Using the Language

For the most part, America is hopelessly monolingual. Sure immigrants and their children move to the US from all over the world and speak thousands of different languages at home, but English is the only language necessary for integration. Thus when a language other than English is used in public in America, it is always done with a specific purpose.

For instance, in giving a French restaurant a French name such as, C'est Bon, the owner wishes to convey much more than the fact that they serve decent French dishes. A French name also implies elegance, fine quality and even romance, attributes that any restaurant owner would want associated with his/her dining establishment. Almost anything, store names, clothing and everyday speech sound more sophisticated and appealing in French. After all, who would buy a muffin from The Baker when you could buy one at Le Boulanger?

And it seems to me (leave a comment if you disagree or have another idea), that if saying it in French can make something more stylish, then saying it in Spanish can make it more fun. My friends and I used to meet at a bar called Tres Gringos for happy hour when we had spent too many unhappy hours in our classrooms. Now, 'tres gringos' literally means three white guys and that title wouldn't entice anyone to stop in for drinks. But in America, Tres Gringos means 'we may not have the most authentic food, but we've got tequila aplenty and we'll serve it to anyone, especially gringos.' Playfully add some espanol to your evite and suddenly everyone wants to come to your fiesta. See what I mean?

I started thinking about how we use languages other than English in the US because I wonder why and for what purpose people use English in Switzerland. A lot of the graffiti here in Zurich is in English and it saddens me a little bit, but mostly I'm curious. Am I just not noticing graffiti in other languages because 'f*** you' stands out a bit more than foreign swear words that I don't know? Do the Swiss resort to English because their own language, Swiss German, is only oral? When I saw the words 'the end for you' spray painted on a building yesterday I wondered whether the artist/vandal wanted to be understood by the international community or whether he was explicitly targeting English speakers. Criticisms of Bushy are plentiful over here so I had to wonder if 'the end for you' referred to the American president.

If French = refined and Spanish = fun for English speakers, what does English mean for the rest of the world? There are a lot of stores and restaurants here with English names and I wonder what their owners hoped to express by using English. My guess is that English makes something more cosmopolitan, hipper, more modern and more universal. I wish I could back this up with examples, but for now this is just a feeling. Over the course of this year, I will pay special attention to the use of English here in Switzerland and report back later. Julie, your thoughts would be appreciated. Everyone else should see Julie's post about 'ridiculous English.'

Oh, Sh*t Moment: S.N.O.W. (Seldom Nice, Only Wet)

I met a fellow Cal grad last night who moved to Zurich in July. "The food is worse, but the trams and buses are better," she summarized, "it's not that different than home. I haven't had one of those 'oh, sh*t I'm living in another country' moments. Have you?" While brushing ice off my coat I replied, "I think it was just now. This is my first experience with snowy weather."

Okay, I haven't been completely deprived (or spoiled, depending on how you look at it). I've been to places where there was snow on the ground; I attempted snowboarding recently and even have vague memories of sledding in Big Bear as a kid. But this is something different and painfully new. I'm not vacationing in a winter wonderland, snow stings my face as I walk out my front door. I live in a place where it snows.

To be completely honest, I do remember snow falling once in Scotland. I was entranced by the sight of it and unnerved by its lack of sound. The snow in Edinburgh didn't accumulate, though, and even if it had, I wouldn't have had to deal with it. My responsibilities as a university exchange student were so limited that I barely had to leave the dorm and get out from under the duvet.

I can't hide under the covers here, though. Remember my last post, the one glorifying my commute? That was pre-snow. Add downy flake to that pretty little picture and the reality of my commute becomes much icier and less serene. How can I gaze at the Alps and listen for farm animals when I'm struggling not to slide face first down the road? I slipped and fell to my knees once today and had two other close calls. The perks of being a live-in au pair are few, but I'll add waking up at work to the list.

The danger inherent in leaving the house now summons a lot of questions for me that are probably no-brainers for those who grew up with snow. How are you supposed to walk in this stuff? I am asking this in all seriousness. Are you supposed to adapt your gait to the slippery conditions or do you just hover over a handrail? Are you supposed to slow down or am I just wearing the wrong shoes? How did my mom deal with mountains of this stuff as a kid in Buffalo in the pre-polartech days? What did Mickey think when he first moved from India? Does Holly still wear heels in the slush?

I wouldn't be surprised if people continued to wear weather inappropriate clothing despite the recent snow fall. Yesterday evening, when Zurich got its first taste of snow for the year, I looked around to see how people would react. I wanted to approach people, shake them and say 'it's snowing! Can you believe this?! What are we supposed to do?' But the people on the streets didn't seem to even notice the falling powder. They walked around with their heads uncovered and carried on as if ice in your face is normal. I never really understood what it meant when people said that California didn't have seasons until now. It blows my mind that I will walk these presently icy streets in flip flops come July.

If you have experience with the white stuff and can offer some helpful tips, please leave a comment. Also comment if you have a better acronym for S.N.O.W.

The Commute

Most days I walk to and from work in darkness. Before 7am, Zurich and the S Bahn are bustling, but the little town on the hill, cozy under a blanket of morning fog, is just waking.

I cross quieter roads and busier streets on my way to the train station. Terrified of being hit by the tram, I look both ways several times before crossing the crowded boulevard, and as I do, I pass young school children sporting bright orange reflecting sashes who seem unconcerned with oncoming traffic. Do those sashes come in adult sizes? Before I reach the train station, a brightly lit bakery tempts me with its fresh brot (bread), chocolate croissants, and other delicious pastries. The promise of free Farmer Flocs, a brand of muesli, only minutes away helps me resist.

The train pulls into the station on the hour and it takes eleven minutes to reach my destination, without fail. If it were light outside, I would notice the landscape change from city to suburb and from suburb to forest as we quickly ascend the mountain.

I’ve never lived in a city as big as Zurich and yet I’ve never lived in a community that felt so small. We cannot go into town without bumping into Zooglers and it never ceases to surprise me that I see the same people on the train day after day. I sit across the aisle from a young couple holding hands on their way to high school. I stare at them and wonder whether or not they speak English and how long they’ve been together.

Because my route is the reverse commute, very few passengers remain when I leave the train. Sometimes, I am the only one who gets off at my stop. It is indeed a stop and not a station as only a shelter, some maps and schedules and a sign distinguish it as a place at all along the railroad tracks. As I descend a steep hill on an unpaved road, I often must hold my hood at my neck to prevent the wind from blowing it off. Strict Swiss rules prohibit most cars and trucks from using this road, so I walk in its dead center. If it were light, I would see green hills ahead and the snow covered Alps on the horizon.

To my right, I pass a small football pitch and then a school yard littered not with children (it’s too early), but with farm animals. The bunnies are still asleep in their hutch, but the geese and hens are already up and pecking at the grass. I’d like to imagine that the proud crow of the rooster serves as an old fashioned alarm clock for the neighbors nearby, but this street is filled with families and the babies’ cries probably do a more effective job of waking the world than the rooster ever could. School doesn’t begin for an hour, but a couple of classroom lights are on and I can see dedicated teachers preparing their lessons. I think lovingly of my mother and friends who, though an ocean and nine time zones away, will rise and also prepare to nurture young minds.

I was once that teacher; the one who drives to work in the dark to meet the educational challenges of the day. Now I am an au pair and though I still commute in the dark, I do so without anxiety. I needn’t plan creative lessons nor teach any content to twenty children; I only have to feed and entertain two. It isn’t heroic and it isn’t intellectually stimulating, but I have time to reflect on this commute and that is a good thing.

Global Reaction

In an effort to expand my social network, I met up with fellow au pairs at their weekly Starbucks gathering the other night. I brought along my new friend Hannah who also works as an au pair for a family up the road from my host family. The other au pairs (who I connected with via a publication for parents in Zurich called The New Stork Times) instantly loved Hannah. The two girls from Canada are avid snowboarders and were making dates to hit the slopes with Hannah as soon as they learned that she also snowboards. I couldn't help but feel a little left out because as a southern Californian, I've only seen snow a handful of times and cannot imagine doing anything as graceful, quick or cool as snowboarding in it. I feel a sense of accomplishment when I walk through snow or simply tolerate it for more than a couple of minutes. It is kind of ironic that I, someone with little experience with snow and no talent for sports, now live in the ski capital of the world.

Anyway, no one could resist Hannah's kiwi charm and while I hadn't won over any new friends yet, I had brought like-minded au pairs together. Sadly though, my feelings of pride turned to guilt when Hannah's purse was stolen in front of our eyes at the Starbucks. I said in front of our eyes, but none of us saw it happen. We were engrossed in conversation when Hannah looked for her bag in the place she had left it only two minutes ealier and noticed it was gone.

The thief probably saw us five young women speaking English and figured we were rich tourists and easy targets. I wanted to tell him/her, 'hey, buddy (buddy means friend, but read it as 'jerk' here), we're not tourists. We live and work here so go rob someone else.' Isn't that strange that I wanted a low-life thief to know we weren't tourists? That in itself deserves a separate post. In any case, it was hard to imagine that someone would cause another person so much shock and hassle for 45 Swiss francs and a cell phone.

Though I felt badly for Hannah, I was fascinated by how the different au pairs responded to the purse situation. Perhaps it is unfair to let these individuals speak for their nations, but let's see where this goes.

See the next post.

Global Reaction Part II

Let us begin with Canada. The two Canadian au pairs who witnessed the theft responded with concern and sympathy. In fact, they both hugged Hannah even though it was the first time they had met. These gals were as sweet as real Canadian maple syrup; O Canada!

The German au pair applauded Hannah for not panicking. She said she knew other people (I think she even said 'Americans') who would have freaked out and made things worse. I admit that Hannah played it cool, but isn't this one of the times you are allowed to panic? I understand why they tell you not to panic before taking a test or visiting the gyno; if you don't, things won't go, well, smoothly. A stolen purse, however, is another matter. A woman's whole life is in her handbag. In Hannah's case, this life included cosmetic items that she had to surrender to customs on her way over from New Zealand and then repurchase. Buying them a third time would have been infuriating and I think we should let the girl panic. It may not bring her bag back, but it just might give her enough adrenaline to do something cool like run for miles without stopping. Okay, maybe not.

Like I said, Hannah handled the situation very well and even laughed through the tears. One might expect someone from down under to say, 'no worries, mate,' and then drink another beer. Hannah's reaction was more realistic, however; she took the appropriate actions by going to the police and reporting the incident. She later said that she felt naive because New Zealand is so safe.
If I had been Hannah, the Swiss reaction would have made me want to hit someone. The Swiss told her that she wasn't the first victim of a purse snatching and told her stories about how much worse it had been for other people they knew. 'Who cares about those other people?' is what I wanted to shout on Hannah's behalf. She was the victim and her belongings were valuable to her. The Swiss even made fun of her for having, and then losing, ten lipsticks from her bag. I guess this passes for consolation in this country. At least now if I become the victim of a crime, I know who I won't come crying to.

I did my best to represent Team USA by giving Hannah all the cash I could spare and maintaining a grim composure out of respect for her situation. Unlike the Swiss, I believe you can't be the one to initiate jokes about someone else's misfortune in order to make them feel better. I was thinking I could tell Hannah, 'well, now you can go shopping for a new handbag,' but I'm saving that until the time is right.

* Update * The police found Hannah's handbag and returned it to her. The cash, cell phone and a chocolate bar were missing (my god they love their chocolate here), but her IDs, address book and snakeskin wallet were still there.