Day 2 - I seem to have misplaced my ability to speak Swiss.

dreadful | Sheryl Crow

June 1, 2005

Due to the lack of sleep on the flight in combination with too many alcoholic beverages, by the time our plane landed in Zurich at 11 o'clock local time, I was exhausted and sick to my stomach.

In the airport, I searched high and dry for the nearest bathroom. First culture shock: unisex bathrooms. I had zero problems popping a squat next to my fellow group leader, Scott.

We grabbed our bags (mine adorned with a last minute hot pink thong to differentiate between everyone else. Really, how common is a black suitcase on wheels?) and headed to yet another way too air conditioned bus that would drive us an hour away, to Basel, where we were staying.

We arrive, I'm too tired to be impressed and become overly unenthused when the non-English speaking Swiss hotel clerks inform us that our rooms will not be ready until 2 o'clock. I begin making a checklist in between popping complimentary swiss truffles into my grill.

- I am tired, cranky and hungover.

- Contemplating overdosing on free truffles. Stomach ache ensues.

We finally get our rooms and to our dismay, Harley and I found out we would not be rooming together. So we go to our respective floors and:

- Get to my room. Tries to jump out the window after discovering to single size beds pushed together with a huge blanket thrown across it. This is where I sleep?

- Attempt to shower, keyword being ATTEMPT. Now I know why Europeans have hairy armpits...a handheld ONLY showerhead makes it near impossible to shave while getting a sufficient amount of water.

- Shortly thereafter, I move in with Harley and his roomate. This makes 3 people in the makeshift sleeping quarters, Harley and I and David, the kid who sings dirty songs in a dutch accent.

I rested up while Harley aka Mama took a shower. I opened the windows and felt a nice breeze come in. We decided to go out for a little while, exchange our money and grab something to eat. Our hotel was right next to the train station, which had little shops and food stands and a bank inside.

Mama decides he needs to straighten his HURR before we go hit it up Switzerland style. So we tear open the package for the adaptor we bought and attempt to plug it in, every which way. It has like 80 different prongs, none of which match up to the ones in the wall. Finally, we find a suitable connection. He tries to plug in his ultra expensive Chi but to no avail. It appeared that Mama would not be straightening his HURR that day. But he didn't give up that quickly.

Before I knew it, it was nearing 4 o'clock. Thats 2 hours of hair crises. He tried my straightener. He tried sticking his hair between two books. I was becoming beyond infuriated. IT'S HAIR! I wanted to scream. CAN'T WE JUST GO?!

I finally finally finally got Mama to leave the room. We walked outside into beautiful weather and headed towards the bank. It was at that moment that I seemed to have misplaced my ability to speak Swiss.

I don't know what I was thinking that I never bothered to even learn a WORD of Swiss or Dutch or German or French. And if I thought about it, I wished I had used my Italian while in Switzerland, seeing as none of the people there understood English except for the term AMERICAN, which, upon hearing, made them treat you badly. (Sad, but exceptionally true.)

After almost 2 days of nil food, I was feeling like a bottomless pit. Harles and I toured the train station, figuring we were in position to venture off too far on our first day, and I decided on a little middle eastern run Kebap stand. (Kebap is a psuedonym for a Gyro, in Swiss.) I'm not sure the Kebap man spoke Swiss and he definitely didn't speak English. I figured I'd just point at what I wanted.

But he insisted on talking.

It took me close to 10 minutes to get a damn kebap, or whatever its called. It was one of the most frustrating and unnerving events in my life. And he wasn't even sympathetic to my "situation" (being American, that is.) He was mean. We named him the Kebap Nazi.

So I gather up my food, throw some francs his way and peace out. We find a place to sit and eat outside of our hotel. Apparently this too was not such a good idea. A blonde lady with a ginormous braid (stereotype) comes over and starts talking to us like we understand. Harley and I thought it'd be funny to talk back - - -in a made up language - - - to her.

Swiss Lady: BLAH BLAH BLAH LOOK AT MY BRAID BLAH.

Me: Dingle dumbledorf raisin bran triggle-y diggle-y lee dee! *takes HUGE bite of KEBAP*

She throws her hands above her head and walks away.

I am so American. I am evil at my very core.

- Less than 4 hours in the country and I buy a pair of shoes.

We decided to try and get some sleep around 7 p.m. That way maybe we could get into a normal sleep pattern. That wasn't the case.

Stay tuned for Day 3, or, the Art of Pointing.