Anyone that's familiar with the TV show 'Desperate Housewives' (or really any tv drama that once was decent but has long since run its course) knows that it's a world filled with secrets, deception, and gossip. Welcome to Yens, Switzerland.
It's become understood that there's some sort of drama amongst the wives (or host mothers, as our case presents) of Yens, but none of the students can quite figure it out. Most of our knowledge of the drama comes from off-handed comments, most of which are probably unintentional but all too divulging of a relationship packed with stories. I guess the best way to do this would be to first give a character summary of sorts (not going to name names here)...
First off, the main characters, family #1. Mother with a particularly "strong" personality who can be heard from a mile away and makes her opinions apparently known to more than just those in her house. Excellent chef but not satisfied until you've taken at least 3 servings. Known as the person stealing food off the bar for a certain canine companion brought to the host family Raclette dinner (side note: a Swiss tradition-giant wheel of cheese under a flame, scrape the top layer of the melted cheese off the top, eat with boiled potatoes. Heaven.). And the person who supposedly chased someone's daughter around the house with a broom?? 14 year old daughter with a 16 year old boyfriend who sleeps over sometimes. Daughter was a self-proclaimed 'best kisser in town' at age 11. A 12 year old judo superstar son. A father who works hard for his family (but has been known to come home from work after one-or 5-too many at the bar one afternoon). And a certain golden retriever that's more loved than any other member of the family, but his life is a whole other story in and of itself. Anyway...
Next, the quiet, passive (and possibly aggressive) neighbor who is always just to darn sweet to say anything outright mean but always manages to slip her opinions of people into pleasant conversation with most excellent timing. I'll always wonder how she does it. 2 children. More to come on that...
Then there's the mother who is too good-hearted to say anything bad about someone, even if she doesn't like them (even takes things to the level of going for coffee and galavanting through forests with certain neighbors she actually isn't very fond of). A tragic and troubled past few years, but that's another story not relevant to our saga. Oh, and she lives in what used to be the chateau (yes, that's castle) of Yens. It has a historian and enough rooms to rent out an apartment and host 3 host students at the same time.
Then there's the 'fun' family: single mom currently seeing a Portuguese man. Her mother allegedly hit the boyfriend and is now in the middle of a heated court case. 19 year old boy who lives a more wild life than I could ever hope (or not) to imagine (direct quote: "when I was sixteen I was drinking in the clubs while you were sitting at home with your parents."-I'm not really sure how to take this because I've found I quite enjoy sitting at home with my parents) and 22 year old girl who just broke up with her boyfriend for the 53rd time. But this time it's 'for good.' Oh, and Stedi, the dog.
Possible plot lines for the pilot episode of our show:
The love triangle (of dogs)- Igor the Golden retriever claims he loves Hawan the Collie from across the street, but Stedi down at the train station might have other plans in mind. Hawan always comes over to try and keep Igor's affection but in the meantime, eats all of his food and is getting fat and hence just driving Igor farther away. Will she keep his love?
Childhood romance-Son of the soft spoken mother had a secret and time-sensitive engagement on valentines day. Girlfriend? There's rumor going around that he's seeing the daughter of the local witch doctor in town, who, evidently does not get on well with boy's mother and has been spotted in the street late at night practicing some sort of spells. And to add to that, witch doctor had a host student who moved out because he got too freaked out, and he now lives in the castle and looks like a blond Harry Potter according to his host sister (which sounds great, but in reality, she actually has the hots for the 16 year old host student staying in soft-spoken mother's house).
Horror story-there are 3 freezers in the basement of wild host mother's house and a FOUL smell in the bedroom next door. Theories? The one freezer that's stocked entirely with meat and is the size of a small boat is actually filled with past students who did not get on well with Igor. As for the conspicuous smell in the floorboards of the bedroom, one can draw their own conclusions...a stretch and perhaps a bit vulgar, but why would you need 3 industrial sized freezers for a family of 4?
Kids-12 year old daughter of quiet mother is best friends with 14 year old girl with boyfriend but can't stand her brother who's actually her age.
And theres also the fact that apparently no one is too fond of mother #1, no matter how welcoming she seems to be. This opinion has been made evident on numerous occasions by numerous people. An enigma I don't think I'll ever solve.
Welcome to my life in the little village of Yens. I know I complained about it at first, but it's really unfolding into quite an entertaining story that I wouldn't want to miss just for the sake of living closer. Guess things always have a way of working themselves out...
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Barcaaaaaa
To start, a comparison between the French and the Spaniards:
One thing about the French, they sure know how to put on a good strike. Our initial flight out of Paris to Barcelona was cancelled (along with a few others...probably for the best considering the travelers...Chip and Tommy???) because of an air traffic controller strike. Really? Anyhow, difference numero uno. Something tells me the Spanish air traffic controllers wouldn't get their panties in such a wad. On a more general note, most of the things you hear about the Parisian persona are true. French is way different there, and although it was nice to actually be able to understand the language, speaking back was a bit of a lost cause, they wanted nothing to do with my mediocrity. Spain on the other hand, was extremely welcoming of my knowledge of Spanish that somehow never managed to make it past the colors and days of the week. Everyone just seemed more welcoming, and there were times where there was so much English, I almost forgot I was in another country (until I looked around...). I'll leave the decision as to whether this is a good or bad thing open. (it also wasn't bad to have 2 fluent Spanish speakers with us). Also, they don't natively speak Spanish in Barcelona (although everyone pretty much understands and can speak it, they just choose not to...too proud in Catalunya-got that from the Parisians maybe?), Catalan ended up being much easier than Spanish to understand. Par exemple: the phrase for 'please' in Spanish: por favor. French: s'il vous plait. Catalan: si us plau. Plus similaire a francais.
We got to our hostel (excellent location, even more excellent room mates, more to come...) right on la Paseig del Gracia, the Champs Elysees of Barcelona, threw our bags down, and made a bee-line for tapas and sangria. Although the place we found was probably a bit touristy, for tapas and paella at 12 euro person, the price was right. And after, we could continue on to Las Ramblas, the promenade with street vendors selling everything from scarves and postcards to rabbits and birds by day, drugs and sex by night (Barcelona is really a very bizarre place) with pickpockets a-plenty at any hour-I've never kept my bag so close to me (incidences-but to no avail-from the weekend: 50 euro out of my hand, wallet from Tommy's pocket, camera from Steve's hand, a really terrifying place). That night, we met up at a bar we were convinced didn't exist with a friend of someone in our group who is studying in Barca and got (not really intentionally...) even more tapas. The Spanish have a fascinating and wonderful eating pattern: everything is closed from 2-4 pm for lunch and siesta, tapas around 7-7:30, and finally, dinner at 10 or 11 and out at 1 or 2 until the wee hours (me and my 80 year-old self wasn't so keen on that part, but when in Barca...).
Friday, we took the advice of a friend and did a bike tour. Usually something like this would be the LAST thing on my to-do list, but it happened to be a most excellent investment of my 19 euros. We saw literally everything, from cathedrals, parks, and architecture, to the big things like la Sagrada Famillia, Casa Museu (Gaudi was a brilliant man), and Olympic Village and en route, tiny alleys that buses couldn't fit through and we never would have found on foot. Oh, and then of course, there's the beach. Not to mention, it was 65 degrees and sunny. The afternoon consisted of lunch from La Boqueria, the most amazing huge market with every type of fresh food, candy, produce, cheese, meat, basically anything edible you could imagine, under one open-air roof, finished with the famous 1 euro fruit juices (an epic competition between at least 5 different fruit stands). The night ended in more tapas, a bar with a shot that involved lighting the counter on fire and roasting a marshmallow, and an epic euro club that was all too reminiscent of the J-Lo 'Waiting for Tonight" music video with the green lasers.
Saturday was a more leisurely day with shopping, strolling, and making our way up to Gaudi's Parc Guell, another magnificent feat architectural oddity. That morning, we waited in line for about half an hour to buy tickets to the Barcelona-Malaga soccer game that night, and the late afternoon was consumed by a hunt for cheap jerseys. Success. We showed up to the largest futbol stadium in Europe (100,000 people) decked out in our gear and fitting right in. The game was absolutely unreal. 1. People don't cheer. During plays, the stadium is nearly silent with concentration. 2. When people do cheer, it's more of a whistle and clap deal-no yelling like in the US. 3. They sing. Before, After, During. And every word is audible, crystal clear. Everyone should absolutely go to a European soccer game if they get the chance, there's just nothing like it in America. That evening, after churros and chocolate (coffee cups full of melted semi-sweet chocolate for dipping-quite different from the super rich Swiss chocolate I've become so accustomed to) at 2 am (because everything is open always, save for the siesta), we got back to the hostel for bed eventually but were abruptly awoken by our 6 drunk Italian room mates-all male-at 6:49 am. Just getting back from the night. They spoke basically no english but were unaware of the fact that one of our group members spoke Italian. Let's just say the stigma about 'sleazy Italian men' held true. Not to generalize...
I returned home on Sunday afternoon on a plane that was delayed STILL because of the strike after buying 65 euros worth of cigarettes for my host dad in the duty-free store. Trust me, I looked like an idiot...never bought cigarettes+language barrier+MASSIVE duty free store=big fail. But I managed to pull through and please host papa greatly. Alas, we made it home AND managed to miss the apparently epic storm that hit the rest of western Europe while we were away. I'm convinced the world is slowly (or not so slowly) ending.
And on a completely unrelated note: Igor and I are in a fight right now. He picked a new spot to sleep last night (in the foyer, weird), and when I ventured upstairs to make some tea in the pitch black darkness, I nearly stepped on him but instead just tripped over him. Potentially disastrous.
One thing about the French, they sure know how to put on a good strike. Our initial flight out of Paris to Barcelona was cancelled (along with a few others...probably for the best considering the travelers...Chip and Tommy???) because of an air traffic controller strike. Really? Anyhow, difference numero uno. Something tells me the Spanish air traffic controllers wouldn't get their panties in such a wad. On a more general note, most of the things you hear about the Parisian persona are true. French is way different there, and although it was nice to actually be able to understand the language, speaking back was a bit of a lost cause, they wanted nothing to do with my mediocrity. Spain on the other hand, was extremely welcoming of my knowledge of Spanish that somehow never managed to make it past the colors and days of the week. Everyone just seemed more welcoming, and there were times where there was so much English, I almost forgot I was in another country (until I looked around...). I'll leave the decision as to whether this is a good or bad thing open. (it also wasn't bad to have 2 fluent Spanish speakers with us). Also, they don't natively speak Spanish in Barcelona (although everyone pretty much understands and can speak it, they just choose not to...too proud in Catalunya-got that from the Parisians maybe?), Catalan ended up being much easier than Spanish to understand. Par exemple: the phrase for 'please' in Spanish: por favor. French: s'il vous plait. Catalan: si us plau. Plus similaire a francais.
We got to our hostel (excellent location, even more excellent room mates, more to come...) right on la Paseig del Gracia, the Champs Elysees of Barcelona, threw our bags down, and made a bee-line for tapas and sangria. Although the place we found was probably a bit touristy, for tapas and paella at 12 euro person, the price was right. And after, we could continue on to Las Ramblas, the promenade with street vendors selling everything from scarves and postcards to rabbits and birds by day, drugs and sex by night (Barcelona is really a very bizarre place) with pickpockets a-plenty at any hour-I've never kept my bag so close to me (incidences-but to no avail-from the weekend: 50 euro out of my hand, wallet from Tommy's pocket, camera from Steve's hand, a really terrifying place). That night, we met up at a bar we were convinced didn't exist with a friend of someone in our group who is studying in Barca and got (not really intentionally...) even more tapas. The Spanish have a fascinating and wonderful eating pattern: everything is closed from 2-4 pm for lunch and siesta, tapas around 7-7:30, and finally, dinner at 10 or 11 and out at 1 or 2 until the wee hours (me and my 80 year-old self wasn't so keen on that part, but when in Barca...).
Friday, we took the advice of a friend and did a bike tour. Usually something like this would be the LAST thing on my to-do list, but it happened to be a most excellent investment of my 19 euros. We saw literally everything, from cathedrals, parks, and architecture, to the big things like la Sagrada Famillia, Casa Museu (Gaudi was a brilliant man), and Olympic Village and en route, tiny alleys that buses couldn't fit through and we never would have found on foot. Oh, and then of course, there's the beach. Not to mention, it was 65 degrees and sunny. The afternoon consisted of lunch from La Boqueria, the most amazing huge market with every type of fresh food, candy, produce, cheese, meat, basically anything edible you could imagine, under one open-air roof, finished with the famous 1 euro fruit juices (an epic competition between at least 5 different fruit stands). The night ended in more tapas, a bar with a shot that involved lighting the counter on fire and roasting a marshmallow, and an epic euro club that was all too reminiscent of the J-Lo 'Waiting for Tonight" music video with the green lasers.
Saturday was a more leisurely day with shopping, strolling, and making our way up to Gaudi's Parc Guell, another magnificent feat architectural oddity. That morning, we waited in line for about half an hour to buy tickets to the Barcelona-Malaga soccer game that night, and the late afternoon was consumed by a hunt for cheap jerseys. Success. We showed up to the largest futbol stadium in Europe (100,000 people) decked out in our gear and fitting right in. The game was absolutely unreal. 1. People don't cheer. During plays, the stadium is nearly silent with concentration. 2. When people do cheer, it's more of a whistle and clap deal-no yelling like in the US. 3. They sing. Before, After, During. And every word is audible, crystal clear. Everyone should absolutely go to a European soccer game if they get the chance, there's just nothing like it in America. That evening, after churros and chocolate (coffee cups full of melted semi-sweet chocolate for dipping-quite different from the super rich Swiss chocolate I've become so accustomed to) at 2 am (because everything is open always, save for the siesta), we got back to the hostel for bed eventually but were abruptly awoken by our 6 drunk Italian room mates-all male-at 6:49 am. Just getting back from the night. They spoke basically no english but were unaware of the fact that one of our group members spoke Italian. Let's just say the stigma about 'sleazy Italian men' held true. Not to generalize...
I returned home on Sunday afternoon on a plane that was delayed STILL because of the strike after buying 65 euros worth of cigarettes for my host dad in the duty-free store. Trust me, I looked like an idiot...never bought cigarettes+language barrier+MASSIVE duty free store=big fail. But I managed to pull through and please host papa greatly. Alas, we made it home AND managed to miss the apparently epic storm that hit the rest of western Europe while we were away. I'm convinced the world is slowly (or not so slowly) ending.
And on a completely unrelated note: Igor and I are in a fight right now. He picked a new spot to sleep last night (in the foyer, weird), and when I ventured upstairs to make some tea in the pitch black darkness, I nearly stepped on him but instead just tripped over him. Potentially disastrous.
Paris
As predicted, I'm failing at life in keeping up with this blog...my sincerest apologies to my hundreds of ardent readers, I don't know what you did with your time whilst I was away. Anyway, It's been about a week now since I've returned, but I did manage to visit 2 countries in the meantime...
D'abord, Paris. After going 200+ mph on the TGV, a super high-speed train that takes about 3 hours from Geneva to Paris, we arrived at the Gare de Lyon and went down to the metro. Although the Paris Metro is just as I had heard (smelly, dirty, hot), there was something kind of magical about the tiles and graffiti in the tunnels and the sea foam green trains. Every afternoon, the trains are so full that there is a line 5 rows deep just to get in to a car, and once you manage to do that, you make about 80 new closest (in EVERY sense of the word) friends. You don't even need to hold on because it's so packed in...something tells me Paris needs to invest in those guards they have to pack in the sardines on the Japanese subway. Tres efficient, and we all know I'm all about efficiency. And to make it even better, there was live music on probably half of the trains I took-think quintessential French man with an accordion.
The rest of the first afternoon was free, so after finding a sandwich shop (necessary), we wandered through the Jardin des Tuileries (not as pretty on a rainy February day, oh well) and up to the Louvre. I was blown away...I don't think I knew that much art existed in the whole world, let alone one museum-and we didn't even go inside that day. After being tourists and taking pictures, fantasizing about the DaVinci Code, being Parisian, etc. we strolled up the Champs Elysees (all the while singing the song in my head) and up to the Arc de Triomphe, which we proceeded to climb. Best 5 euros I've spent. The view was magnificent, and you really got a better perspective of how immense Paris is. Highly recommended. The day ended in a perfect (and cheap) French meal in a not-so-French neighborhood (every sign was in Arabic and I didn't hear a word of French being spoken outside the restaurant) with some friends studying at AUP from GW. Tres bon.
The academic parts of the trip consisted of lectures given by probably brilliant people from Medecins du Monde accompanied by some stellar Earl translation and a few presentations at Action Contre la Faim in perfect English, an extremely welcome reprieve. However, lunch on day 2 was a huge winner: best falafel I have ever had at a street stand that was in competition (but really, it was never a contest for this place) with 3 others on the same block. AND, to make it better, an excellent thrift store next door. Speaking of food, although the hotel Roma (oui, a Paris...) was no Ritz, the breakfast made it all worthwhile-each person got their own POT of coffee, whole baguette, sugar pastry, and croissant, all complimented by cream cheese, butter, jelly, and NUTELLA. Made getting up on the rainy mornings so much more worth it. And a block from our humble abode, there was a magical hole in the wall that was the bakery of the 6 euro quiche, pastry, and drink meal. Goat cheese and tomato quiche, rhubarb tart, and orangina...Paris, je t'aime.
The rest of the trip was spent seeing the typical sights of Paris, i.e. Notre Dame, Louvre, ("20" minute walk across the city in the wind/rain, fail) to the Eiffel Tower, La Bastille, Sacre Coeur, Montmartre, etc...with a failed meal along the way (I didn't know they could actually screw up a Nicoise salad in France, sorry Chelsea), but by Thursday, we were ready to get out of the rain and off to Barcelona...
D'abord, Paris. After going 200+ mph on the TGV, a super high-speed train that takes about 3 hours from Geneva to Paris, we arrived at the Gare de Lyon and went down to the metro. Although the Paris Metro is just as I had heard (smelly, dirty, hot), there was something kind of magical about the tiles and graffiti in the tunnels and the sea foam green trains. Every afternoon, the trains are so full that there is a line 5 rows deep just to get in to a car, and once you manage to do that, you make about 80 new closest (in EVERY sense of the word) friends. You don't even need to hold on because it's so packed in...something tells me Paris needs to invest in those guards they have to pack in the sardines on the Japanese subway. Tres efficient, and we all know I'm all about efficiency. And to make it even better, there was live music on probably half of the trains I took-think quintessential French man with an accordion.
The rest of the first afternoon was free, so after finding a sandwich shop (necessary), we wandered through the Jardin des Tuileries (not as pretty on a rainy February day, oh well) and up to the Louvre. I was blown away...I don't think I knew that much art existed in the whole world, let alone one museum-and we didn't even go inside that day. After being tourists and taking pictures, fantasizing about the DaVinci Code, being Parisian, etc. we strolled up the Champs Elysees (all the while singing the song in my head) and up to the Arc de Triomphe, which we proceeded to climb. Best 5 euros I've spent. The view was magnificent, and you really got a better perspective of how immense Paris is. Highly recommended. The day ended in a perfect (and cheap) French meal in a not-so-French neighborhood (every sign was in Arabic and I didn't hear a word of French being spoken outside the restaurant) with some friends studying at AUP from GW. Tres bon.
The academic parts of the trip consisted of lectures given by probably brilliant people from Medecins du Monde accompanied by some stellar Earl translation and a few presentations at Action Contre la Faim in perfect English, an extremely welcome reprieve. However, lunch on day 2 was a huge winner: best falafel I have ever had at a street stand that was in competition (but really, it was never a contest for this place) with 3 others on the same block. AND, to make it better, an excellent thrift store next door. Speaking of food, although the hotel Roma (oui, a Paris...) was no Ritz, the breakfast made it all worthwhile-each person got their own POT of coffee, whole baguette, sugar pastry, and croissant, all complimented by cream cheese, butter, jelly, and NUTELLA. Made getting up on the rainy mornings so much more worth it. And a block from our humble abode, there was a magical hole in the wall that was the bakery of the 6 euro quiche, pastry, and drink meal. Goat cheese and tomato quiche, rhubarb tart, and orangina...Paris, je t'aime.
The rest of the trip was spent seeing the typical sights of Paris, i.e. Notre Dame, Louvre, ("20" minute walk across the city in the wind/rain, fail) to the Eiffel Tower, La Bastille, Sacre Coeur, Montmartre, etc...with a failed meal along the way (I didn't know they could actually screw up a Nicoise salad in France, sorry Chelsea), but by Thursday, we were ready to get out of the rain and off to Barcelona...
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