"The sight of the huge world put mad ideas into me, as if I could wander away, wander forever, see strange and beautiful things, one after the other to the world's end."
Til We Have Faces, C.S. Lewis
Wanderlust
5.27.2005
5.23.2005
It seems that when it comes to the issue of human life, America loses touch with reality.
Tomorrow, the House will vote on a bill "that would order federal funding of stem cell research that requires killing human embryos." National Right to Life
Tomorrow, the House will vote on a bill "that would order federal funding of stem cell research that requires killing human embryos." National Right to Life
"H.R. 810 would require federal funding of research projects on stem cells taken
from human embryos who are alive today, and who would be killed by the very
act of removing their stem cells for the research -- a practice very
different from that of the human being who dies by accident and whose organs
are then donated to others."
This is just the beginning...Not only will embryos be killed in order to use stem cells, but the bill does not define which embryos cannot be used, so in the future clones can be made and then killed in order to use their stem cells.
While "Germany, France, Norway, Canada, Australia, Switzerland" have all banned cloning, it looks like the US has lost its head again and will push the 'right' to mess with human life. In light of recent events like the Teri Schaivo case and the debate on parental notification for abortions, the US continues to walk further and further down the path to where all right to life will be held in question.
Why not do as some labs are and "recycle" umbilical cord-blood to retrieve stem cells? Why do we have to kill embryos? Why do we have to make clones and kills them in order to get these precious cells? Cells that we want to use to "save" life?
It just doesn't make sense.
5.20.2005
"Walking"
Culturally, Americans do not understand the art of walking, or what it means to be a pedestrian. When walking is the first choice of transportation, when everything you need is within a mile of your home, when driving a car is considered inefficient and wasteful, then America will become a walking culture. Our wide expanse of country will never allow Americans to truly experience life as a pedestrian. However, in a country such as Switzerland that fits four and a half times into the state of Washington, with most of the land mass being mountains, expanse is not a well-known phenomenon. In fact, every Swiss person I have met when asked what they thought of the States reply with, “It’s so BIG!”
Walking makes sense in Switzerland. It takes too much time to find a parking spot in the parking lot and then usually you have to pay to park, so why not hop on your bike or walk to the local store? Its only 3 blocks away and there is usually a little pharmacy, a bakery and a restaurant right around the corner. There is no need for a big SUV full of food from Costco when all you have is a small hotel room size fridge in your 4 room apartment. Milk and eggs can be delivered right to your door from the local farmer, you bake your own bread, so the only thing that really needs to be stocked up on is wine, and your husband, every time he has a birthday, gets at least 20 bottles to put up in your cellar.
Biel, where I lived in Switzerland, was about 2 hours from Geneva. During my stay in Switzerland, I visited Geneva about 4 times for various reasons. I found that most people I met from Biel had never been to Geneva, and if they had, it was only one time. “It is just too far,” they would say to me. Imagine that mentality in America. You’d never get anything done!
You can see the affect of living in a small country in all parts of Swiss culture. They have 4 different official languages, but this is ok because as a Swiss person, you rarely leave your village, so you only need to be able to communicate with those people around you. Each Canton, like a province or a state, has its own pronounced dialects within the different languages. The mountains, the disinclination to travel, easy access to everything they need right around the corner, keep the Swiss and home and isolated from each other. You would think that in a small country, it would be easier to stay connected with other people, but it is quite the opposite.
But back to walking—the best thing about walking is noticing things. There is so much to see and look at while you are walking. Also, by being outside, the weather becomes so much more a part of your life. It can be enjoyable to experience weather. It becomes refreshing and invigorating. The exercise you get while walking keeps you fit and trim. Rarely do you see obese people in Switzerland. They can eat tons of cheese and chocolate, but the effect is slim because of their active lifestyle.
If walking doesn’t appeal to you, there are other easy choices of transportation that are just as good such as a scooter or a bicycle. The amount of older citizens riding bicycles amazed me. I don’t think I had ever seen a gray haired woman riding a bicycle until I was living in Switzerland!
Oprah Winfrey recently had a show about a a book called French Women Don't Get Fat, by Mireille Guiliano. The basic premise is that French women don't get fat because they enjoy their life by eating small portions of many different wonderful foods and by walking everywhere. I would say that the Swiss people also have a similar mentality. They have a simpler diet than the French, but the lifestyle is similar. One thing Oprah forgot though is the amount of time that French and Swiss women have to spend in the litchen cooking to prepare so much food to enjoy! That's another thing that American's wouldn't like to do, spend a lot of time in the kitchen.
I have noticed since I have been home here in Seattle is that my amount of walking has declined. If I want to walk to the store from my house, it takes me a half an hour. I don't know how yet, but I am determined to figure out a way to put more walking back into my life. Last year where walking was my main form of transportation, I felt more alive and full of energy than I had in a very long time.
Culturally, Americans do not understand the art of walking, or what it means to be a pedestrian. When walking is the first choice of transportation, when everything you need is within a mile of your home, when driving a car is considered inefficient and wasteful, then America will become a walking culture. Our wide expanse of country will never allow Americans to truly experience life as a pedestrian. However, in a country such as Switzerland that fits four and a half times into the state of Washington, with most of the land mass being mountains, expanse is not a well-known phenomenon. In fact, every Swiss person I have met when asked what they thought of the States reply with, “It’s so BIG!”
Walking makes sense in Switzerland. It takes too much time to find a parking spot in the parking lot and then usually you have to pay to park, so why not hop on your bike or walk to the local store? Its only 3 blocks away and there is usually a little pharmacy, a bakery and a restaurant right around the corner. There is no need for a big SUV full of food from Costco when all you have is a small hotel room size fridge in your 4 room apartment. Milk and eggs can be delivered right to your door from the local farmer, you bake your own bread, so the only thing that really needs to be stocked up on is wine, and your husband, every time he has a birthday, gets at least 20 bottles to put up in your cellar.
Biel, where I lived in Switzerland, was about 2 hours from Geneva. During my stay in Switzerland, I visited Geneva about 4 times for various reasons. I found that most people I met from Biel had never been to Geneva, and if they had, it was only one time. “It is just too far,” they would say to me. Imagine that mentality in America. You’d never get anything done!
You can see the affect of living in a small country in all parts of Swiss culture. They have 4 different official languages, but this is ok because as a Swiss person, you rarely leave your village, so you only need to be able to communicate with those people around you. Each Canton, like a province or a state, has its own pronounced dialects within the different languages. The mountains, the disinclination to travel, easy access to everything they need right around the corner, keep the Swiss and home and isolated from each other. You would think that in a small country, it would be easier to stay connected with other people, but it is quite the opposite.
But back to walking—the best thing about walking is noticing things. There is so much to see and look at while you are walking. Also, by being outside, the weather becomes so much more a part of your life. It can be enjoyable to experience weather. It becomes refreshing and invigorating. The exercise you get while walking keeps you fit and trim. Rarely do you see obese people in Switzerland. They can eat tons of cheese and chocolate, but the effect is slim because of their active lifestyle.
If walking doesn’t appeal to you, there are other easy choices of transportation that are just as good such as a scooter or a bicycle. The amount of older citizens riding bicycles amazed me. I don’t think I had ever seen a gray haired woman riding a bicycle until I was living in Switzerland!
Oprah Winfrey recently had a show about a a book called French Women Don't Get Fat, by Mireille Guiliano. The basic premise is that French women don't get fat because they enjoy their life by eating small portions of many different wonderful foods and by walking everywhere. I would say that the Swiss people also have a similar mentality. They have a simpler diet than the French, but the lifestyle is similar. One thing Oprah forgot though is the amount of time that French and Swiss women have to spend in the litchen cooking to prepare so much food to enjoy! That's another thing that American's wouldn't like to do, spend a lot of time in the kitchen.
I have noticed since I have been home here in Seattle is that my amount of walking has declined. If I want to walk to the store from my house, it takes me a half an hour. I don't know how yet, but I am determined to figure out a way to put more walking back into my life. Last year where walking was my main form of transportation, I felt more alive and full of energy than I had in a very long time.
5.19.2005
“Hockey”
Slap…Bang…Slap…Boom…a hockey stick hitting a puck on wet pavement. Drowsily, half asleep, I found this sound, my Saturday morning alarm clock, soothing and welcoming. Through the open window, the breeze brought a chill made me to wrap up tighter in my blanket and the distant sounds of the outdoor inline hockey game slowly put me to sleep again, until the roar of the fans woke me up again. In Switzerland, inline and ice hockey are big. Not as big as football--or as we call it in the States, soccer—but definitely a major pastime.
Coming out of a meeting one night at the church where I was doing an internship, I stopped in surprise. It was about ten o’clock in the evening and there were cars everywhere. Parked and leaving. People were wandering around, looking for their car. The street was full of cars waiting to pull onto the main road where there was another traffic jam. When I had gone into the meeting, the street was fairly empty. As I was riding my bicycle home, I couldn’t figure out why there was a huge amount of traffic so late at night. The most traffic I had ever seen up to that point was a few blocks of cars backed up at the roundabout each morning and afternoon. I was told later that there was an ice hockey rink or a "Eisbahn" about a kilometer from the location of the church.
The Biel ice-hockey team was a “B” team—A smaller team from a smaller city that would play other smaller cities in Switzerland and other places. However, during my year long stay in Switzerland, The Biel team was quite good and was moving up into the A team leagues. It was quite exciting to hear the rumble in grocery stores and in people’s homes about Biel Hockey. Of course, it was nothing compared to the World Cup excitement, but when a home team is doing well, the whole town ends up feeling the excitement--even foreign visitors, such as myself.
Hockey was not always so fun and friendly. Though the Saturday morning games were sweet sounding and a pleasant way to wake up, the hockey rink across the street in the park was not always so pleasant. Sometime early summer there was a week-long tournament. During the day, it wasn’t so bad, though there was less parking on our street and more cars and people around. The food booths in the park were fun to visit to buy a Bratwurst or a stick of cotton candy. The excitement was catching and all the neighborhood boys spent most of their free-time over at the rink watching the games.
After all the games had been played, the beer tent would fill up with folks and the music began blaring. One night about 3am, I had just about enough of it. I was tired of the bass shaking my bed and pounding in my ears. Earplugs and pillows over the head are no defense against the beat of a techno song turned up to the highest decibel. I went down to the living room, hoping that being on the ground floor would help, but no, it wouldn’t work. It was just as pounding and shaking as up in my 3rd story room, maybe even worse. I poured a glass of wine, hoping that the alcohol would lull me to sleep, but though I got pretty drowsy, I ended up still tossing and turning. I just had to lay there and listen, hoping that sometime in the night, the players and the fans would grow tired or pass out. Amazingly, I did fall asleep sometime around 4am, but woke at 6am to the sound of Slap…Bang…Slap…Boom…a hockey stick hitting a puck on wet pavement.
Slap…Bang…Slap…Boom…a hockey stick hitting a puck on wet pavement. Drowsily, half asleep, I found this sound, my Saturday morning alarm clock, soothing and welcoming. Through the open window, the breeze brought a chill made me to wrap up tighter in my blanket and the distant sounds of the outdoor inline hockey game slowly put me to sleep again, until the roar of the fans woke me up again. In Switzerland, inline and ice hockey are big. Not as big as football--or as we call it in the States, soccer—but definitely a major pastime.
Coming out of a meeting one night at the church where I was doing an internship, I stopped in surprise. It was about ten o’clock in the evening and there were cars everywhere. Parked and leaving. People were wandering around, looking for their car. The street was full of cars waiting to pull onto the main road where there was another traffic jam. When I had gone into the meeting, the street was fairly empty. As I was riding my bicycle home, I couldn’t figure out why there was a huge amount of traffic so late at night. The most traffic I had ever seen up to that point was a few blocks of cars backed up at the roundabout each morning and afternoon. I was told later that there was an ice hockey rink or a "Eisbahn" about a kilometer from the location of the church.
The Biel ice-hockey team was a “B” team—A smaller team from a smaller city that would play other smaller cities in Switzerland and other places. However, during my year long stay in Switzerland, The Biel team was quite good and was moving up into the A team leagues. It was quite exciting to hear the rumble in grocery stores and in people’s homes about Biel Hockey. Of course, it was nothing compared to the World Cup excitement, but when a home team is doing well, the whole town ends up feeling the excitement--even foreign visitors, such as myself.
Hockey was not always so fun and friendly. Though the Saturday morning games were sweet sounding and a pleasant way to wake up, the hockey rink across the street in the park was not always so pleasant. Sometime early summer there was a week-long tournament. During the day, it wasn’t so bad, though there was less parking on our street and more cars and people around. The food booths in the park were fun to visit to buy a Bratwurst or a stick of cotton candy. The excitement was catching and all the neighborhood boys spent most of their free-time over at the rink watching the games.
After all the games had been played, the beer tent would fill up with folks and the music began blaring. One night about 3am, I had just about enough of it. I was tired of the bass shaking my bed and pounding in my ears. Earplugs and pillows over the head are no defense against the beat of a techno song turned up to the highest decibel. I went down to the living room, hoping that being on the ground floor would help, but no, it wouldn’t work. It was just as pounding and shaking as up in my 3rd story room, maybe even worse. I poured a glass of wine, hoping that the alcohol would lull me to sleep, but though I got pretty drowsy, I ended up still tossing and turning. I just had to lay there and listen, hoping that sometime in the night, the players and the fans would grow tired or pass out. Amazingly, I did fall asleep sometime around 4am, but woke at 6am to the sound of Slap…Bang…Slap…Boom…a hockey stick hitting a puck on wet pavement.
5.12.2005
“American in Europe”
As an American living in Europe during the Iraq War and post 9/11, a conversation usually began like this…
“Guten Tag, sprechen Sie englisch?”
“A Liddle, arde ‘oo Anglisch?”
“American. Can you tell me where the bathroom is?”
“Ah, Jah, Ids offer dere. Vat do you dink ov yore Preseedaunt?”
Every time.
Somewhere in the conversation, the question would pop up. My collegues and I enjoyed messing with people.
“Oh, we love our President! We think he is wonderful!”
“Rillee?” They would reply in shock.
Usually, they wouldn’t believe us. I mean who would ever believe that George W. Bush, the evil oil monger urging the murdering of innocent people and who only pushed for the war in Iraq, using the now missing chemical weapons as an excuse, so that he can make millions off the oil industry, is a good President. Who would ever believe that the American people had actually voted him into office?
“Oh, we love our President! We think he is wonderful!”
“Rillee?” They would reply in shock.
Usually, they wouldn’t believe us. I mean who would ever believe that George W. Bush, the evil oil monger urging the murdering of innocent people and who only pushed for the war in Iraq, using the now missing chemical weapons as an excuse, so that he can make millions off the oil industry, is a good President. Who would ever believe that the American people had actually voted him into office?
I was asked once during a phone call home how safe I felt as an American in Europe. My friend wanted to know if I was able to "blend-in" over in Europe. What Americans don’t understand is that it is virtually impossible to blend-in. Americans in Europe are very visible, easy to spot. We walk, talk, smell and look American. If I ordered coffee in German, the reply would come in English. If I spoke in English, they would pretend that they couldn’t understand me, though I knew they understood every word I was saying. We stuck out. We didn’t even try to blend-in. Swiss people are closed to outsiders, Not just to Americans. It is really a result of geography, the circle of mountains that protect them. They are suspicious to anyone who is from a different country, different canton, different village, different church, different language, different family. But I felt completely safe.
Switzerland is one of the safest places I have ever been in my life. Children, five years of age, ride their scooters or bikes to school by themselves. Kids take the bus by themselves. I could go almost anywhere anytime of the day as a woman without being bothered or accosted--The advantage of living in a culture that keeps to themselves. If a stranger talked to me, it was usually because I started the conversation or if I was buying something.
One fall afternoon, a group of us young people went into the city of Biel to do a little community service. We passed out free cookies and hot drinks to the shoppers in the middle of the city. In the States, this is usually quite well received. Americans love free things, especially food. In Switzerland, it was just the opposite. Approaching a stranger with a plate of cookies and an offer of hot coffee, usually made them walk quickly away with eyes averted. Usually our presence was completely ignored, and if we really stepped in their way, they would mumble something and get away as quickly as possible. On guy asked us if we were a Mormon group because there were Americans mixed in with the Swiss. Typically, if you are an American trying to talk to Swiss people in public places, this means you are a Mormon.
Though there was a lot of antagonism toward us, it was more political, than real. Once I was officially introduced to a Swiss person and had established enough of a relationship with them, no matter what differences there may be, I was treated as one of the family. They would bend over backwards in their hospitality. I don’t think I have ever met a more hospitable people than the Swiss. The amount of food given during the course of a meal was incredible. The trick was that in Swiss culture, you must eat everything on your plate or you are considered to be rude. How do you eat everything on your plate, when it keeps filling up? That’s a conundrum I don’t think I ever solved. Swiss people will take you to the most amazing beautiful places that no tourist book could ever lead you to and pay for it themselves. They will wine and dine you at the best restaurants. At the end of your stay, when as a visitor it is polite to leave them with a gift, they stuff money in your pockets or load you up with Lindt chocolates.
How can the Swiss be so hostile to Americans in the political arena, but so hospitable and gracious? I could never truly explain this paradox, except to suggest a trip to Switzerland to experience the post-card unreal beauty that you will find in the landscape and in the people.
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