Hitchhiking back to Zurich; My Ethiopian body

Posted on by May 4, 2010

In the freezing cold of 7am I walked a long way to the highway, but once there the second car to come by stopped for me.   He drove me up to Bern, but he left me in a bad spot to continue.  

This is the tricky thing about hitchhiking:   the need to steer drivers away from where they think is the best place to be dropped off. Their personal inexperience with hitchhiking makes them think spatially (all the traffic flows in this spot, therefore it must be good) and not in terms of where it’s legal to stand or where the police might hassle me—and  Swiss police have plenty of free time for people like me.   Last week and this I had the police come by to chat.   It often happens, but I am used to it.   It’s important that I speak only English and give the impression of an American bumpkin.   This particular motorcycle cop didn’t really want to have to ask me to move, sheepishly adding, “Is it OK?”  
“You are the policeman!”, I reminded him.   “It’s OK!” and he went on his way.  

But it was a bad spot and I was freezing to death in the wind.   A very aggrieved Palestinian saved me. I had a big American flag on my back (attached with velcro, I am not  that stupid) and was ready to join in on a few chants of “Death to America!” with him, I was so pleased to get out of there, but he could separate the person from the country, whereas an American in the opposite situation, unfamiliar with either, would find it harder to do the same.

I don’t have a good look for hitchhiking or anything else, as I resemble a kid who has dressed himself for the first time:   orange pants, red shirt, yellow and blue jacket to go with my white shoes and green and black backpack.   I have to work on that if I want anyone to pick me up.   My orange pants have faded to an apricot color.   Not good.

Another ride came as I stood under an overpass protected from the rain, then a young guy with bloodshot eyes who hadn’t been to sleep last night—something about Playstation 3—liked my “ZURICH AIRPORT” sign and drove me straight there, whereupon I walked to Jose’s work.   We saw Graciela and the new baby, Jose Manuel, and went for lunch in the airport.

How many airports in USA would people purposely go for lunch?    In Europe it isn’t so crazy and in some places (Amsterdam, Zurich) it’s downright pleasant.

Hung out for the afternoon with Rolf and Sonja’s boys as we scheme to play tennis tomorrow.    It seems that all my friends here play tennis and are shocked that I can play, too.   I am always underestimated as an athlete because I have the body of an Ethiopian kid, circa 1982:   skinny shoulders, skinny butt, skinny legs, distended stomach–but I will surprise you.

Fribourg, Switzerland—Vive la langue francaise!

Posted on by September 27, 2010

Congratulations to Mike Wong, restaurateur provocateur, who has managed to have both Nike and McDonald's suing him at the same time for this sign.

Kayak practice in the swimming pool

Back in the hitchhiking saddle again.   Sonja drover me out to a great spot on the edge of Zurich to hitch, and in about 10 minutes I got a ride towards Solothurn. I regaled my driver with the story of the most famous person to pick me up hitchhiking, Fernando von Arb of the band Krokus who drove me this same stretch, but he was too young to know him.

The next  two rides took a good half an hour wait, but I had all day to get to Fribourg so I didn’t mind hanging out in the nice weather.

I still got to town early and I  managed to pick the only McDonald’s in the universe whose wi-fi connection was kaput. Now that I have a laptop, I find myself playing the find-the-wifi-connection game.   Did you know Swiss McDonald’s sells black tiger shrimp?   Everyone knows that?   It’s common knowledge?

The French langauge never ceases to entertain.   Do you know the word for weed wacker?     Debroussailleuse.   How great is that?

“Nothing is free in Switzerland!”

Posted on by May 2, 2010

My bag appeared 24 hours later.   It wasn’t a big deal only because I have such great friends nearby who took care of me.   I kind of liked my friend’s underwear.   Is it OK to admit that?

Young Kent Foster would have gone all fire and brimstone on USAirways about compensation and my emotional duress for losing my bag, but older, more ruggedly  handsome Kent Foster didn’t think it was worth the fight.   Must be the underwear.

Now I can laugh about it, but yesterday at the airport   just after the realization that  I had lost my bag, I made the mistake of dealing with Information Desk Lady.   I thought I was starting out with softball questions.

Ruggedly Handsome Kent Foster (RHKF) :   (Shyly, new to the ways of the world)    “Excuse me, is there free wi-fi in this airport?”

Information Desk Lady (IDL):   (Surprised by the question)  “Free wi-fi?!”   Then indignantly,  “No, no, no,” and finally a triumphant,  “Nothing is free in Switzerland!”

RHKF :   I thought of pointing out that free wi-fi doesn’t seem to be such a thing to withhold from the masses, that other countries provide it,  but I naively moved on to a more inflammatory subject.   “I know the airport  supermarket will accept payment in euros, but can I also use dollars?”

IDL:   (Detectable smoke emanating from the ears) “No, no, no!   Do you think if I go to America I can use Swiss francs?”

RHKF :   (Staying calm for someone who just lost their bag)   “Well, I thought that since euros are accepted that also  dollars–”

IDL:   (Interrupting)   This is Switzerland!   We have our own money…”

Lost baggage, wearing your friend’s underwear, and the inflatable jacuzzi

Posted on by May 3, 2010

When I tried to do the self check-in for my one way flight the system rejected me because I didn’t have an onward ticket reserved, so I had to go directly to an agent.   In the redesign of my website I will explain why round trip tickets are a bad deal and why a companion fake e-ticket is necessary to appease the airlines and immigration.

I always say that near the end of a long intercontinental flight, if you go into the bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror, that’s what you will look like in 10 years, or, in my case, 6 months.

I envy those fortunate people who can sleep on airplanes.   I can hardly sleep in beds, so airplanes are hard to pull off.   Anyone have any sleep tips for me?

Upon arrival in Zurich, just entering the terminal from the airplane, you have the palpable sense of being in an organized country, so I was unprepared for my bag not arriving with me.   The two others in my predicament were Swiss and they merrily filled out papers and were on their way. I did the same then realized that I didn’t have any other clothes. What was I going to do?   I schleped up to Rolf and Sonja’s and Sonja got out some of Rolf’s clothes for me to wear on this unseasonably hot day.

I have Mexican friends that live nearby, too.   Today I saw Jose for lunch. Graciela gave birth a few weeks ago and I hope to see their son next week.   It’s funny what you hear when you ask people if they want me to bring them something.   What do you think a   Mexican couple wants from USA?   Black licorice and Tang!

The friends I hope to meet while in Switzerland I met while traveling in Russia, Thailand, Belize, Georgia, New Zealand and India.   I’m telling you, if you want to meet Europeans, don’t go to Europe, go traveling.

Running around visiting friends is nice, but afterwards I need to find one place and sit myself down for some weeks and figure out how to code in CSS and work on new content for my website.

The inflatable jacuzzi took some sting off the day

Last Day in America

Posted on by April 29, 2010

I am sure I have set a record for most days in the Washington DC area without actually going into Washington DC, middleweight division, but today I did it.     I took the metro into town.   It’s a shame all the metro stations are so dark and eerie.   Is electricity too expensive for some lighting?     I only had an hour or so, and most of that running around in frustration doing some shopping for friends, but in Washington DC on every street corner you come across something of historical importance that stops you in your tracks.   Ford’s Theatre! A View of the Capitol! The Smithsonian Museums!

Robin tells me that Washington DC has onerous parking tickets since they don’t have many lucrative ways to make revenue.   I can attest to their tenacity. Once while passing through I got a parking ticket and for years afterward I got letters sent to me in California saying that if my car ever darkened the capitol’s streets again, it would be towed on sight.   This was long after I sold it.   I hope the poor soul that bought it didn’t drive out there, but since it was a 1969 VW Squareback, I doubt it had another cross-country trip in her.

This license plate message was something that people voted on, Robin says

I like this attempt at revenue grab, too. One and a half minutes for 5 cents! This was right on the Mall. You couldn't go anywhere in 90 seconds. You couldn't look for someone with change either.


I met up with Lynn whom I hadn’t seen for many years.   She had just graduated from a culinary school (the name of which I forget but I think it is the Harvard of such schools. If it was the UC-Santa Barbara of such schools it would be called Spam University) and made me lunch as seen above, a true honor.   Even though it was just for us, she claimed the snapper was too chewy and in a fit of sorrow and regret I had to overpower her from carrying out what the cooking school instructs you to do when making a mistake:   harakiri (ie. doing the honorable thing and ritually ending it all, Japanese style). I heroically wrestled the sharp filleting knife out of her hand while convincing her that the snapper was tender and cooked to perfection.
And I am not going to deny it happened unless she reads this blog.  

Last day in America.   Tomorrow I fly to Philadelphia and then Zurich, Switzerland on USAirways. I’ve never been to Philadelphia, which niggles me as much as not having ever been to Montreal.   Or Savannah. Or Charleston–not even Death Valley and Sequoia National Parks in my own state of California–but I’ve been to Switzerland maybe 10 times.

A part of me died today as I bought a new netbook.

Posted on by April 26, 2010

Is the title melodramatic enough? Good. I dread the idea of carrying something fragile, expensive and relatively heavy as a computer around the world. It is an Asus Eee PC 1001P-MU17 netbook, I think. Does anyone other than Apple have non-depressing model names? It feels like a ball and chain, but I will try and get used to it.

Next thing you know, I will have to own a cell phone.

Animal Testing

Posted on by April 23, 2010

Coming from Colombia to Washington DC, it is as if all the girls here are wearing burkas.

I am visiting Robin whom I met 17 years ago in Hungary when we both lived there, and his girlfriend Yelena.   Robin is an Apple technician for the National Institutes of Health outside Washington DC.   I am not sure I am allowed to say  where it is as they do animal testing and are therefore a target of PETA protests. But they see the animal research in a different light:

Road Music

Posted on by August 13, 2010

Every trip is remembered in song, something you listen to a hundred times to get through a long bus ride or something you hear on the streets over and over or for whatever nonsensical reason.   I am only listening to music half the time, in fact.   To this point I have been big into:
Bill Simmons podcasts
“This American Life” podcastson National Public Radio
Stevie Wonder–“Don’t You Worry ‘Bout a Thing”
and The Darkness–“I Believe in a Thing Called Love”. I am too embarrassed to give you a link.   I hadn’t seen the video until yesterday and it’s something only the British can get away with.

By the way, the best Spanish language song ever, after “Cielito Lindo” and “Eres Tu”, of course, is “De Musica Ligera” by Soda Stereo.   I always score points with Argentines when I sing a few lyrics.

The Airport Grilling

Posted on by August 13, 2010

There was some miscommunication between Sam and I about what he wanted me to bring to USA. I thought it was two loose CDs, but it was a factory CD set that was uncommonly heavy.   In other words, Sam put me in an awkward position.   Taking something like that to USA is a lot to ask. Florida and Texas are the two worst states for messing with the law, and it made me nervous.   In Bogota airport I sought out the canine police and had the dog smell and slobber on it.   The police  seemed sympathetic, the dog seemed unconcerned, and a policewoman inspected it further by taking out a sharp object and trying to pry the CD cardboard open.

I thought it was the last of my worries, but at immigration in Fort Lauderdale I got a long interrogation.   I answered truthfully, but it was stranger than fiction for the immigration officer.   He seemed incredulous that someone would spend a month in Colombia as a tourist, and that it was my 4th time there.   And I am going to Switzerland next week.   And that I travel so much. And my passport wouldn’t scan. And it was my 5th passport.   And so on.
I didn’t help my case when he mentioned that I had been in Calgary last year.   I was caught off-guard by it and had a blank look on my face. Was I in Calgary?   “Oh!   Yes, I was in transit from Europe,” I recovered gamely, but the damage had been done. I was asked to provide more identification.   That’s never happened before.   Since when is a passport insufficient?   It dragged on, and in the end he marked my entry form with a big fat red pen “1A” which meant my bag had to be scanned at customs.

I got out eventually, dazed, wondering if the immigration computer system is going to label me as a troublemaker and I will have to  give the same unsatisfactory answers every time I arrive in my country.  

Minutes later I was being fed ceviche and mahi mahi on a TV cooking show being taped right inside the terminal.   Wha’?!   Huh?   They needed people to be the audience and I looked the part.   It was for a guy who calls himself Chef Allen, and I was happy to show enthusiasm while being fed three courses.  

Ceviche with chefallen.com

West Indian tangy Mahi Mahi

Summing up Colombia: lessons I learned plus odds and ends

Posted on by April 24, 2010

(As always, my generalizations are based on a whiff of a shred of a morsel of evidence.)

-Don’t bargain for a haircut in Colombia.   I learned this the first time I was here, and I looked scalped.   This time I got another haircut, paying the standard price, and after an epic performance by the barber, I looked ridiculous with a poofy Spandau Ballet ’do.   When you are losing your hair barbers are afraid to cut anything off the top so you end up looking like Ted Koppel or Eraserhead.

-Colombia has been in the drug doldrums for so long, there is an optimism in the air, positive change is on the horizon.   In spite of or because of the fluid situation in the country there is a playfulness in Colombians I like very much.   They have great senses of humor and are always ready for a good time.

-Colombia is kind of schizo in that it uses pounds and gallons, but meters and celsius. (Gas is US$4 a gallon)

"Don't take viagra. Take goat's milk" (sign outside of a shop selling guess what?)

What’s wrong with this picture below?

Why is everyone driving on the wrong side of the road?   (See the red lights facing the other way and the arrows on the road.) Because they are showing off their progressiveness. During rush hours they make roads one way coming and going to town to ease traffic.

-Bogota has ciclovia, where every Sunday for half a day large swaths of the city are taken away from motorists and given to cyclists, joggers, walkers, and anyone wanting to enjoy some peace and quiet.   And it isn’t a token thing done on the main drag downtown, it is for a surprisingly large number of busy streets.

-There was Panini fever in Bogota.   All over town you heard the cry, “Panini! Panini! Panini!”   They are selling little soccer stickers for the upcoming World Cup–and Colombia isn’t even in the tournament!   There was a brisk trade on many streetcorners and people had out their want lists.   It brought back nice childhood memories with baseball cards.

-Most surreal moment of the trip: singing a Norwegian pop song by  a bonfire just outside of San Gil. Guitar hero Eivind brought his mighty axe and  we tried to remember enough words of “Idyll” by Postgirobygget (me, because it had been a long time and he, because he was so drunk):
“Det var ol, berusende ord
det var sommer, det var sol
det var hjerter i brann
blikkstille vann
alt pa denne jord…”
Ah, good times.

-If I am not mistaken, in 35 days in Colombia I spent US$640.

-Tomorrow I fly out at 7:20 am, and I am far away from the airport.   Is flying out at 7 am—meaning waking at 4:30 am, say—worse than arriving at 2 am?   I can never sleep the night before since I am afraid I will sleep through my alarm clock.

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