What the hell did I commit to?

Ok, I was gonna wait until the end of my nine day stay in Zurich to write a blog, but I think I have enough material after only three.

I’m shocked at how RIDICULOUSLY expensive stuff is here. At this particular moment, I don’t give a crap because CS will suck up all of my expenses – wait, hold on a second, let me get another beer from mini-bar – Ok, I’m back. Check this out. A regular Whopper meal at Burger King – are you ready? 10 Swiss Francs. No, try again. 12 Swiss Francs. Wrong. It’s 15 Swiss Francs.

Oh, alright, well you have to take the exchange rate into account, right? It’s 1.05 at the moment. So 15 Swiss = 14.30 USD…for a fucking Whopper, a very small fry and a 12 oz. iceless, practically-bubbleless cup of soda.

And here’s the kicker. I don’t know about you, but with a meal of that magnitude, I’m a three to four ketchup kind of a guy. They’re twenty cents each. So all told, I’m looking at over $15 for something that is like $7 in New York City.

But wait there’s more. You figure that outside Zurich, it might be a little better, like it is on let’s say Long Island. It’s not.

I got lost wandering around (much more on this later) a suburban area called Ruschlikon (every town here ends with the suffixes of kon, wil, berg or dorf) yesterday while looking at prospective housing. I found a Chinese restaurant at lunchtime and proceeded to have a spring roll, Kung Pow Chicken and two Diet Cokes – 55 Swiss. At least they didn’t charge me for the fucking duck sauce.

I’m not sure what I’m gonna do. I thought moving here would be boon to my organization and I was going to finally be able to save some dough. But with these prices, it’s just nuts. Gas is like eight bucks a gallon, so getting a car is probably out too. I guess I’ll get the hugest-ass flatscreen I can find and sit around, eating sardine sandwiches for the next two years. They say the tax situation helps out some, but we’ll see.

*****

So, I get off the bus in the suburbs of Zurich in a place called Kilchberg. Now, don’t get me wrong this place and all like it right next to The Lake, is beautiful. The water is brilliant and blue and on the other side of the water, you can see thousands of Hansel and Gretel-esque houses embedded in the hills. As far as the side I’m on, I have to now find the particular embedded house on some tucked away street called Kastenlenweg. It’s raining lightly and and I’m in my typical Zipper uniform of hooded sweatshirt, sneakers and jeans. I have the map, but I first have to cross the grounds of a chocolate factory (not making this up). Fine, I’m in the neighborhood.

Now you have to imagine that all these streets and houses are not laid out in any pattern. They’re just all over the place at all different angles and topographies. I’m trying to follow the map, but I keep running into people’s yards. When this happens, I have to back track up or down a hill, so as to not trespass. After the fifth time, I’m like ‘Fuck it, I’m cutting through this guy’s yard. What’s he gonna do, shoot me? So now I’m hopping fences and making moves in the open field like I did when I was 10.

I’m streaking through one yard, and hop another fence and all of sudden this guy opens his back door. I stop. We just sort of stare at each other like that scene in Saving Private Ryan, when the Nazi walks down the steps after stabbing the American and meets that little translator guy named Upham. This lasted for a few seconds and I say in the most non-threatening way “Kastenlenweg 6?!?” He slams closed the door with nary a word or even the slightest lip curl. I continue and finally find Kastenlenwegstrasse. But where the hell is #6?

I see 5 and 7, but no 6. I’m now skulking around the grounds, and to the outside eye, looking more or less like a cat burglar. The rain is getting harder.

Suddenly, from the second story of Kastenlenweg 5, these french door windows blast open and a big old Swiss-German hausfrau starts yelling at me - “Aus dem Weggehen!”, “Aus dem Weggehen!”, which I gather to mean ‘Get off my property, you silly, confused and possibly dangerous Jew’. Again, I use the brilliant and battle-tested “Kastenlenweg 6?!?” defense. This time however, I get another “Aus dem Weggehen!”, which leads me to believe that she still wants me either off the property or maybe even better, dead.

I shout “Bernie Kobel” (the guy I’m supposed to meet and I think also the name of the guy who played the unfunny doctor on The Love Boat). She says something else in German in an equally unfriendly tone and I get the hell out of there. So much for that apartment.

******

I’m enjoying a nice outing in the hotel gym the other day. This place is a little different then most hotel gyms. It’s more of spa type thing. Tanning beds, meditation rooms, candles all over the place, etc, etc.

After my workout, I take a dip in the hot tub for a few and then decide to bake in the sauna a little while. I like going in there to dry my bathing suit anyway. This is not the good part of the story, by the way.

So I’m sitting in there and some deiterschmitt comes in there to adjust something. He spots me and tells me to please remove my ‘swim trousers’. First of all, I don’t like it when a man, especially some skinny little Euro-fag, tells me to remove my swim trousers. Second of all, I don’t feel like being naked in there. I’ve always been hazy on sauna etiquette, but I kinda thought it was naked-optional.

I tell him I’m leaving in a few minutes, I just want to dry the trousers out a little longer. He says they will dry faster if they are off. Ok, so you’re a lockerroom attendant/physicist, dickhead. I stand up and start to comply. Just as my bathing suit is at knee level and my shriveled unit (please remember I was in the hot tub) is exposed, two pretty cute NAKED girls walk in. As is only natural, they immediately see my recessed knob. People can’t help looking at what they usually don’t have access too – just as I looked good and hard at all four of their tits for as long as I could without getting thrown out of the hotel. I felt I was warranted in that due to the embarrassment I just suffered. I know Costanza had this happen to him, but that was a fictional situation. This was real life. And yes in case you were wondering, that was the reason I ordered the Kung-pow chicken that day. I guess I learned the (not so) hard way that the saunas are coed over here.

**********

Other crazy things over here:

Everything is shut tight on Sundays.

They take a 15 minute intermission in the middle of a movie (a big sign comes on the screen that says ‘Time for Ice Cream’, with requisite cartoon characters).

A passenger can get on a train or bus without a ticket and take a chance on not getting asked for one. I’ve been here three times and on the train probably 20 times and have not been asked. That’s 60 bucks wasted and the fine is 50 if you’re caught...hmmmm.