Bull in a china shop

What is it about Europe that causes me to be incredibly awkward at nearly all times of the day and night? Everyday, I go about my business making des bêtises (blunders) like it's my (2nd) job. First off, there's the damn electricity. I have a hairdryerwith the European pins, yet if I ever nudge it on past low power, POOF there goes a fuse. Result: scraggly, frizzy, semi-dry hair that never looks stylish and has cowlicks galore. I've worked painstakingly hard over the past year and a half to recreate the beautiful, long, "made from spun gold" (as my grandma used to say) hair that was mine before it was sheared by a scissor-happy stylist. But I'm finding that long hair and Europe are not a match made in heaven I haven't made up my mind, but when it gets colder I may be opting for a shorter, sleeker, hopefully chic-er Euro do'. I love my long hair, but I won't love icicles hanging from my scalp in the winter.

And then there are the language barriers. I have studied French for 8 years, and would consider myself more or less a fluent speaker. But in certain situations, there's no difference between me and someone who can barely squeak out "BONE-jerrr". Take today for example. I went to the train stationto buy my 150 franc card that will give me half off on all train travel in Switzerland. Standing in the ridiculously long line (another perk of Europe: incredibly slooooooow service in every sector imaginable) I tried to think how I could say "half off" in French. I went to the guichet and started with the obligatoire bonjour. I proceeded with, "Je voudrais acheter une carte demi gratuite (literally: a card to make half free)." A valiant first attempt, which I thought might be the money shot, but no such luck. Only blank stares from the fonctionnaire (who are infamous for being cranky and sullen) and the automatic lighting of my " I'M A FOREIGNER" neon sign. It took a good 2 minutes before together we negotiated the correct semantic path: une abonnement de tarif réduit (a subscription of reduced tarif?!?!?). Yeah, no. I like my literal American translation much better, thank you. I hand over my 150 chf, and go to tear the receipt, which is facing towards me, only to have it rip jaggedly down the middle. The fonctionnaire glares and says, "Madame, il faut attendre et je vous donne le ticket (Madam, it is necessary to wait and I will give you the ticket)." Oy. Feel face flush red, dying to get out of there (and since when am I now referred to as Madam over Mademoiselle?!? Ahh I'm old!) At last it's Merci, au revoir, and I have finally conquered la gare. I remember a chapter on train staions in high school french, but no lessons were given on how to deal with le snobisme ultime of the begrudging workers. I must write the textbook company and let them know how useful it would be to include this information.

Furthermore, spatially I feel out of sorts. In the kitchen, on the tram, on the street, I am constantly tripping and or bumping into things. The abundance of cobblestone, quaint and picturesque as it may be, does no favors to the hopelessly clumsy like me. It also doesn't help that over here I am essentially considered plus size. I'm not fat, but I definitely have plusieurs kilos to lose. Attempting to navigate the impossibly narrow spaces over here often leaves me feeling like une grande vache in comparison to the majority of skinny european women.

I'm being hard on myself, I know I am. It's only been a month, it takes 5 months before you feel like you fit in, blah, blah, blah. This is the advice that everyone who has lived abroad for an extended period has given me. But day to day living, the routine that's mundane yet extrememly difficult really wears on me- I've certainly had major waterworks at least once a week, usually for no specific reason. At this point, I have to remind myself what makes me happy- talking or emailing friends and family, reading, running, writing this blog, getting to know more about te new friends I've made. Reminding myself no matter how much I idyllize everything that is going on back home, the walks, the trips to Costco, Ricks, football games, all the things I'm missing....that I probly wouldn't be much happier doing those things without the transatlantic frame of reference to make them seem so appealing.

Right now, I just need to keep going. Keep living. Keep experiencing. And I know everything will fall into place.



Sidenote: Fun weekend! One day of beautiful weather, one crappy. Took a really nice boat ride on Lake Geneva Saturday, stopped in the gorgeous town of Nyon to get ice cream, and returned to Geneva. At night we went to Ubu Roi, which makes fabulously strong shakers, from which you take shots out of disposable little plastic cups. We met random military guys and I spoke quite a bit of French, which is now my new goal everytime I go out. After Ubu we stumbled (but ONLY because of the cobblestone streets, I swear ;o) to Springbrothers, had some bières and talked to more Swiss guys. They ended up driving us home, but it was OK becaue they actually had a D.D. I don't think I've mentioned this before but the Swiss don't really give a rat's ass about driving drunk, they do it ALL the time. Sunday was for being hungover ( I didn't drink all that much but had wine with dinner, vodka from my friend's stowaway waterbottle, then beer. 'Nuf said.) and for going to random places and friends' houses all over Geneva. Next week is my trip to Neuchatel, for the grap harvest (read: wine) festival. Stay tuned.....

Weekend Pics