Right now, I'm munching on 400g of Birchermüesli. It's full of Weizen and Haferflocken and fruit and yogurt and other good things. We like Birchermüesli.
We don't like, so much, the jetlag. I actually went through a 4-hour workshop at what was, for me, 2 in the morning. No one in the room knew how close I was to leaping onto the table and doing a brief, stumbling jig before collapsing into unconsciousness and crushing the LCD projector.
But I got through it. Afterwards I staggered over to Palavrion and had myself some Kalbknackwurst, which is, essentially, a giant hot dog. A really good giant hot dog. With onion sauce--no, mit Zweibelsosse. Zweibel is my most favorite of all German words, say it with me: zveebel. How can you not like saying that? Second favorite is Kartoffel, meaning potato, and my good giant hot dog came with some of those, too, shredded and fried up a treat. Add to that a couple of decilitres of the good Swiss white wine--they sell it by the dl, rather than the fat American quantity that we call a glass, and 1dl is clearly marked on the glass so you know you're getting what you pay for--and you've got yourself a fine meal for the semi-conscious.
And, of course, I had to get some of the famous Mövenpick ice cream, even though I really, really needed to collapse: a scoop of pistachio and a scoop of Crème Brûlée, a really fine flavor.
Then it was off, through the rain, back to my small hotel room to feel sorry for myself and alone. But it was, I think, the exhaustion. This morning I feel much more adventurous. That, and full of the good Swiss coffee they've got at the office...so superior to the watery horror that is Flavia.
First impressions: they have graffiti in Switzerland. I had assumed that the Swiss were all about ultra-clean hyperefficiency, with none of that sort of nonsense. Ever. I expected there to be a squad of fully trained and licensed graffito-wäschers who would spring into action the moment paint touched concrete, insuring that it would mar the clean wall for mere moments. But there it was, familiar and urban as my taxi crept along in Zurich traffic.
There's construction going on everywhere around the office, further blurring the line between here and New York...downtown Manhattan has had its streets torn up for three years, now. The difference is, here they'll get everything they need to do completed the first time around and won't disturb the asphalt for another decade. In New York, they'll do the job, repave, and then tear it up again in a year to do something else that they should've done while they were mucking about the first time around.
Friendly and helpful people who speak English abound. I'm a bit reticent to use my rusty German, but I spend time listening to the television (note to self: regale readers with descriptions of Weird Swiss Cartoons) and to other people, so I can better shape my ümläüts and such.
Further bulletins as events and dining warrant...
