www.eestlasehelveetsia.blogspot.com

Dear friends,

I have moved to an Estonian-blog now and thoughts in English must wait for better days. I will surely blog them here when they come again.

With love,
Blond

Living on a mountain
Something I cannot seem to get over is my life on the top of a mountain. Recently, a friend living in London made a joke and asked if we still had snow up here. We do! All those Pizes around my apartement in a 500 year old building are white and I literally need a different wardrobe on my weekly trips to Unterland, Zurich. On the other hand – I have never been as tanned in April as now. The sun on my large balkony is my best friend on my free days and I am very happy to be living 1800 meters closer to it than most of you.

Living in a village
I am a city girl and proud of it. However, the time I spend on duty, which takes not less than 30 hours at a time, and in Zurich, which is three train ride hours away, I do spend in small village of some 1000 people up on the mountain I described above. I cannot really call it living as it mostly consists of eating and sleeping, or even only sleeping, judging by what I just had for lunch: ten tiny mozzarella balls, five tomatos in the size of a grape and four walnuts I loaned from my flatmate’s assets. Since Coop, our only „supermarket“ is five hundred meters downhill and therefore equals a mediocre challenge, and Volg, our dwarf shop is closed on Wednesday afternoons I am off work, eating is rather limited to the canteen at work. We also have a pizzeria, unfortunately though, without any ventilation, and a bar slash pub slash restaurant which remains the only entertainment for the whole village. Sad to say, so it is for the whole school of 300 pupils, too. But the water is wonderful, we do not have any calk being so high up, and there are actually sources for bubbly mineral water in the area.

Socialising
As I get older, I do not seem to require as much socialising as I used to. I am quite happy reading and chilling on my own when I do not need to be going anywhere, or working. Swiss culture is, in my experience, based on eating together and I adore it. Meeting the people I live in the same house with every week around someone’s birthday dinner, or celebrating a holiday of one of the numerous nationalities we have inhabiting the building, makes me feel content with where I am and what I do. Even if I could always do without the mountain, I have learnt to accept it.

Or: Four Weddings and A Funeral

It is the time of the year when everything is new again – the grass on my fellow mountain staring at me from my window, the pumps in front of my door to slide into in the mornings ad so on.

Last week I attended a funeral for the first time here in Switzerland. It must sound odd but besides grief and love towards the ones left behind I also strongly felt me now really belonging here. That was very new. Being awaited on such an occasion means you must have a history – to those people, this place and time. A feeling of gratitude filled me for the long life of 94 years the grandma had had, and for the time I had had to become a part of it.

Ever so paradoxically, a day of shopping for a suitable new outfit later, I also attended my first wedding here. As common to the humble Swiss – the date was well known a year ago, and when finally arrived, a felicitous happening to all gathered. Moved to the bottom of my heart, I, together with siblings, was photographed standing next the beautiful bride and groom – as they said: practically family, anyway.

As often happens, feelings such as belonging somewhere, are not quite black and white. When the demonstrations started in Tallinn on Thursday, I could not help but feel heartbroken and angry. In a way I accused myself of simply standing aside, not being there for the ones I really belong with… During the past ten years, distances have shortened, but I guess I will need at least another decade to be able to melt down the distances between the two places I feel I belong to.

I still have three wedding-invitations outstanding this summer. Even if I do not have anything to wear yet, I am truly looking forward to those further spectacles. After all – it is the time of the year.

Or: I Know, I Know, I Know I have Just Not Been Writing…

It is indeed my third month on the mountain. Well, it is not that I was a mountain-virgin before; it is also my tenth year jubilee in a relationship with Switzerland, and my one year anniversary after my planned six-year escape from Estonia. It has been over seven weeks since I last looked back – basically because I have been terribly busy with trying to keep my eyes open to everything around me – so I decided to take five minutes and flash back at this time just a second ago.

Setting the borders
In addition to the smelly kitchen case I have a bread case (long story short – I am indeed a terrible person if you look from aside). To sum up – my Mom would not believe I could be as demanding as she once was in terms of cleanliness oh my, oh my.

Another Culture Shock
After years of departing, arriving, travelling, living out of suitcase and experiencing jet lags in different ways I thought I had been immune to the worst patology of them all – the culture shock. Turns out – not quite. While the first symptoms (sleeping when ever and endlessly, for example) showed already at the early stage right after signing the contract, only the eighth week I realized that I was suffering from a serious professional shock – everything had suddenly become so different of what I had known that I lost track. But just for a moment.

The First Holiday
Because soon enough the first holiday came. I took the most horrid trip back home flying to Riga first, and then driving all the way to Tallinn… The first week was relaxation pure – no mountains, no people who all want something from me, no meetings, no papers, and, once more, no mountains.
An interesting thing was that at the beginning of the second week, for the first time in my life – there was no home… I realized I lived somewhere else now, with anything it includes – my five-year work permit, my rental contract, my master card half of the Estonian high-tech machines would not accept. Has the departure really taken place now, I wondered.

Time of arrival?
Another interesting thing occurred to me: the flight from Tallinn to Zurich only lasts a couple of hours but the arrival itself often takes weeks. Sometimes, the duration of trip is given and sometimes, I wonder…


PS. Everything is fine and I love it here.

Or How Not To Take Things Personally

Music. Lights. Eyes. Smile. Turn. Turn again. Shoulders back. Straight ahead. Snap-snap-snap. Everyone is focused on me. Every move made, every picture shot is public and saved. Now my question is – will I be a super model to get my flaws forgiven?

It has now been six weeks and I am not new in my job any more. I am sometimes still mistaken for an eighteen-year old but I still enjoy it as a compliment. People generally know how I think – they are aware of the fact that I like it clean and clear, that I do not discuss matters that have already been decided, that I hate last-minute holiday-applications and that I cannot stand impoliteness. It is equally old news that I only wear black, white or pink, that I do not eat chocolate and that I am never late for meetings.

At the same time, inside, I am still trying to figure out how this show is run here. Whereas I never applied for a spotlight on catwalk this is exactly how I feel. Every decision made is like a newsflash on the first page, the reactions are only either full of scorn or praise. The whole world suddenly seems to be black or white. Rise or fall. Love or hate.

I guess I will need more time to reach an understanding of these people’s actions, motives and ways. After all, I can be mistaken for a teenie, but I am not, and I cannot simply recall what the world looked and felt like a dozen years ago with the hormons bubbling and breasts growing. So I am herewith taking this moment backstage, eating a brownie, sloaching against the kitchen counter, wearing a morning robe. I just realized I no longer need my flaws forgiven. After all, they are what people know me by.

Or How Things Are Decided, Said and Done

If I had to describe myself as a person I would say something like fun and easy. I guess I could add complicated in some cases. And perhaps a bit demanding. Maybe a little stringent. But in general I have always seemed to be a nice person to myself. Definitely diplomatic. Even lazy.

What I have noticed in my new job, is that I tend to be reacted to as strict, hard and fast in an unconditional way. I went to one of our kitchens and the smell of fried oil hit my nose. The obviously non-existent ventilation system must have had given up months ago. So I casually mentioned it to one of my colleagues in charge of household on my way to lunch the same day and the next morning, found myself accused of being rude to a whole line of employees. But no one has ever said anything like this before! I was told.

My dear sister is a kick-ass hair stylist. She once told me how a customer came in to her salon and greeted her, saying: Hi, remember me? I am the one you called egghead three weeks ago! I remembered the story when I had to face a shaken cleaning lady.

I have realized that even if I am in fact a peaceful, creative and cool boss, what ever I decide, say or do is an assault against what has been before. Even if my sister had lightheartedly referred to the actual shape of the gentleman’s head, and therefore, probably a fitting haircut, obvious things are difficult to be heard, sometimes.

But sometimes they have to be said. The kitchen did stink.

My first week is over. I am so tired I can hardly think of going to the Coop a hundred meters below to get some breakfast. But I have also had the whole menu this place can offer, too. My deputy got sick and I had to take over her shift in addition to my weekend one. I learnt 38 names and faces by heart and managed to match at least 60 % of them by Tuesday. I can now greet around 10 of my colleagues out of 60 with their first name but I don’t feel bad, because my last name for all of them is almost impossible to pronounce, yet to spell.

I have also spent my first two nights in my adorable 5-room apartement. I have got used to wearing sunglasses all the time, I am not complaining about having to walk up and down every time I want to change my location. Going uphill I used to despise has quickly become a regular work-out. Despite the strong disapproval of my colleagues I have decided not to go to the skiing school this year. I am still horrified by the thought of coming down the slopes on skis – in my imagination, I end up flown down by the first-aid helicopter.

My second week is over, too. I have not had a day to rest but after one of my girls asked me why I had had the same skirt on for the third time in a row I did find an hour to do my laundry. My colleagues still ask me about how the first days are going and I find they might have asked about the first years. I very much feel like I belong here and if I finally remembered the names of the people asking me I’d say I have always been doing fine here, thank you.

Also my third week is over. When the girls saw the rose-curier entering the office they – utterly surprised – asked me if I really had a boyfriend. You? It sounded like being accused of a secret life. I then decided to take the next train, immediately fell asleep in the warm car and after four hours of travelling rang his doorbell. I figured this time I would not let the Job get between us. But to tell the truth, I am getting to believe I do love both of them.

Or: The Commercial Break is Over

I have packed everything. It is incredible how much stuff one can pile up just within a year or a bit less… In February last winter I arrived from Frankfurt with a suitcase and only one paperback Riin had given me, now I own a bagful of books, and another one full of Vogues I simply cannot leave but must take along to my new life. I also have at least 30 kilos of clothes, most of them which I will not be able to wear for a long time now, unless I want to look like a teenager. And in this change of life I am about to make, they would make the wrong costume.

I am listening to the soundtrack of one of my favourite films, The Thomas Crown Affaire, while typing here. It makes me wonder about where this movie I am playing the role of myself is taking me.

I looked up some of my trouser-suits and a couple of fancy skirts when I was visiting Mum back home at Christmas. She also stocks the stuff from my previous lives and I was glad to find them just as they had come from the dry cleaner’s – all waiting for their turn to work with me again, all patiently in their plastic bags… Come to think of it, its like a film production – pick the theme, brush the style, get the crew together.

As you see, the job interview paid off and I am moving again. Last winter I got to Berne and just needed to crash and sleep off my personal production burnout. Call it a creative crisis, holiday, escape or a commercial break – what ever it was it has now come to its full stop. I have taken my stuff to a wonderful new apartement in the highest Swiss mountains an Estonian city girl can ever imagine to be on top of. I have bought yet another pair of new heels. I have changed the soundtrack. So, once again I am taking a four hours train trip with a one way ticket. I am moving to Engadin and this is going to be a long film. So I better sit back and enjoy.