This morning I walked a mile and a half in the pre-dawn dark past the office here in order to find a supermarket that advertised a "free from" line, which is generally how you find gluten-free products in Europe. The rain was pretty bad and there are no umbrella sellers on the streets of Zurich and I hadn't thought to pack one, so I turned up the collar of my coat and tucked my trousers into my socks. I watched people on the trams go by (I do not know where to buy a ticket; when I ask questions, I am shoo'd out of stores, with irritation or, if I am with my non-white colleagues, with fear); they seemed dour and sad, but then, who wouldn't be on a rainy Monday morning before the sun was up?
I walked past schools and watched teachers write the days lessons on the boards at only 7am. I wondered when they had gotten there. And I walked past churches; there were more bells, but they did not echo and reverberate as they did in the city center; I am given to understand that some of my colleagues here go to church twice a day, every day. By the supermarket there was what I thought to be a bar open -- all dim and red lit, a woman drinking in the window. It was 7:20am. Eventually, I realized she was a sex worker. I watched her as I waited for the supermarket to open, and people came up to me and asked me where the recycling for bottles was. I knew this only because they were holding bags of empty bottles. I told them I did not know, and those that would speak to me always switched to English without surprise, as if someone who spoke no German might still clearly know
this thing. I suppose the financial industry brings a lot of English speakers here. I am wearing a waistcoat, so maybe I look like a boy done well for himself in finance; I don't know.
At the supermarket they had a very limited Free From selection, and most of it was either free from sugar or free from dairy. I bought more cheese and cured meats (which I enjoy madly, but don't like to eat so much of because of cancer risks and heart disease), some chocolate custard, some orange juice, some rice cakes coated in dark chocolate, and the cheapest Red Bull ever (CHF 1.20). I put it all in the sack Patty lent me before I left NY for my extra carry-on items. It was hard finding my way around the supermarket. I did not understand the organizational logic, and this feeling I've had of people viewing me with suspicion here only increased as I roamed the store.
After, the map I had memorized in my head failed me in getting to the office, so I popped into a Starbucks in hopes of free Wi-Fi. The Starbucks here are prohibitively expensive. The one by the train depot sells the small hot chocolate for CHF 8.10. Here it was only CHF 6.90. The woman at the counter asked me milsch or nes (I know the spelling of neither); I assumed milsch meant milk and that nes would be dark or bitter cocoa and ordered that. Since it was to stay, it came in a ceramic mug and had foamed milk on top, after I somehow understood when the shop girl said in German with a wrinkling nose "you don't want whipped cream on
that, do you?" -- I never do, so I nodded.
I have never been so grateful for a stupid Starbucks hot cocoa in all my life. I was wet and tired; I'm still jet-lagged; I'm sick of being looked at as an idiot child or derisively being called a Jew; I have too much work to do; food hear is nearly impossible for me; and as I said in email to more than one person this morning, if I were Ianto Jones, I'd be in tears by now. But there was free wi-fi and cocoa, and I reviewed my map and was able to find the office. I had chocolate covered rice cakes and orange juice for breakfast, and I just ate garlic sausage as a snack.
At work, making decent progress and with a window to look out of. The day is still dismal, but the rain as at least stopped. I'm frustrated being here as the work I am doing is all on my laptop and I could be out seeing Zurich, but that wouldn't be cool. I hope it will not be impolitic to leave at a decent hour so that I may see more of the city tonight. I hope my coat is dry by then.
Despite, or perhaps because of all of this, I find it remarkably odd and wonderful that I am here. When my parents took me to Italy as a young teen, I understood that trip to be a once in a lifetime thing for all of us. It turned out not to be of course. There was a decade when my parents went to Paris every year, until my father became more frail and the anti-Semitism made my mother uncomfortable. And I have seen Australia and Ireland and returned to Italy. Now I'm here. And will go to England once, maybe twice next year. Patty and I will be hitting a few countries in the Caribbean in January, and she of course, sees the world as I haven't yet. It is remarkable to me to have these opportunities. Sure I come from a family of social climbers, but it wasn't suppose to work.
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