone,” my mother would fail miserably. Accurate listening is not one of her strengths. Extreme amplification of basic points? Oh, yes! World champion!!!

“and he said…”

Uh, Mom? What do you think?

“and he said that the one thing he’d do for security today is to have $50,000 in gold coins in the house.”

Ok, ok, I can actually come up with good reasons for shifting money into commodities – real assets are the best thing to hold in an inflationary period. Duh. I know that. But why not a gold fund?

“Uh, Mom, are you sure that’s exactly what he said?”

“Yes, I’m pretty sure – he apparently does this himself.”

What you don’t know is that this friend of my father is easily a centi-millionaire, so $50,000 in gold coins hidden on his highly fortified estate is a no-brainer. It’s a little different for a widow on less than an acre who lives with her seriously disabled son with a loud, yet ineffective dog. Is she predicting social unrest? an apocalypse?

A few weeks ago, she was talking about buying a gun. Mark and I talked her out of that. So I approach these “a friend of your father” conversations carefully. Gold, guns, she is looking for security. I am trying to make sure that her security does not come at anyone else’s expense…