Doppelgängers and Smoke: High School Life

Life in the high school is pretty normal. The scheduling is different, and the language is different, but it's still a compilation of busy hallways and lazy classrooms, hidden cell phones, self-absorbed teenagers, and a thermostat that is never right. The almost homely effect of this atmosphere has caused my subconscious to assume I am back in Bozeman High. That's my guess, anyways. In the first few weeks I started to notice how many double takes I was doing at various students in the halls, thinking they were a friend from Bozeman. At first, I marveled at the fact that there could be so many doppelgangers of my high school attending DDR. However, as time passed I began looking more closely at the faces of me look-alikes, and realized that most of them look nothing like the people I mistook them for. I even mistook a boy for a girl once. That was an uncomfortable moment for everyone. I haven't figured out if I am missing home, or just having trouble adapting to the fact that I am in a completely different world from Bozeman High, and my brain is stubbornly refusing to be Swiss. How American of it.

There are some distinct differences between BHS and DDR, however. The biggest one is the smoking. Somehow, a country that is notorious for health consideration and cleanliness didn't get the memo about pumping tar and chemical-infused smoke into your lungs. I would be willing to bet that over half of my class smokes, and they are all 14 and 15 year olds. There is a 20-minute break in the morning, and the entire school, including teachers, leaves the building and lights up. Today we had a fire drill, and as the buzzer went off, the entire class, like the lazy teenagers we are, breathed a sigh of relief and began filing out, our books closing faster than what would have previously been thought possible. The hallways filled up with teachers, irritated by their interrupted lessons and sudden call to responsibility of surly teenagers, and loud, happy kids checking their smuggled phones and plugging their ears to drown out the sirens. In Bozeman, fire drills are a way of  wasting class time while mostly likely freezing and longing for that coat we stuffed into our tiny lockers that morning. In Switzerland, however, it is another smoke break. We had barely left the doors of the alleged flaming building when the entire student body lit up and left a trail of glowing ash in its wake as we were herded to safety by smoking teachers. The irony of such an event was enough to make me, once again, that weird exchange student who laughs at the jokes in her head but doesn't have the language skills to explain herself. I think my classmates think I'm pretty strange.

To Blog: Two Weekends, Too Swiss.

I apologize for the painful word play in the title of this post. I don't even know.

It's been a while since I last updated, and I have two weekend adventures to record. Last weekend was a lovely adventure in the Alps. Hans Peter, Elisabeth, and I drove up to a cabin owned by a family friend of theirs, and we stayed for two nights in an adorable Alpine village, hiking and exploring. The couple we stayed with, Claire and Michel, were very kind and welcoming. Claire is the kind of person who begins mothering you the moment you enter her adorable, wood stove warmed cabin. Both she and Michel were so kind. The first day we went on a trail called The Ibex Trail, which started by a huge dam (the biggest one in Switzerland, actually) and circled around a small mountain, summited the saddle between it and another, and took you back down around the other side, making a loop of twelve kilometers. According to the signs, there were breathtaking vistas of Mont Blanc and surrounding Alps, however, thick fog was our constant companion throughout the hike, and though we did manage to see some of the famous Ibex, the rugged peaks that carry as much history as snow were kept hidden from us. The weather only worsened as the hike went on, and snowed for the final few kilometers. The second day we spent exploring tiny Alpine villages, indulging the tourist franchise, and thoroughly enjoying ourselves.

Today we had a surprise picnic birthday party for Hans Peter. My host father turned, er, 40 again, and E made plans to have a traditional Swiss picnic in the mountains and roast sausages over a fire. So, joined by a friend of mine from school, our family drove up to a lovely place in the mountains that had a stunning view of the Alps, a place for a fire, and cows ranging around, their bells clanging cheerfully. I made several cow friends on this trip. One licked my hair, mistaking it for delicious food. I assured it this was a common mistake, and to not feel too bad. We ate sausage and bread and salads and chips and cake and torte and even roasted marshmallows. I must admit I felt a bit of American pride when my marshmallows turned out beautifully, while the Swiss continually dropped theirs in the coals or struggled to eat them. They were also the weirdest marshmallows I've ever seen, multicolored and twisted together. Luckily my many years of camping have trained me to take on any challenge, and my marshmallow roasting was nothing short of stellar, if I may say so. All in all a very pleasing day, and full of many laughs and smiles. I later found out that among those who attended the party was my school principle, and that I had engaged in a game of frisbee with him. My life is so weird.

American Yawns

I have choir class on Mondays at lunch, and this week I found that one of my fellow exchange students, a boy from Denver, CO, is also in choir. We sat next to each other, and the music teacher (who is big, loud, and boisterous as music teachers should be) gave a huge yawn in the middle of a speech. Denver and I both proceeded to yawn, because, as everyone knows, those are very contagious things. However, I noticed that not a single Swiss student in the room seemed to be affected by the yawns given off by both our teacher and us. Thus began my experiment. Hypothesis: Only Americans find yawns contagious. I began pointedly exclaiming how tired I am and yawning in front of my host family, and have yet to find any results. They've noticed nothing, and have had no reactions to my yawns. I will continue this experiment and perhaps branch out to more test subjects, such as my fellow students. I will follow up this post with the results.

P.S. How many times did you guys yawn while reading this?

Tractor Pulling, and Triathlons in the Rain

My weekend was one adventure after the next.

 When I last signed off, I was about to leave for something called "Tractor Pulling", to which I had been invited by my new friend, Meline. Having no idea what this was, Elizabeth and I drove out to the country where I met Meline and we walked up to a large farm. Here, I saw pastures of cows with their necks clanging with swiss cow bells, out buildings, and a muddy area that had been closed off, where several tractors were driving around in all different directions. When learning rudimentary french, tractor terminology is often neglected, and as such, I had literally no idea what I was watching. For the first hour, it actually seemed like a bunch of tractors driving around for no reason as Swiss farmers tried to be country with "cowboy" hats that looked more like fedoras. Don't get me wrong, I found this to be very enjoyable, but was even more excited when I figured out the rules. My first hint was finally noticing the markers on the side of the track that measured how many meters the tractor had gone. It turns out that the point is to take a small tractor whose engine has been modified and hook it up to a very heavy block, which it then has to pull as far as it can before it ruts itself out and can't move any further. What I have previously perceived as a  bunch of tractors spinning their wheels to make a pile of mud which was then smoothed over by other tractors and re-conditioned by spraying water and rolling it, turned out to be the process by which small tractors pulling weights far heavier than the machines themselves, with their front wheels rearing up and their engines busting out thick, black smoke. It was hilarious, and wonderful.

The next day Elisabeth, David, and Hans Peter all competed in a triathlon, making me feel like the lazy, slacking exchange student that I secretly am. E had a team and only did the swimming leg, but both boys did the whole thing, making our little family team a very impressive one, because Hans Peter was the oldest person to compete and did excellently, and David won the whole damn thing. I reserve partial credit for this win on account of my incredible American-style cheerleading skills. Also, I have found that when you are in a foreign country and have limited knowledge of literally everything around you, you find yourself in strange situations with people you don't know and will never see again, but I've found its best to just roll with it. I spent this particular day roaming the tiny Swiss town that the triathlon took place in with the extended family of David's friend and biking buddy, Jeremy. I knew none of them and today I doubt I could pick them out of a crowd, but for the time we spent together they were all very nice and smiled at me a lot. Come to think of it, I actually have no way of knowing if they were the people Elisabeth directed me towards, or if I was once again that confused exchange student who just picked a group of people to follow around one day.  I'm okay with either option.

Merlin, Arthur, and Hans Peter

It's Saturday evening, about a quarter to six. I have returned from a little village called Valangine, about twenty minutes from Neuchâtel, where Hans Peter, Elisabeth and I spent the day at a Medieval Festival. I loved it. The town itself is a quaint compilation of about six streets with buildings that were built in the 1500's, grouped around a hill that leads to an impressive castle that has been converted into a museum. There is a stunning church in the center of the town, and it was the only building that had doorways tall enough for me to walk through without ducking. I have never seen a more perfect town. We wandered up to the castle and were met by crusaders, knights, horses, forges, candle makers, and people roasting food on fires.

We went on a scavenger hunt all over the town, trying to find specific places and write down our names in the booklets that were hidden at each location. Our team name was Merlin, Arthur, and Hans Peter. Probably the best thing I've ever thought up. I got to be Merlin.

We ate traditional local food, called Gâteau au Beurre, which was basically a very thin pizza crust with lots of butter and the toppings, but no tomato sauce and no cheese. It was delicious.

Later tonight I am being taken "tractor pulling". I have no idea what it will be. I will follow up with more later.

Internationally Trained: High Jump and Palette

This week has been phenomenal.

 Saturday night, Elisabeth, Hans Peter, David, Mel, Maya and her fiancee and I all went to Hotel du Peyrou, a very fancy establishment near downtown, and had dinner to honor David getting his Masters. It was this incredible experience of tastes, sights, and culture like I'd never experienced before. We spent six hours eating exotic foods and struggling to use the right silverware, trying everything from raw fish to vegetable flavored sorbet. It was incredible. My entire host family has been so welcoming and kind, I couldn't be luckier.

I started track and field this week with a local club. They have been very welcoming and offer insightful help on my jumping, as well as providing challenging workouts. It's perfect. On Monday we went to a track that is about 10 minutes outside of Neuchatel, and is right on the water front. It was the most stunning place I've ever seen. It was clear enough to see the rugged Alps from across the water, and vineyards snaked up the hillside behind. Everywhere I looked was beauty. Tuesday and Wednesday were at a different, more traditional track (this one wasn't woodchip, had a pit, and a grandstand), but the same kids met and I felt very good to be working out. I was also asked by a man if he had seen me in the Olympics, and if he could I have my autograph. I gave my best "confused tourist" face (one I have been perfecting), and trotted off.

My online classes began this week, and I am just beginning to figure out how to work it. So far we have had assignments like "tell us about yourself" and "why history is important", but I'm sure I'll be very busy with them in no time. In addition, we had our first "French as a second language" french class on Thursday. It is a very long class that ends at a quarter to 6, but I met several of the kids there and they were all very nice. It was a relief to finally be able to connect with people that I could engage with on a deeper level than my rudimentary french skills. My comprehension is increasingly better, and I can now follow along in class (with a little concentration), but my speaking still lags. "How are you", "What did you do this weekend", and "Do you like this class" are all very wonderful things to talk about, I'm sure, but I've found its a bit easier to get to know people when you can respond and participate in conversation a bit further.

Guys this place is indescribable.