Be careful what you shop in.

As a general rule, don’t go shopping at H & M wearing clothes that you recently purchased from H & M. It makes you feel kind of weird and creepy, especially when you walk by the rack displaying your clothes. Although on the upside, people standing nearby look at you as though they recognize you. You're an instant celebrity! Until you realize that um.....you're actually just kind of weird.

It's a small world.

I decide that, even though I have already found an apartment (very nice, very cute), I should maintain the search, just to “see what’s out there”. I wake up early, head to the old city, and wander around through the brisk morning air. I find the place, ring the bell, and introduce myself to the man with the red hair and the tinge of an Irish accent. As with everyone I meet here, I ask “so why are you moving”. Got job in DC. “Doing what?”. World Bank. This banter goes back and forth for about 30 seconds until we hit the goldmine. It turns out that this guy lived in LA, went to Rand, and was in the same program as a friend of mine and knew her. Weird. Later that day I’m watching Colbert and see a band “OK GO”. I send the link to their hilarious treadmill video to another friend to alert her. She informs me that she went to school with the lead singer and sees him quite frequently. All I can say…..it’s a small world.

Which language will we be using?

The bell rings. I stumble out of my slumber having understood two things: maid cleans on Tuesday, naked in bed. I decided to feign sleep under the protective shield of my blanket, thinking this was the lowest cost solution. She would enter, see I was sleeping, and disappear until later. Her keys continued to fumble at the door. Apparently blocked by the presence of my keys; still dangling in the door. "Fire safety" I can hear my mother saying. I get up, covering myself toga style, and open the door. "Can you please come back later?" I said, puffy eyes and all. No response....blank stare. Oh yeah, I forgot I'm in Switzerland. "Francais?" I utter, hoping she speaks french. "Italiano?" she responds. "Ummm... no" I say half embarrased. "Spanish?" she interjects. As I'm standing there trying to sort through my cluttered mind to find the word "yes" in spanish or change the expression on my face from sleepy haze to mild comprehension, she says "Mas tarde?". Aaaaaahhhhhh. "Si, gracias" I respond, and hobble back to my bed for three more minutes of sweet sleep. Language is a currency here. Bartering, negotiating, until finally one settles upon the right combination that both parties are happy with. And then the deal is made.