When bad things happen to good people...

Once upon a time, there was a wonderful girl. She was a very good person. Who always had good intentions. One day, this wonderful, good girl, decided to go on a detox diet. She even convinced her devil incarnate friend, who we shall refer to here as Jon, to join her on the detox diet. Jon agreed to do it, albeit begrudglingly.

For the first two days, everything was perfect. The wonderful girl had nothing but fruits, vegetables, and salads and soup for lunch and dinner. On the third day, the wonderful girl had dinner plans with her wonderful friend. For the sake of this story, we shall call him Chris. Chris knew that the wonderful girl had a dark and terrible secret. She was addicted to Fondue. Only Chris was privy to this deep, dark, shameful secret. Okay maybe the whole world knew about her secret, but only HE had the power to use it to his advantage. Okay that's not really true, but let's just pretend it was. Anyway, on the third day of the diet, Chris uttered the F word on the tram. This powerful word shattered the wonderful girl's world. All of a sudden, the only thing she wanted was Fondue. She couldn't function like a normal person. She started wailing on the tram. People were staring, but she remained unmoved.

She begged Chris to allow her to focus on her diet, but he insisted that they go for fondue. Despondent, she had no choice but to follow him there. Now, if you come across this Chris guy, he may give you a different version of this story. HE may say that HE tried to get this wonderful girl to stick to her diet, and that SHE insisted that they go for fondue. He may claim to not even know where the restaurant was located. But don't be food by his charming smile. For under that charm lies the heart of an evil kingpin, who can fool you into doing his bidding anytime. I mean, look at this wonderful girl here:



Does this face look it belongs to the wonderful girl who made the decision to go have fondue herself? Or does it look like she was forced to go there? I mean, if the tears that you can almost see glistening in her eyes don't make you believe the latter, then I don't know what will.

In the meantime, the actual devil incarnate Jon was made aware of such flagrant violations of the diet. But Jon, being the devil incarnate, allegedly already foresaw such developments and therefore broke his diet even earlier by indulging in cake therapy. The moral of this story is that wonderful girls should never hang out with devil incarnates or with evil kingpins, for they have the power to ruin people's lives. Or at least their diets. Let this be a lesson for all. That is all.

Believe in magic!

Credit Card companies do, so why shouldn't you? Confused? Let me explain:

Once upon a time, a lifetime ago really, I had a credit card with a company - let's just call them ABC. Being Indian, I'm genetically inclined to never have any balance to carry forward on my card, and always pay my monthly balance in full. Ever since I moved to Zurich, I've only used one credit card from the US, and that too mostly for bigger purchases. Just for fun, I was checking my online statements for all my cards last night. That's right - some people watch TV for fun. Me, I check all my dormant credit cards' balances online.

To my shock and horror, I discovered that one of my cards had a past due bill for interest payment to the tune of $330. Which would have been fine, if not for one teeny tiny little fact: the balance on the card was $0. That's correct, I was charged interest that's equivalent to 1/3rd of a Gucci bag on a $0 balance.

Once I was over my shock and awe at this ridiculousness, I called their customer service number, where an obviously Indian girl introduced herself as "Patricia". I felt like telling her, "Honey, if you are Patricia, then I am Ms. Universe, and we ALL know that that's not true!" But I indulged her by letting her think that I totally thought she was indeed Patricia. She asked me to explain the issue to her. Of course, she couldn't really do anything so I got passed around to three other people. By this time, my rage issues had started to make a grand return. I closed my eyes and imagined hundreds of cupcakes waiting for me, which helped calm me down. Sadly, only food-related thoughts can help me relax now. This situation has now become dire. Anyway, I finally spoke with someone who had superpowers and could help me with my situation! This person said that he could indeed see this $330 interest past due on my statement, but couldn't figure out where it came from! I guess it just "magically" appeared!

After a bit of head scratching by both of us, he agreed to waive the balance, which was good because it had no basis to exist in the first place. I was thoroughly disgusted by all of this, and once he helpfully waived the interest on a non-existent balance, I proceeded to close my account with ABC Bank. This taught me an important lesson - magic is not limited to Disney alone...even credit card companies believe in it! Now I'm going to go play with my Harry Potter magic wand and see if I can conjure up some spells...anything is possible at this point!

How a boy named Jon ruined my life

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, a wonderful family was blessed with a beautiful baby boy. The parents named this seemingly lovely boy Jon. However, unbeknownst to them, Jon was, in fact, evil incarnate. On the outside, his cherubic appearance with his messy hair and HarryPotteresque glasses made people warm up to him really quickly. His typical British sense of humor, often dry and quirky, made him a darling of the masses. He quickly developed a following and dubbed all his followers as members of the "Jon cult". But, no one knew of the evil that resided in him. His true colors were not to be releaved until a little later in life, when he moved to a beautiful city called Zurich.

Halfway across the universe, in a city called New York, lived a lovely girl called Jigz. She was described by her friends as entertaining, full of life, and fun.However, she was also hiding a deep, dark secret. A terrible secret that almost no one knew about. She was a recovering addict. Jigz was addicted to the game "Bejeweled" on her cellphone. It was a serious, debilitating condition that had a profound impact on all aspects of her life. While riding buses and subways in New York, she wouldn't even look up from her phone to acknowledge other fellow human beings. Numerous times, she found herself missing her bus stop or her subway stop because she was so focused on her game. In a little over two years, she had played over two thousand five hundred games on her phone.

One day, when she found herself reaching for her phone at two am on a Tuesday night, she knew that she had a problem. Not one to dwell on a problem without finding a solution for it, Jigz immediately started talking to people about it and sought help. The first thing she did was to hide Bejeweled from the Menu display on her phone. "If you can't see it, it can't tempt you," is what she would say. After a lot of soul searching, she realized that the only way she could get completely cured of her addiction was by moving to a new country, even a new continent. She needed to get away from all that was familiar, and move to the new. After a long wait, Jigz finally moved to Zurich. And that's where she met Jon.

Jon, who finally saw the perfect prey, a woman with addiction issues, immediately pretended to be nice, warm, and friendly. Pretty soon, Jon and Jigz became good friends. Trusting him, Jigz confessed to him about her past addiction issues. Jon, playing the sympathy card, pretended to care, and promised to help her, should she ever relapse. What he didn't mention to her was that he would be the catalyst in causing such a relapse. Such was her trust for him that Jigz even showed him exactly where she hid the game "Bejeweled" on her phone. Jon leaped at this opportunity. One day, when a group of people were out for dinner, Jon took Jigz's phone, and started played Bejeweled on it. In front of Jigz. Not only was she horrified at such a blatant display of breach of trust, her dormant addiction was now awake and kicking again. Jon, being the true evil that he is, then saved the game on her main Menu. Everytime she would reach for her phone, the game would now be in front of her eyes. Daring her. Taunting her. Enticing her.

Jigz tried to resist as long as she could, but she is human, after all. She finally succumbed. Now, before even brushing her teeth in the morning, Jigz has to play a game. Before going to bed, she has to play a game. While waiting for a tram, while ordering food, even while doing yoga! She now looks like a deranged lunatic who is unfit for society. All because of a boy called Jon. But will good ultimately triumph over evil? Can Jigz get over her addiction once again? Is she strong enough to stop Jon from destroying another life? Or will Jon take over the entire world and ruin everyone's lives? Come back here to find out what happens next!

So What

This week has been, as the French say, shit. Actually, it has been eine grosse katastrophe. It has been fraught with suspense, drama, and bouts of hunger, all culminating in an epic public meltdown that shocked pretty much all of Zurich. You know me - I have been known to only cry while watching Hallmark commercials or while watching the opening montage from the movie UP. And such rumored acts of crying have only occured in a dark movie theater or within the confines of my apartment. I'm almost vampire like that way. So an epic daylight public meltdown by me is not only unheard of, it is also deeply embarrassing, and doesn't make for a pretty sight. I sat in abject horror and almost had this out-of-body experience where I looked at myself askance and wondered, "Who is this insane, emotionally unhinged, out of control madwoman?" as I was undergoing said meltdown. Thank god for beverage therapy, good friends, and ice cream.

Apart from some really good friends, both new and old, Pink is the only other person who's helping me deal with the disaster that was this week and helped channel my despair into rage. This song has now become my mantra:



Hope you all had a better week than I did!

I love Paris

To quote the great Cole Porter:

Every time I look down on this timeless town
whether blue or gray be her skies.
Whether loud be her cheers or soft be her tears,
more and more do I realize:

I love Paris in the springtime.
I love Paris in the fall.
I love Paris in the winter when it drizzles,
I love Paris in the summer when it sizzles.

I love Paris every moment,
every moment of the year

There's just something about this city that resonates with me. It's hard to explain what, or justify the why. I look forward to walking around and assaulting the locals with my pathetic French, and am still in awe every time I walk on Voie Georges Pompidou or am walking past The Louvre. The buildings and churches and castles never change, but each time I walk past them, I discover something new. Whether it's a missed sculpture, or a particularly unique coffee shop, Paris awakens the dormant explorer in me, and makes me feel like a little kid in a candy store. I can walk around for miles and miles without a care in the world, and even though my feet cry for respite, my mind and heart yearn for more. It's always had a special place in my heart, and if this trip was any indication, it will continue to do so for some time to come.

On my way to Paris, I had decided to blog about this the "right way." I was going to make a note of names and places of all the restaurants where I had a meal, and list all the cafes and do some actual critiquing. The plan was foolproof, I had my ever handy IPod Touch and was making a note of everything both days. But my lifelong aversion to Steve Jobs and everything Apple reared it's ugly head yet again. On my way back form Paris, I realized that my entire notepad had been wiped out, as had all my music. I had a mini breakdown in the train. It was not pretty. There was no knight in shining armor to rescue me either. So details of the Paris trip will not be like I imagined it to be and I'm going to have to wing it. Please send a letter of complaint to Steve Jobs for me, will ya?

I took train out from Zurich to Paris on Friday evening. It was a five hour train ride, with stunning views of rolling green hills and pretty farms along the way. The train pulled into Gare Du Nord at around 9:30 in the evening, and my hunger levels had reached insurmountable heights. The brother met up with me at the station and we walked to the hotel, which was about a five minute walk from the station. My brother tried to make conversation with me, but all I could think and talk about was food. Since the brother has seen the monster that I turn into when denied food, we quickly dropped my bag off at the hotel and made our way to the nearest falafel joint. It was only after devouring an entire falafel and some halloumi and some fatayer did I feel human again. I was exhausted from a busy week at work, so we decided to call it an early night and made our way back to the hotel.

Next morning we woke up reasonably early, and made our way to a pretty decent Crepe place. I've always believed in the saying, "Why have one crepe when you can have two?" and I proceeded to do just that:



Some people double fist on alcohol; I double fist on crepes. That's how I roll. After crepes, we walked around on Rue Lafayette, home to many a stores and smaller cafes. We stopped at a cafe for some coffee and made our way to Place de la Concorde. This is one of the biggest squares in Paris, with sweeping views of The Eiffel Tower, Arc De Triomphe, Jardin des Tuileries, and the Louvre. The weather was perfect, with not a cloud in the sky, and we took at least a dozen pictures around the fountains and of the entire square:



From there, we walked on Champs-Elysees and made our way to Arc de Triomphe - a monument about the Napoleon wars.



The top of the arch lists names of all the soldiers who fought for Napoleon, while the inside lists the names of all the cities and towns Napoleon conquered.



I know all this because of the hired tour guide a.k.a my brother. He was willing to share his fountain of knowledge in exchange for good cafes and crepes. Everyone in my family will work for food. We're cheap that way.

Interesting fact: Did you know that Napoleon was only 5'2? Who says short people can't conquer the world? This gives me hope of one day turning my dreams of world dominion into reality.

The inner child in me that needs to be fed every two hours started to scream for food again, and we began our hunt to find a good place for lunch. Came across a wonderful Mediterranean place, whose name I'd give you, were it not for Steve Jobs. Instead, all I can offer you is a picture of what we ate:



This post is turning into an encyclopedia, so I'm going to continue the rest in a Part II of this post.

It's a Hard Life

This week was supposed to be all about London and what I did there and what I ate. I figured the Land Of the Queen deserved more than one post. But things happened, as things tend to, that lead me to alter my agenda a little bit. For today is the day that I introduced a whole new set of people to the horrors of my gluttony. My friend Julie had organized a dinner for, get this, 22, that's right, TWENTY-TWO women, at my favorite(and perhaps, the only) Ethiopian restaurant in Zurich. As I am an idiot wrapped in a moron, I got lost on my way to the restaurant, even though I have been there numerous times now. Julie and Carla were standing out on the street trying to spot me. This is why I wore a bright red jacket today; I knew something like this would happen that would require me to be spotted from space. We finally united and I made my merry way into the restaurant.

The fellow vegetarians in attendance united and formed our own front. We were a varied bunch, from U.S., Canada, Germany, and Sweden. It was a great group of people and good conversation was had, with much of it centering around food, to my delight. You all remember what happened the last time I went to this restaurant. Well, this time, I decided to take it up a notch. So we got two servings, yes, two servings, of this:



When I finally stopped eating, as usual, I couldn't breath due to the food coma. I almost wanted to lie down on the couch and find the will to move again. Julie did an absolutely wonderful job organizing everything and the company was exceptional. I also caught up a bit with Jenny, whom I met on my disastrous bike trip back when I first moved here. After she was done playing hostess, I had her look at my knee, which was bothering me. She moonlights as a knee expert, so I'd highly recommend that you solicit her services when required. She did some complicated looking things with my knee and concluded that I may have some tendon inflammation in my right knee.

I don't really know what could be the cause of this knee inflammation - the only thing I can conclude is that maybe leaping across the table to get the last bite chocolate before someone else ate it may not have helped the situation. I've been asked to lie down, wrap an icepack around my knee, and perch it at an angle such that it's above my heart. So here I am, in a comically awkward position, with my laptop in my lap (but not really), looking like I'm doing more acrobats than those at a circus. Thank you, I'll be here all week.

Gatwick Airport - Stuff that nightmares are made of

Whenever a little kid refuses to eat his veggies, his mom probably tells him, "Have your veggies, or you will be forced to fly into Gatwick airport the next time you go to London". I had heard stories about this, but after flying into Gatwick this time around, I am convinced of their authenticity. By the time I landed in Gatwick on Thursday night, hunger had started to hum. As a result, I was already a bit disoriented. And we all know what kinds of things happen when I'm hungry. On top of all this, many of the exits from the Gatwick terminal to the Shuttle were closed, and the Detour signs were unclear, to say the least. I ended up going through Baggage claim and customs at least twice. And I didn't even check-in any bags! I had that vacant look that people get in their eyes when they go to watch The Predator and find out that Adrian Brody only took his shirt off once. You begin to question your very existence. Fortunately, before the questioning got too intense, I found my way to the shuttle and then to the train station to take the Express train to my friend's place in East London.

Aforementioned hunger made me buy a Same Day return Ticket from Gatwick to London bridge. Yes, Same day. Apparently my hungry mind decided that riding the Gatwick express back and forth would be an ideal way to resolve my hunger issues. At the train station, I saw something marvelous: I saw Subway. Yes, the fast-food chain. It has been exactly 4.5 months since I last saw one of these. I just stood outside in adoration of the store for a good five minutes. Who knew I'd get so sentimental over limp lettuce and canned olives? I wanted to grab a sandwich before I boarded the train, but the display kept blinking at me and informed me that the arrival of the train was imminent. I rushed to the platform, only to find another blinking display - this one announcing that the train was delayed by 20 minutes. I wanted to rail against the gods and ask, "Why, god, why?" Alternatively, I could also have run back to the Subway stand and bought my sub, but the thought of lugging my carry-on up and down non-escalated stairs didn't sound too appealing at the time.

By the time I made it to London Bridge, I was blinded by hunger. Literally blinded for two seconds, but then I realized it's because I had closed my eyes. I grabbed a cab and made my way to my friend's place. I made the cab driver drop me a block away from their home because I spotted an Indian restaurant and wanted to grab some take-out before I went over to their place. Most people bring gifts to the people they are visiting. But I don't follow any such norms. Me, I took take-out. For myself. Before I went to their place. My friend T was out of town that night but her husband S let me in. Instead of making conversation and catching up with him, the first words out of my mouth were, "Hi S! So good to see you!! I'm very hungry and desperately need to eat right away!" I then proceeded to make him watch me wolf down some Naan and curry. In between the chomping I'd come up for some air and mumble something at him in an attempt to make conversation, but such was my hunger that my eyes didn't even leave my dinner plate until everything was swept clean. Never let it be said that I don't give my hundred percent to anything that I do.

S, who was probably in shock and awe, had plans to leave early the next morning and went to get some sleep. Poor bloke probably had nightmares about a crazy houseguest who ate all their food. Satiated, I switched the TV on, and found English channels! For these three days, I wouldn't have to watch Castle in German, or Monk in Italian, or CSI in French - all the shows and channels were in English. I cried a few tears of joy and watched some NCIS before I went off to bed. Tomorrow, I introduce you to my lovah...

Aaaand I'm back!

I'm back from London; had an amazing time there! It's a LOT different from what it used to be about four years ago, when I lived there for a few months. Overall, it just felt so damn good to be in a big, English-as-the-main-language city, full of hustle and bustle, and feel the beat of a big city once again. I've got loads to share, but I need to unpack, do laundry, eat, watch True Blood, watch Mad Men, have a long debate about whether or not I want to have dessert, probably end up having some dessert, and do the dishes, before I can really talk about the trip. In the mean time, one of these things didn't happen on the trip - I'll let you try and figure out which one it was:

1) I did takeout before I even reached my friend's apartment in London
2) I got a papercut on my arm
3) When doing takeout, I was asked, "Is this for two people or three?"
4) I had to wake up at 3:30am to catch the first flight back to Zurich and go to work
5) I hugged clothes in the Petite section in stores
6) I finally turned down an offer of food

Will either be back later today or most likely tomorrow with the first snippets. Until then, keep guessin'!

UPDATE: I JUST WATCHED LAST NIGHT'S EPISODE OF TRUE BLOOD AND I AM @#$%$^%$. THIS SHOW HAS TAKEN AWAY MY ABILITY TO TYPE IN LOWER CAPS. HOLY COW. WHAT AN EPISODE. SUFFICE TO SAY, DETAILS ABOUT LONDON WILL HAVE TO WAIT. WOW.

I'll Stand By You

When I started this blog, I decided that it would be a non-political one. Those of you who have known me for a while know that I have very *ahem* strong opinions on all things political. So if I started talking politics here, this could quickly derail into just another political blog, and the idea of talking about Zurich and my experiences here would be nothing but a distant memory.

But something pretty monumental happened today that I think deserves a mention. Prop 8, an intensely discriminatory ballot initiative that was voted into law in California has been ruled unconstitutional. As someone who has long propagated equal rights for all human beings, regardless of their race, religion, gender, and orientation, you can imagine how happy this makes me feel. In fact, I was so happy this morning that I decided to be a good girl only had one lunch. And one dinner. I just hope that people finally do the right thing and realize that discrimination under the veil of moral outrage and societal concerns is still discrimination.

In honor of this decision, I'm going to share a story with you that I absolutely, positively, never wanted anyone to be aware of. But such is my joy that I am going to reverse my decision and post it, for your amusement, as always:

During my first couple of weeks in Zurich, I went to Blue Monkey, a really good Thai restaurant for dinner with some colleagues who are visiting from New York. The restaurant itself was one of the better places I had been to here in Zurich. Food was good, conversation was interesting. As usual, I zoned out when I was getting intimately acquainted with my green curry and fried rice, so details of the conversation, of course, cannot be recalled. I do remember that at the end of the meal, we were satiated, and decided to forgo dessert (a heartbreaking decision for me, but I was outvoted). The waitress started to clear the table, and in the process, took a burning candle off the table and promptly poured a generous amount of melted wax on my wonderful and recently washed black pants. I watched the whole thing happen in slow motion, certain that the wax wouldn't find itself attached to my pants. But oh how wrong was I!

Now I don't know about you, but having a huge blob of melted wax covering a majority of your pants doesn't exactly scream "fashion". At first, everyone at the table was in shock. Then everyone started laughing. Actually, they didn't laugh out loud, but I'm sure in their head they were cracking up. The waitress profusely apologized and confessed that that day was her first day at work. I felt bad and decided not to demand free dessert, which I totally deserved. I covered the white on black with a tablecloth while we were seated, and wore my overcoat as soon as we got up to leave. I was clutching the overcoat so tightly around me, you'd think I had a million dollars hiding underneath it. Instead, I was hiding melted wax on black pants.

Tell me honestly - do you know anyone else who had hot wax poured on their black pants at a restaurant? Why do such things only happen to me - and that too on a global level? What have I done to deserve such things? Let us together find an answer, for I cannot solve this mystery alone.

Kinder Ninja

You weren't expecting me to post the next update so quickly, were you? I like surprising people - keeps things interesting. Let's see what happened on Sunday. The morning began as all mornings do, with food. Breakfast was included in our room and board, and we all know how I feel about free food. Right before I ate pretty much everything that I could humanly eat, I walked around and took some pictures from the hotel of Lake Thun and the mountains:





And one more:



After breakfast, we made our way back to the sports company with whom we now had a rafting trip planned. The gear we had to get dressed in this time around was rafting gear, which they thankfully had in my size! I was ecstatic. Ecstasy lowered itself into mere happiness upon discovery of the fact that they still didn't have any shoes in my size. We drove to the river (I think the river was called Lucino but I could also totally be making that up) and got a lesson in rowing and instruction-following. Soon, we were in the river and pretty much thrown into the rapids as soon as we got in:



The fact that I'm terribly uncoordinated is not news to anyone. And this is without you even being aware of how one day I fell on my strawberries while walking and crushed them all. But I digress. Due to my lack of coordination, I would keep sliding into the raft, as opposed to being seated on the edge and paddling. Thankfully, I was in the very back, so no one noticed. However, when such things happened:



my screams got loud enough to wake up the dead. Soon, we got our first break to catch our breath. I was extremely proud of the fact that I still hadn't fallen into the river. But it was still early days. When we made it back into the river for round two, the rapids we encountered were even stronger. At one such time, the wave that we got hit with was too strong, and it ended up taking my paddle away. Yes, I lost my paddle. To the river. I don’t think such things happen to normal people, but they do to me. It turned out to be blessing in disguise, as the rest of the guys had to carry my weight, which we all know is quite a bit to carry.

In one of the general hilarity that ensued from me losing my paddle, my friends started calling me Kinder, which means child in German. This had to do with the fact that my birthday comes once every four yrs and nothing at all to do with the fact that I am short. Nothing at all, I’m positive. The raft guide who sat next to me and saved my life many-a-times was chatting with us, and when he kept hearing my friends call me kinder, thought that was my name. We explained to him the origins of the word Kinder. He then looked at me and out of the blue said that I looked like a Ninja. Which, in hindsight, I totally did. It was decided that I be called Kinder Ninja. I must admit, I actually quite like the sound of it. It has the makings of a solid action flick. "When the world is in peril, only one person can save it - Kinder Ninja" Like sound of it. I'm calling Spielberg as we speak.

Anyway, once the rafting adventure ended, we drove back to Zurich. The trip was amazing, the company fabulous. I leave you with one final image of the views that we passed on the drive back:

Extreme sightseeing

This weekend, I went to Interlaken with a few friends. The plan was to go canyoning on Saturday, stay in town overnight, and drive back after brunch on Sunday. But we all know that when I'm involved, things seldom happen according to plan. We made it in good time to Interlaken, even though most of us were worse for wear from a brutal night out on Friday night. The two hour drive there was filled with hilarity and general silliness. The first thing we did upon reaching Jungfrau, the region within Interlaken where we would be staying, was decide to have lunch. You can imagine how happy this made me feel. I decided to go ahead and have a plateful of rostii with the justification that I was going to be burning a lot of calories canyoning. Little did I know das katastrophes that awaited us...

After lunch, we made our way to the company with whom we organized the canyoning. As usual, there were no adult wetsuits available in my size, so I had to end up wearing a kid size suit, and tragically, even that was a bit too big on me. I was glad that I had that rostii earlier to keep me emotionally happy, otherwise this wetsuit situation would have had me bursting into tears. We got all geared up in our wet suit, jacket, lifevest, helmet, ropes, and everything else that we could humanly carry on us, and got in the van that would drive us to the canyon.

Our driver was an...interesting French guy who had never driven an automatic and thus was causing almost-accidentlike situations every 2.4 seconds. After the first couple of times, we almost got used to it. I hardly ever even prayed for my life after the fifth time that we almost crashed into another car. The general hilarity from the morning continued well into the afternoon. The weather was rainy and cold, but the scenic beauty of the valley and the fun company made it enjoyable. Alas, joy would soon turn into sorrow, and sorrow into despair. As we got closer to entering the canyon, we found out that one of the rocks from the mountain had fallen over a tunnel and we thus had to turn back. Clemount, in this thick French accent, gravely told us, "Je suis desole but I have no Plan B!" We secretly wanted to burst out laughing (remember, we were in our silliness phase of the trip, which is when everything was funny!), but suggested that he ask around and see if we could come back Sunday morning and go then. He thought this was an absolutely brilliant idea and drove to the nearest town to inquire more about the situation.

While we were waiting for Clemount to do this thing, I went all Annie Lebovitz on everyone and whipped out my camera:



Here are some really cool views of the Jungfrau range:



Meanwhile, Clemount came back with the depressing news that we couldn't go canyoning as it was too dangerous and we had to turn back.At this point, we were still in our wetsuit. Standing outside of a van. We were dressed up in extreme sportsgear and were taking pictures of mountains. As my friend C put it, we basically ended up doing "extreme sightseeing". Came across some really nice views on the way back though:





We decided to drown our sorrows in Fondue, which regrettably led to "whoever drops the bread takes a shot" games, and as always, I lost. By midnight, I was falling asleep standing up. The fact that only horses can sleep standing up is a myth, which I successfully managed to dispel on Saturday night.

While we were discussing with Clemount what to do in place of Canyoning on Sunday, one of our friends C then proposed the idea that we could go rafting early Sunday morning, since we were staying in town overnight anyway. Clemount again thought that this was the most brilliant idea ever. We started to wonder if he lived on a Funny farm and had infact only been let out for a couple of hours that day. Our analysis of him continued well into Sunday afternoon. So rafting we did go on Sunday, but to learn more about that little adventure, and the meaning of the term "Kinder ninja", you'll have to check back tomorrow (or a week from now, but I promise, rafting details and the pictures will be uploaded soon!)

Can't breathe

I had a couple of fellow food lovers over for an Indian dinner tonight, and now I'm having trouble breathing, because of all the eating. Nothing, not even my super loose sweatpants, prepared me for my latest food coma. My cooking wasn't a total disaster (except for the Strawberry Sorbet that ended up becoming a strawberry slushie), and we had Eric and Neal to give us company for remainder of the evening. I wanted to blog about quite a few amusing things that have happened recently, but I am not kidding when I say that I cannot physically get myself off the couch because of the naan, dal, rice, Alu Gobi, avacado and cucumber raita, strawberry slushie thing, and backup dessert of chocolate cake that I inhaled. One day, I will regain my ability to move. But until such a day arrives, I'm going to try and find what I can about my latest future husband...

Why can't I be normal?

This question keeps me up at night. I have pondered over it for years now, and can come up with few answers that can explain my lack of normalcy. The only reasonable explanation is that something happens to me when I'm in any situation that has anything to do with food, and that causes me to behave in ways that psychologists wouldn't really classify as "normal". But I have no answer to the root cause of this issue. Is it a forgotten childhood trauma? A genetic disorder? A chemical imbalance? I have no answer and I don't think even doctors would. Why do I bring this up today, you ask? Well, here's what happened this morning:

I had met one half of a seemingly wonderful couple on my flight to Spain a couple of weekends ago, and made plans to meet the two of them for brunch this afternoon. I woke up early enough to procrastinate about going to the gym, and ended up having two cookies to get over the guilt of said procrastination. I even got ready on time and ensured that my handbag matched my dress and shoes. But as every woman knows, changing handbags is a tricky business. It's extremely difficult to remember to transfer your ipod, work ID, loose change, makeup, book, and various other items to the new handbag. Something always is forgotten in the old handbag, and your life ceases to hold any meaning until the missing item has been safely transferred over.

Well, such a "life ceasing to hold any meaning" event happened with me this afternoon. I was going to a vegetarian buffet place for brunch, so thoughts of muesli and pudding and lentils and curry had infiltrated my head to a point where I couldn't even think straight. Everywhere I looked around, I saw curry and rice. This is why when I swapped bags, I thought the newer bag felt lighter than the older one, but chalked that up to the weight of the bag itself, so as not to let anything get in the way of my curry cravings. Well, imagine my embarrassment when it came time to pay and I realized that I had forgotten my...wallet! Yes, the light weight of my new handbag was due a missing wallet that was comfortably resting in my old handbag.

To say that I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole would be an understatement. To say that I wanted to be on Lost and go back in time would be more accurate. I had to shamefully ask my wonderful brunchmates to bail me out. And you know me, when I eat, I EAT. And this was buffet, where you stuff your plate with whatever you want and then weigh it at the counter. I repeat, it was a BUFFET. So my plate was stuffed. And I had to ask someone who I knew for approximately 3.5 minutes to pay for it. All because food was on my mind all morning and I had lost the ability to use my brain for any seemingly normal activities. My mates were kind enough to bail me out, but then I saw dessert. And I longingly kept staring at it. They asked me if I was up for coffee and some dessert. Mindful of the fact that I was literally penniless, I started to refuse. But my insincerity must have shown on my face, because they insisted that I join them for coffee and dessert and paid for that too. Being the fat@ass that I am, I had both. This a new low, even for me. Something must be done. I cannot continue to be an idiot wrapped in a moron for the rest of my life. Dessert was fabulous though. As was the cappuccino. I need help. Help!

Blessings in disguise

It's been over two months since I moved to Zurich. In those two months, I had email issues, login issues, and moronity issues. Since then, my email issues have been resolved. My login issues have been resolved. My moronity issues are still ongoing without any resolution in sight.

But until very recently, I was faced with a new crisis. My chair at work, ladies and gentlemen, had digestive issues. It would make a farting sound every time I sat, I moved around in my seat, and every time I got up. It had gotten so bad that I could only move from my present position after people around me either left to attend meetings or went on coffee breaks. One day, a cute guy came by to talk to my coworker, and he smiled at me. I smiled back, and my chair farted. I saw the look of horror on his face, but before I could explain, he fled. My chair was now costing me my reputation, my peace of mind, and my future social life.

A few months ago, I had tendinitis and required several weeks of physiotherapy and an ergonomic setup at work. My desk at Zurich didn't have an ergonomic setup, and being a Superwoman, I just assumed that I had defeated the evils of inflamed tendons once and for all. Unfortunately my Superwoman powers are nonexistent in Zurich, so the tendinitis started coming back with a vengeance.

Fortunately for my alter-ego, this meant I now needed an ergonomic setup at work, which meant it was time to retire the farting chair. I am now proud to proclaim that my brand new ergonomic chair is very healthy and has no digestive issues. It has also cured me of my tendinitis for now, and helped me in curtailing any future damage to my reputation. On the other hand, I tried to say "nice to meet you" to someone in German, but ended up saying "I set myself on fire." So maybe the damage to my reputation is unstoppable at this point..

And now there's proof...

We all know how much I love food. Th love I feel is innocent and pure and unconditional. Just the other day, at a friend's birthday party dinner, everyone was making conversation while having dinner. But not me. I'm very committed to my one true love, so for the first twenty minutes, I was absolutely quiet and focused all my energy and dedication on the food. Only when I heard silence did I look up to realize that everyone at the table had stopped talking and were just watching me eat. But I don't let little things like being in public keep me apart from my true love. So even as everyone was staring at me with their mouths hanging open, I got up to take my thrid serving, acting as if nothing was wrong.

But, something tragic has now happened. My love of food, until now a public but undocumented matter, has now been caught on film! What was until now a private matter is now available for the whole world to see. Allow me to explain what happened: a few months ago, a couple of coworkers took me out to Ilili, a Mediterranean restaurant in New York, for my farewell lunch. We saw a film crew at the location but didn't really catch them filming anything, so just assumed that they were still setting the shoot up as we were having lunch. Little did I know that not only was the camera on, it was ON us. And it captured me inhaling the falafel like it was going out of business. Hey, I was hungry. So now anyone who takes a cab in NYC can watch this ad on Taxi TV:

Ilili commercial



The woman you see attacking the falafel at the 0:57 mark is yours truly. You can see how the purity of my love is tarnished by such imagery. This video makes me look like a glutton, instead of making me look like a food lover that I am. On the other hand, this video just adds to my up and coming movie career. If nothing, I can definitely play the role of Hungry Patron#3 in the next Spielberg movie. If this video doesn't get me my own trailer, I don't know what will.

A new hiking tradition

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, I had made a promise to myself. A promise that I vowed to uphold no matter what the cost. The promise was to write one post a day, everyday. Now, two months later, I am sorry to learn that the promise was nothing but a pipe dream, one that looked and sounded doable but was very difficult to implement. I am eating Movenpick to help me cope with the loss of this dream. In my defense, I'm busy actually having a life, for the first time in a long time. But still, the loss of a dream hurts. Only dessert can help dull the pain.

Anyway, the last post I promised to let you know why I had to wake up at 9am, after going to bed at 7. It was because I had foolishly assumed that I had superpowers and didn't need sleep and had promised a friend to go hiking with him. Last weekend was the first nice weekend we had in over three weeks, so no way was I going to let it go to waste over unnecessary things like sleeping! My friend C and I went up Uetliberg, which is a mountain right in the city of Zurich. Within minutes of beginning our hike, we were overtaken by old people. I am convinced that these people never made it to the top and in fact turned around halfway and took the train the rest of the way up. That's why we didn't see them once they overtook us, I'm sure of it.

In the 45 minute hike up, I must have cursed at least fifty times, stopped at least thirty times, and felt my violent tendencies rising at least three times. I love hiking, but going uphill is the worst thing one can make me do. Well, the worst thing one can make me do is make me watch the Kardashians on E!, but this comes a close second. Anyway, after huffing and puffing, we reached the top, or so we thought. Upon reaching the top, we found out that we had to climb atop a TV Tower to get the best views. By this time, I wasn't going to let things like exhaustion and inability to breathe stop me from getting a look at the freaking view. So up we went. This is how high we were:



I'm glad we went there though, because it was an absolutely beautiful day, with stunning views:



and here's some more of what we saw:



We stopped for a quick lunch at one of the restaurants at the top and proceeded to walk on a flatter trail toward Feldsenegg. The idea was to take the cable car from there down to Adliswil and then take the train back from there to Zurich. We foolishly put faith in my ability to navigate and follow signs, and needless to say, we didn't find the cable car, even though we were at one point standing right next to the entrace of the stop to take the cable car. We hiked down a pretty steep path for over thirty minutes to get to Adliswil. The landscape en route to Adliswil was absolutely beautiful:





Ever since I began hiking, I only have one tradition that I have no choice but to uphold: I have to trip and fall at least once, and subject myself to deep embarrassment and utter humiliation. Now, you may say that hiking can be challenging and that many people are known to trip or fall, so I shouldn't be embarrassed. Well, allow me to thrill you with the knowledge that unlike most people, I don't fall while I'm hiking. I fall when we have completed the hike and find ourselves on a flat surface. Yes, I fall on the road. And I fell again last week. Now, some women can look very elegant while falling down. They almost descent to the ground with a dancer's grace. Not me. No sir, I fall with arms flailing and bags flying and clothes tearing and knees bloodying. I had to crawl to the edge of the road, since said falling occurred right in the middle of it.

To say that I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me whole to end my embarrassment would be an understatement. My friend C secretly wanted to burst out laughing, I'm sure, but he had his game face on and first made sure that I was okay. Then he snickered a little bit. But this whole situation was just too funny, even for me, so we both gave in and burst out laughing. I'd love to tell you that this ends here, but pretty much the same fate was repeated yesterday, when I went hiking again. Only the embarrassment levels were a thousand times higher because...I think I'll save that story for another day.

New week, new humiliations

So finally, after a decade of darkness, the sun came out this weekend! We literally had a month of nothing but rain. Every. Single. Day. My pantry is full of empty ice-cream containers that I had to finish to help cope with the depression. The waist-line has expanded exponentially. But all this is in the past, because the last four days were the most amazing that I've had all year! Friday evening I had dinner by the lake with a couple of friends, and we basked in the glory of the sun for a few hours. Saturday was dinner at my friend R's place. She made wonderful risotto and lentils and had strawberries and ice-cream for dessert. We ate on the terrace and I had a tan within 2.5 seconds of being in the sun. Topped the evening off with too much wine and attended another friend's housewarming party.

I felt fat from all the gluttony of the previous two nights, so Sunday morning, I went for a run by the lake. I had a nice long run, and on my way back, I wanted to check if the water was warm enough to swim in. So stopped by this one spot which was kind of the shore and decided to dip my hand in it. Next thing I know, I'm in the lake. Yes, I fell in the lake. No one told me that the rocks by the shore were slippery, and that when wearing sneakers, one can fall into the water! This was clearly not my fault. I'm a mere victim of lack of information here. I had to finish my run wearing wet sneakers and tracks. The rest of the day was spent reading by the lake and trying to get over the embarrassment of having fallen in the lake.

Now, May 23 may have been just another day for you, but for me, this was a monumental day. An epic day. It was the day that would usher in the end of an Era. A day when I would get my Tuesdays back. A day when I would stop being ridiculed by the non-believers. May 23, Ladies and Gentlemen, was the day that the Lost Series Finale was to air. For six years, I have devoted my Tuesdays or Wednesdays or Thursdays to this show. Numerous dates, happy hours, parties, birthdays, and alien sightings have taken a backseat to this show. Six years of commitment led to these final 2.5 hours on Sunday night.

But, there was a crisis at hand. The show was set to air at 9pm EST, which was 3AM Zurich time. Additionally, the show doesn't air here in Zurich at the same time, and even if it did, I bet it would have aired in German or even worse, Swiss-German. So I did what any normal person would do - I woke up at 2.30am and posted about my situation on a dozen or so messageboards. Luckily, one of the boards produced a link - a link that was streaming the finale. IN HD. This was God's reward to me for being a dedicated Lostie. So, I watched the finale live. In HD. from 3-5:30am. The plan was to go to bed at 5:30, but the finale was just so momentous that I had to sit for an hour and just soak it in. And you know what? I don't care what anyone else says - I loved it. It really did stay true to the Lost tradition and was ambiguous and comforting in a way that Lost has always been. I will miss my dudes and freckles and "Don't tell me what I can't do"s. My life, once full of promise and hope, has become meaningless again. I suspect I'll need therapy for years to come.

Anyway, I finally fell asleep at 7am, only to have to wake up at 9am. Why? Come back tomorrow to find out!

The downward spiral continues

Today was the second German class. It went even worse than the first one, if that's even possible. I had my housewarming party last night that only ended due to the Zurich tram system, so I was exhausted today. Anyway, today in the class, we were learning to say, "I speak xxx language", which translates to Meine muttersprache ist Englisch. First the instructor said he speaks German, to give us an example of how to phrase our sentence. Due to my exhaustion, I thought he said, "My employer is AlphaSprachStudio (the name of my German language school)" in German. In fact, he had said that his langague is German. How I took that and translated that to "my employer is AlphaSprach" I have no idea.

He then asked me in German to tell him what language I spoke. I ended up saying, "Mine muttersprache ist XYZ Company(which basically translated to my language is XYZ company!!). Again, everyone started laughing and I had no idea why. Thankfully, my agent A who also takes this class with me, told me that he was asking me what languagues I spoke. The embarrassment I felt was beyond comprehension. I just wanted to throw my arms up in the air and walk out. I'm sure this wouldn't have happened had I had my beauty sleep the night before. I also forgot what city I lived in. Yes, I forgot where I was. Let's just say my life has seen better days, and leave it at that.

Going back to the party - I hosted my first housewarming party last night, and it was a lot of fun! Due to my OCD issues, I started cooking two days in advance. I made three different trips to the grocery store: One to pick up all milk products, another to pick up bakery products, and a third to pick up chips and soda. I even enlisted various unsuspecting invitees into hauling all my loot back to the apartment for me. Here's what I ended up making:



(from L to R): Homemade tomato bread and peta, Veggies, crackers, yogurt and cucumber dip, pesto and sour cream dip, homemade pesto and veggie pizzas, guacomole and tacos, cheese, homemade banana bread, and pinwheels, and assorted bruscetta - all made from scratch!

Here are a couple more pictures of the food, because really, who wouldn't want to just look at food all day and sigh?





Everything, including the tomato bread, was homemade. The only items that were store bought were the pizza dough, the olive bread for the bruschetta, and the cheese, of course. And I'm not going to lie to you, fights broke out over the Banana Bread that my friend Raquel made.

Seeing as everything was made Monday and Tuesday night and neatly tucked away in labeled tupperware, I may have gone a little overboard with my OCD while planning the menu. The party came to a halt at midnight when people had to make sure they could get home before the trams stopped running at 12:30. There is a night transportation system that is in place once the trams stop running, but I don't think any of us have ever used it, so no one wanted to take the risk of missing their trams.

The fact that escape was made just in time for cleaning has not escaped my attention. In future, I'm going to implement a "failsafe" process, where music shall be stopped at 11pm, and brooms and mops will be handed out to all the attendees. Only after every spot is left sparkling and shiny shall the music commence. So to all those who made it over last night - you have been warned.

Ich bin idiot

Hunger does strange things to me. I think we've established this time and again. In case we haven't, I have yet another example to make you aware of such a theory. Today was my first German class. I arrived with literally seconds to spare before the class began, and was thus forced to sit in the first seat. I had forgotten that the class was one-and-a-half hours long and thus didn't haven my first dinner before the class. As a result, two minutes into the class, I started experiencing hunger pangs, and it became harder and harder to focus.

The first thing we learned was how to say "I am..."which is Ich bin...We also learned to ask, "Are you..." which is Bist du...?We were then asked to introduce ourselves to the class, and ask one of the other students if he/she was x, y, or z (based on the placards with students' names written on them)? So, all I had to say, in German, was, "I am Jigisha, are you Carl?" This should have translated to "Ich bin Jigisha, bis du Carl?" However, due to my hunger issues, I ended up saying, "Ich bin Carl, bis du Jigisha?" , all the while not even realizing what I was saying. The entire class, including the instructor, burst out laughing, and only then did I realize that I in fact introduced myself as Carl, and asked dear Carl if he was Jigisha. I'm sure this wouldn't have happened had I eaten my first dinner.

By the time the class ended, I was almost blinded by hunger, so much so that I couldn't even find a way out of the floor on which the classroom was located! I opened every single door I could find, and each one of them either led to the Women's Bathroom, Men's bathroom, a utility closet, or a coat closet! Driven by hunger induced insanity, I asked someone to point me to the way out. She pointed me to the door that said Exit and asked me to open that to go downstairs. Apparently, hunger can also make you lose the power of sight and English word comprehension. I'm just letting you know these things, so you are never a victim of hunger that I always am. I'm now going to do my walk of shame back to my bed and am going to rewrite this evening's events in my head in a way that doesn't make me look like a bumbling idiot. Guten nuit!

When tragedy strikes twice

If you remember, a few weeks ago, I talked about rediscovering religion here and here. I was a born-again believer. I believed the Almighty was all encompassing and powerful. Well I am here to tell you that unfortunately, this is not true. Before I begin telling you why, I'm going to digress and talk about my near death experience.

This Saturday I had grand plans to go shopping in Germany. Yes, I can go shopping in Germany if I want to. How very Mariah Carey of me. Anyway, the plan was to go there with a few friends, but as always, come Saturday morning, laziness set in, and ultimately won over, so I bailed out of going. Saturday was the first day in nearly eight days that we saw the sun, so I decided to sit outside in the backyard and just chill. After my first lunch, I started to feel guilty about my fatness and decided to go on a bike ride. I had ambitious plans to ride the bike for 25 miles and go to Rapperswil, which is apparently a cute little town right outside of Zurich. The ride itself is along the lake on a very quiet and a not-so-busy road.

Ten miles into the ride, I decided that I was a bike-expert and could do jumps through slopes and over sidewalks with my "kids" bike. I was feeling badass and decided to do a bike-jump on the sidewalk from the bike path that was on the road. Needless to day, this ended in tragedy. I ended up with bruising on various parts of my lower right leg and my palms. My leg is currently sporting various shades of red, and apparently I also hurt my right wrist. The worst part of it was that there was no knight-in-shining-armor to even pick me off the road! I had to haul my bike and my fatness off the sidewalk myself and make sure that said humiliation was not witnessed by any other living being. Thankfully, the road was deserted, so my shame was mine alone. The worst part was that I had to ride the bike all the way back to my place, with a bleeding knee. And one of the wounds on the leg was on the bone, which led to swelling, so now my one calf looks fatter than the other.

As if all this wasn't enough, I was faced with an existential crisis this morning. The final part of my migration over from New York to Zurich was supposed to get done on Friday, so the hope was that Monday morning I'd have everything the way God of Microsoft intended. Imagine my shock and horror when, upon going to work this morning, I discovered that my email, internet, intranet, chat - nothing worked. And all my documents and files disappeared! The curse of Microsoft had hit again, putting my computer in a catatonic state. I called my God, the one who defeated the Microsoft warlord the last time around, hoping that he'd work his magic again. Unfortunately, and to my immense disappointment, he didn't know what to do! He said he was helpless and powerless in this situation. I felt hope slowly leave me.

I frantically called five different groups and was always told to contact someone else. After SIX hours of chasing my own tail, I knew this had to end, and went "New York" on everyone. I called one group and told them that I'd keep calling them every ten minutes until my access was restored. And I did. Within thirty minutes, I finally had access to chat. The rest of the things were still being worked on, but at least I could communicate with other people! The rest, I'm being told, will be fixed tomorrow.

This whole ordeal got me so stressed that I even forgot to eat my second lunch, can you believe it? I promptly made up for it by eating two dinners with a couple of friends and a dear friend who is visiting from New York. I feel marginally better, emotionally speaking. I just got back and it's now time for me to go to bed and dream hot men dreams, so good night and please pray that my system is up and running as it should be tomorrow morning!