Attitude

Attitude is one of the more annoying defense mechanisms that I often encounter. Dismissive, high handed, just plain rude people, it seems that it is in season at the moment. Of course, my ability to ignore the Attitudinous can be amazing. Descending to their level is never appropriate as it, at least, indicates that you suffer from their fears - hardly...

Of course attitude can be very funny, which is NEVER the intent. A chuckle, shaking your head, and just walking off is often sufficient to deflate the Superior individual. (oh, my)

The necessity of silliness

My pal in Miami, the irrepressible Alexis du Bois, posted an interesting entry on his blog where he discusses savoring every last bit of silliness in any given situation. I find being silly a necessity, it is adult play -- and all work (etc.) ...

A few weeks ago I was in London and stopped into a rather elegant and busy gin joint for a jolt and I was amazed, people were laughing(!) Aside from the Palace, I seldom hear people laugh anymore in American bars -- what, you drink to be sad!?!

Silliness is often facilitated (or lubricated) by copious quantities of drink. One of the darker elements of the Dutch spirit is that if you have a couple of beers (the national tipple), and get even a bit silly, they think they can hold it against you. My response is always very American, "HA! You THINK I was drunk last night... you should have been in Moscow..." Now, the Russians, they can appreciate silly....

As the great Rosalind Russel famously opined in the authentic version of Auntie Mame, "life is a smorgasbord and most poor bastards are starving to death!" Amen!

Living on the cheap

Hump day! I am off to London early tomorrow for a day of meetings, so it really feels a bit like a Friday. And the sun is even shining...

Magnificent weekend. Perfect early spring weather. The adventureous were even shedding sweaters for T-shirts -- although that seemed a bit too optimistic to me. Still, a lovely walk along the lake Sunday and a late afternoon cocktail made for a very pleasant day. Of course, Monday awoke to rain and went to bed with it still coming down.

After only residing in my apartment for 2 weeks, I have discovered that a tram stop is 25 yards from the door and the tram goes directly to my office... (sometimes it takes a while to get a clue...) The ride is, maybe, 5 minutes longer than the train but, for whatever reason, I prefer the trams. Probably because you see more interesting stuff. By the way, if you ever come to Zurich, you can buy weekly and monthly (also annual) passes good on the trams and trains. The type of pass determines the radius that you need to stay within when using the pass. If you are a frequent traveller, the savings can be significant.

That feeds into the theme of the day, living on the cheap in an expensive place. I was working on budgets Satuday morning and was delighted with a discovery -- my outgo is down significantly from the predicted level! The thought of actually saving money is not something that I spend that much time on, but, none the less, I seem to be doing it. So, HOW? (I asked myself)

1. Rent an apartment (possible for stays as short as a week or two), at least half the price of a cheap hotel and far more comfortable.
2. Get an apartment with a kitchen and use it. I was spending pretty serious dough in restuarants every day, down about 80% (and still eating WELL).
3. Take public transport using a discounted pass, avoids parking fees and gas (approx. $6/gallon) or taxi fares.
4. Drink at home -- NO, NO, NO that is going too far... the bartenders at Cranberry need my tips to feed their starving families (yeah right, ever seen a starving Swissman? -- but that is my story!)

The savings represent a mid-4 digit number every month... ah, vacation money!

Sorry, a rant

(I will probably tweek this over time, as my own thoughts are less than complete, still, time to get started...)

I read a very interesting story in the New York Times this morning regarding wiping out Guinea Worm, a surrealistic tropical health problem whose eradication is being championed by the Carter Center. (Sorry, my rightist friends, but if they do wipe out this horrible health problem -- Jimmy deserves another Nobel!) This health issue is so ugly that my Mother would not allow a discussion of it in her parlor! (check out the article!)

Oh, and the same day there were more demonstrations against the "Great Satan". I have spent a considerable amount of time considering ignorance, evil, denial, and any number of potential problems inbetween.

American generosity (or wealth) is being spent to deal with hugely ugly world-wide health problems. Meanwhile, in the same countries, America is vilified as the Great Satan. Sorry. Satan would leave you to suffer your own problems! Guinea Worm is a problem that is so horrific that the Comte de Sade would have delighted in its symptoms.

In my view, the "Great Evil" are those that exploit the Misinformed while seeking to expand their own importance. I see these faces every day on TV News.

Another aside, where are the great fortunes of Europe and Asia?? Collecting art? Buying gigantic yachts? or airplanes? I won't go into the African or South American issues, where billionaires exist (in seclusion).

Thank God Almighty for the United States of America and the sense of responsibility to the rest of humanity that drives the Carters, the Gates, the Fords, the Rockefellers, etc. in their efforts to ease suffering in people that will never see the United States and, may very well, curse our very existence.

South Beach, going home!

Very clear this morning. We have some baby Alps in the neighborhood that are still snow covered. Today they are crystal clear, quite nice.

Eurosport is showing a snooker match. I never saw the sport before going to Amsterdam, but now I am an addict. Pool is the big game in the States, which is a good bit faster and has much less strategy. Anyway, I am amazed at the precision of the top players and can while away hours watching them hole ball after ball, perfectly happy. I am afraid my friends think I am more than a little daft (they may be right).

I am departing frigid Switzerland in a couple of weeks for a weekend trip to Miami. So, my thoughts are on South Beach today -- my little patch of paradise! I have managed to construct a totally stress-free way of life on the Beach. I once had a (pain in the back) client demanding something or other one lazy afternoon -- after I explained to him how dreadful he was acting and how little I cared, I hung up on him and never called him back (although he bugged me for several weeks with messages -- all deleted). He always paid invoices about 6 weeks late anyway.

A day on the beach usually begins about 11:30 with a walk to the Palace -- morning exercise. The Palace is a very American bar, with a very European feel - as much of their staff is European. Breakfast, I mean lunch, and a cocktail (or 3) follow. As the Palace is on the corner of Ocean Drive and 12th Street and is, basically, open air it offers superb people watching opportunities. While the beauties are always delightful, in the early afternoon it is the melange of people that provide the interest. Very large women in very small bikinis, lady street walkers, young hustlers (referred to in polite society and"youthful entrepreneurs") with their much older "investors", young daddies with little babies, Hari Krishnas singing, tourists dragging home after a very late night in the discos, etc. are all on display.

If I am not careful, breakfast can easily turn into an all day affair, as many, many friends are constantly calling in for a beverage and a chance to escape the sun. Alexis is often the Master of Ceremonies, although duties may fall to Ditmar (a dear friend from Vienna and often the day bartender) or whoever is on hand. My good friend, Randie, is a frequent visitor. A daughter of Detroit, Randie lived for many years in Rome, so, she loves a cafe life. The wife of my favorite local artist, Randie is a strong supporter of Shrub, although I think she worries that he is too liberal. Heated political conversations are guaranteed -- particularly after the 3rd cocktail. We then kiss goodbye and one of us hurries off to do something or other. It is then at least mid-afternoon and the boys and girls are taking breakes from the beach. At this time of day, it is all about flesh and the quantity and quality are both formidable. Time for another cocktail.

Where was I, oh, yes, mid-afternoon. Usually, by this time any number of locals are around and serious conversation is usually banned in favor of gossip, sexual speculation, and just having fun. By this time, the afternoon is shot and lying twitching on the floor -- time to walk home (afternoon exercise), shower and consider the evening ahead. Yep, I do love the Palace... and.South Beach

Ahh, it's Thursday

The sun came up this morning and Thursday was born. Thursday has always been my favorite day of the week. Generally by this point, I have gotten through anything heavy at work and can slow down.

A rather gray day, too bad, as the first half of the week was stunning. However, sooner or later I suspect that one has to give into the weather predictions and just let it rain. We are creeping up on the end of the month, having survived the solstice, so all is right with the world.

Had lunch yesterday with a colleague at the Brasserie Lipp. Very happy to say that it was totally satisfactory -- we just avoided the mussels. Cranberry was also in good form last evening. The manager, Mihah, has been away doing civil service, where he came down with one or more of the rather insidious viruses that thrive in crowded Europe. As a result, he was looking rather poorly upon his return. But, he is finally getting a bit of color back into his cheeks.

Sightings

There I was in a fashionable Zurich eatery enjoying a late Saturday afternoon lunch, a delicious Bernerteller (choucroute garni) and a superb Reisling from Alsace. Facing the room and in a favorite spot, I had a panoramic view of the goings on.

Across and to the left sat an expensively dressed couple. A distinguished gentleman of indeterminate age, somewhere between 75 and 100, and a very elegant, significantly younger woman, who must have been breath taking in her youth, with the most perfect makeup that I have seen in a very long time. About every 10 - 15 minutes the man would arise, place his napkin in his chair, passionately swap spit with his companion (and I use that term deliberately, if she had tonsils...) and go to the men's room (perhaps to powder his nose??). After the passion, her makeup was a mess, but she would go into quick repaire mode and would again be perfect when he reappeared.

I have known dogs to aggressively mark their territory, but...... at any rate, there was no doubt in the room that she was with him.

A minor SUCCESS!

Whenever establishing myself in a new place, there are a series of small steps that I use as occassions for celebration -- heck, if the sun comes up in the morning that alone (well that is another story.)

Today it was a bank account. The Swiss are synonymous with banking privacy and discretion and unless you're toting a Gucci steamer trunk of hard currency and are surrounded by bodyguards, it is rather difficult for a non-Swiss person to open an account.

SO, after obtaining a visa, registering with the city, and obtaining an immigration letter I bundled it all together and called in on a true Swiss institution on that most Swiss of places, Zurich's Paradeplatz. A very discrete doorman gave me a dubious look, but was certainly curteous as he was explaining the impossibility of the task. Ok, if I wanted to waste my time, I could speak with a personal counselor. A really quite lovely, young Fraulein started again, but as I presented more and more and more (and, yes, more) stamped, signed, and embossed documentation, she gave in and agreed that, yes, I was authorized an account (at the entry level.)

SO, I am now the proud holder of a Swiss Privatkonto (private bank account)!! This is really pretty important because so many transactions are cashless. To be paid, to pay rent or utilities or make any periodic payment, it all goes through cash transfers via bank accounts. No account and you are pretty much on the black economy.

Lookout Cranberry, I'm celebrating!

Sightings

There I was in a fashionable Zurich eatery enjoying a late Saturday afternoon lunch. This particular restaurant is known for their massive "plateaux du fruits de mer", seafood platters of impossible porportions served in a style usually seen in Paris. The gentleman of the couple across from me ordered their most massive platter -- over 300CHF worth of oysters, clams, lobster, crab, cockles, prawns, shrimps, etc., etc., and a very good (and expensive) bottle of champagne. He then engaged his truly striking companion in (presumably) scintillating conversation. The waitress delivered the gargantuan display of fishy goodies and discretely left. Somehow, the "gentleman" noticed that one of the many varieties of oysters was missing! He immediately summoned the waitress and loudly (and rather obsenely) dressed her down, to the point of tears, in front of the entire dining room. (Aside from his lack of social control, he was blaming her for a mistake made in the kitchen)

Karma being what it is, 500CHF worth of lunch intended to impress a lady, was down the drain... His beautiful companion was searching for an exit!

Oh, really... you're an "expert"?

Because I am basically a cynic, I find black humor in dealing with Swiss HR people, who are always "experts". Ask a question and you can just never predict what the answer will be. The old barb "ask 3 people and get 5 answers" seems to be the norm.

Which brings me to the real issue, "experts" in my chosen field of pursuit. I work in information risk management and have for much longer than is probably healthy. A client recently asked me for a simple test for an "information risk management expert". I do have one (of course). I said, "ask him or her to define the term "risk"", and I, naturally, provided my definition "the likelihood of damage as a result of an active threat exploiting an existing vulnerability." I have often used this test myself and have only found 3 individuals out of the hundreds interviewed that could come close enough to win a cigar (or a job). So much for self proclaimed experts, and it is usually the simplest questions that trip them up. However, now that I have exposed my test, I will probably have to come up with another one....... hmmmmm

I do have a similar test for determining bartender competence, "a very dry Sapphire martini, up with olives, please", even if he or she fails the test, you could still end up with a tasty result -- but it is not guaranteed (ahhh, living with risk).

There's that sun again!

A hazy morning in the valley, but as I have a bit of altitude, blazing sunlight is filling my apartment. A most satisfying start to the day. I began attempting to re-program a Star Wars DVD for English, but decided that was too much like work and showered instead. Ah, well. I can certainly use the German lesson.

Today's entry is about language and a very common American misunderstanding of the use of language in Europe. I first moved to Europe in the late 1970's. Among the university educated the use of English then was possible, if not common. Today, English has become the lingua franca of business and only farm boys and girls from remote areas lack a superb use of my mother tongue (often embarassingly superb, as they are not shy when pointing out my mistakes.) Therefore, at least in Western Europe, Americans should have no concern that they will struggle in hotels, restaurants or shops. By the way, even though restaurants often provide English language menus, the translation can be quite amusing, so a phrase book still does have its utility.

Now, having said that English is nearly ubiquitous, there is a protocol. Europeans can be quite emotional and many consider the workplace to be an extension of the home. Manners are mandatory. Whenever entering, good manners dictate that you say hello in the native language. Further, if you have been there before, shaking hands is usual. The European kissing formality if often ignored if you are a known American -- we do have our issues -- however, it is usual depending on the relationship. Never, never, enter anywhere and begin to address someone in English! The reception will too often be extremely negative. Hence, the reputation for Europeans to be reluctant to speak English. Of course, you still do run into people who do not speak anything other than their native language, in which case a sense of deprecation and humor always works -- in a shop, a smile, pointing at what you want, and a raised finger or two (careful with the fingers) for quantity is usually sufficient. Sorry, doesn't work if you need directions (that phrase book again).

Which brings us to Switzerland. Switzerland was formed as a melting point of territories from its large, powerful neighbors -- Germany, Austria, France and Italy and the native languages are still used. For example, do not speak German to a resident of Geneve (French)! In addition, nearly every valley still has its own dialect. Swiss German is a language, that I am told has no written representation, therefore, it is a trick to learn. Normally, German speakers speak High German, which is used univesally in schools in Germany. However, I have met middle aged Swiss who only speak Swiss German. At first I thought this was some bizarre form of nationalism, but several have convinced me of their sincerity. At any rate, communication remains more of an art than anything else. Good luck!

Quiet Saturday

One of the nice things about being settled is the luxury of a quiet day. No scheduled events, no special projects, just doing small things at whatever pace seems appropriate. This probably is not a Swiss thing. In the streets, I maintain a steady pace, but I am frequently passed by women in heels rushing here and there. The city itself imposes a schedule on you, as you ride public transportation (tram or train), make reservations in restaurants, etc. If you did get behind, I suppose you would find yourself rushing from place to place. Very reminescent of New York...

It is grey in Zurich today. After yesterday's blazing sun, it is something of a let down. As it is quite chill as well, it does seem doubtful that I will exit today. Swiss cheeses and French wine sounds like a great solution to boredom.

Cranberry

The bar Cranberry has become "my local" in Zurich and more often than not I will pop around for a cocktail or two on the way home.

Not wanting to break with tradition, after work last evening, I took myself (and kidney stone -- which as far as I can tell departed the scene this morning (YEA!!)) across the river to the Neiderdorf neighborhood and called in at Cranberry. Some years ago, the owner, Ivan, spent some time in the US and admired American cocktail bars, so, when the opportunity arose to open such a place in Zurich, he jumped on it and Cranberry was born.

More recently he has discovered the Happy Hour double cocktail. A massive and marvelous invention. Liquor is quite expensive in Europe in general and Switzerland specifically. However, when you double the volumn, the price is roughly equivalent to a Miami pub (just remember how many you have consumed!). But that is not what this entry is really about.

I often refer to the Swiss as happy but shy. They think of themselves as not wanting to intrude into other people's lives -- nonsense! they're just shy. If you take the initiative and begin the conversation, they are, more often than not, quite happy to continue it. Not shrinking from starting a conversation, I have met some very nice people in Cranberry and learned much about the Swiss in the process. Last night was particularly rich in locals, so it was a very nice, social evening. Very welcome as I was feeling miserable, and the best way to get over that is a good laugh.

Daddy, make it go away

Oh, lord, a kidney stone and a good one at that. What did I do to deserve this? Well, it only hurts when I breathe or move or (whatever!) Part of getting old. I am just hoping that this too will pass....

Spaced out in the local grocer last evening and left a set of rather important papers in the shopping basket. Large store, lots of baskets. Anyway, they're gone... Just not my week. Thank God for fax machines!

Another lovely day in Zurich. May be my imagination, but the city seems quite free of the usual city dirt, smog, whatever, therefore, when the sun shines, it is remarkable. Now, if it would just warm up 30 degrees (F) or so!

Politics were usually on the table in my parents' home, therefore, to keep up I grew up paying attention to the news. Anyway, a US Senator, Russ Feingold, has introduced a censure resolution against Shrub (my pet name for our President -- a little Bush). Doesn't help that His Honorableness is a Dem in a Rep Senate, so he is getting considerable grief. I am rather torn on this issue. As a mid-western kind of guy, I don't appreciate a President that seems to have no regard for law (or honor) and certainly he will never be invited to sit at my table for Sunday dinner. However, I witnessed the mess with Mr. Clinton (who can come over for chow anytime), and I really think that when we pick a Smuck for President we're stuck with him for four years (when we can switch to a different Smuck or simply a good guy). Makes one long for a British system where a no confidence vote means just that. The recent approval rating polls continue to point south (I believe the most recent was 36%). Seems headed for Nixon territory -- if that happens, impeachment, not censure, may be the next move on the board... To steal a line from Lord of the Rings, "how do we come down to this"?

I am seriously missing South Beach. My friends are all deeply involved in organizing, or orchestrating may be the better term, the upcoming nuptuals. Of course I get regular reports, but it is just not the same as being there! For some bizarre reason, it reminds me of an old Fitzgerald story. F. Scott was more than a bit of a lady's man. One day he was having a drink (or 10) with Hemingway in the bar at the Ritz Hotel. A strikingly beautiful woman entered and sat alone at a table. Ever resourceful, Mr. Fitzgerald ordered a dozen orchids from the hotel's florist be sent to her table. When they arrived, she waved them away. Fitzgerald, sobbing heavily, proceeded to eat them. (He was later seen leaving the lady's room...)

Don't be frightened, it is just the sun

The sun is out and there is a rumor that snow is melting... Actually, I am being a bit of a drama queen. Aside from the remnants of the great dump of 4/5 March, every thing else that has fallen disappeared rather quickly. Thank the heavens!

I am missing one of the great social events of the year in South Beach, the wedding of Mrs. Astor to Mr. Ivy this weekend. I will have to raise a glass of celebratory champagne and face west at the appropriate hour. Best of luck and wishes for every happiness to the happy couple!

Ahh home cooked food

At last I have a (very teeny) functioning kitchen! Friday I raided the first class butcher near my office. Aside from steaks (USDA Prime!) and chops, I picked up prosciutto, mortadella, pate, smoked trout, cheeses, olives, several prepared salads, and bread. A further visit to the green grocer and I was set. Therefore, I am now indulging in classic Swiss breakfasts of cold cuts, cheese, yoghurt, fruit, etc. and giant weekend lunches. My favorite was assembled Sunday, a massive double cut T-bone steak (in the Florentine style) that I pan fried (lacking an oven or a broiler) and topped with a red wine pan sauce with wild mushrooms. About my weekly allotment of protein in one meal, but SO comforting to a guy who grew up in Iowa.

It is still snowing in Zurich, quite heavily yesterday and with considerably less enthusiasm today. It appears that the winter of 2006 will never end... Let's get past March!! In the spirit of the season, I propose the Artic Kiss as the drink of the week (2 parts vodka to 3 parts champagne (or sparkling wine)). After a couple, you forget about the weather... (thanks to the bartenders of Cranberry for the recipe)

As it is late winter, very little of note is happening in the Alps. As I lack the kit to do any winter sports, I continue to wait for a decent thaw before ascending the heights. Still it is scenic, viewing snow blanketed mountains across Lake Zurich (from the comfort of a warm and cozy pub, hot toddy in hand.)

Zurich (again)

After a short stay in Geneva, I am once more in Zurich. Arrived Saturday in a driving blizzard and have been struggling through the snow clogged streets since. It did rain beginning yesterday afternoon and ending mid-morning, which reduced the problem somewhat.

Initially bunked at the Hotel Europe, an old favorite and very easy to recommend. I am not a fan of their restaurant and have been revisiting old haunts. Zurich is never cheap, but whatever you buy is usually of very high quality. Stopped in at the Brasserie Lipp the other night, probably my favorite spot in the city. Sorry to say it must have been an off night. Should have said something, but I paid and fled -- quite disappointed.

Aside from the late winter weather, Zurich is, as always, extremely civilized. The great American cocktail bar, Cranberry, is still pouring massive cocktails, the trams are running on time, and the richest people in the world are, well, still the richest people in the world!

Have moved into a small, furnished suburban apartment. Rather spartan, however, OK given that I will only be here for 4 months (or so). It is also a relative bargain, which is quite OK. Fortunately, the apartment is located a block from a train station. Trains come and go about every 10 minutes to Zurich's main station. Therefore, commute time is minimal. There are also trams, but the travel time is much longer.

When in Zurich ensure that you try the bratwurst -- a white (politically incorrect, veal) sausage usually served with a rich onion gravy and potato pancakes (rosti). A local speciality and quite satisfying with a glass of local wine. (lunch time!)

Marseilles

I have been in Marseilles for 2 days and have compared the city to an armpit -- I fear that I have been guilty of sliming body parts. Still every pit has its bright spots.

Another absolutely stunning dinner at a wonderfully retro eatery. Le Julien will never be confused with a Michelin 3-star, however, it is not the food that will be involved in the comparison. Service from the husband and wife owners is charming, the (all French, heavily local) wine list is filled with stunning values, and the classic (haut) cuisine menu is like going home to Grandma's for Sunday dinner (if Grandma was a gourmet cook). Tonight's rather simple menu: house made foie gras (as good as any that I have had anywhere), confit of duck (back quarter -- of course!), local cheeses, and a flan with strawberries was so sublime that I nearly stayed and ate again. Better sense gained the day and I bundled up to stumble home... which following the complementary Vieux Marc du Bandol (an aged local brandy) was more urgent than necessary on its face.

I still do not understand lighting in the restuarants in this part of France -- way too bright. However, the light jazz and pop on the stereo is exactly to my taste, the food is so homey that I want to lick the plates, and the service is so friendly that you feel like you have known the people all your life (and you don't even speak the same languages!!)

Do you care? Rating: Highly recommended (8 of 10). Food: 8 of 10; Service: 9 of 10; Ambiance: 5 of 10; Generosity: 8 of 10. Le Julien, 114 rue Paradise, 13006 Marseille, +33-4-91-37-06-22 (drop the 33 and and substitute it with a preceding 0 if calling within France)

Marseilles rating: Sorry, come if you're compelled to do so. (3 of 10)

The Soapbox (just an side) -- I do understand "confit" -- a meat poached or more simply, cooked, in its own fat and then grilled to crispen the skin, but I have a picky point with chef's co-opting terms. When last in Miami, I was presented with a confit of tomatoes, another time a confit of onions, and finally a confit of garlic -- none of which are known as producing any fat of their own, nor is the end product grilled. I must be missing something somewhere... Oh, yes, also confit du canard implies the duck providing the legs was raised for foie gras meaning that it has produced a good deal of subdural fat and was larger than normal. Certainly, it does not mean some scrawny fowl unfortunate enough to end up in the hands of an ambitious chef with clients who don't know the difference! (fortunately, the people at Le Julien did know the difference!)

Hello!

This blog is under development. I have spent the last five years pretty much on constant travel. I am getting quite tired of losing email addresses, phone numbers, etc. -- or my friends and acquaintences are just trying to escape me, either way this seems an attractive alternative. I need to acquire a digital camera to do much with the site, so it will remain a work in progress for several weeks (2 March 2006) to come.