Or How Altersvorsorge Hit Me The First Time

ORIGIN Middle English : from Old French precios, from Latin pretiosus ‘of great value,’ from pretium ‘price.’

I turned 28 two weeks ago. Although it is not even over the famous thirty, it turned out to be a very fancy turning point, indeed, and I felt once again how getting older only makes the world around me and me inside of it better.

I am not sure if it had something to do with the birthday but travelling home from the luxurious hotel he had taken me to by a surprise I suddenly, for the first time in my short colourful life found myself wondering about getting really old. Unexpectedly, I started to notice the banks‘ savings-campaigns around me where ever I went – where are you in twenty years? But what about in forty? Will someone take care of you? Will you be saving up for a seniors‘ home? Will your children put up with you instead? Oh my God – I used to suffer from a serious commitment fobia – will I have children some time?

Equally I have noticed how values around me become clearer all the time – my crazy but absolutely caring family, the warmth of home, the acceptance and tolerance of my environment, being able to respect and love and be behind the ones I love… Surely, I am a girl to whom a million meaningless things carry great value such as my utterly gorgeous Max Mara skirt from this season, which, in addition to its unaffordability, also has sweet stories to tell, but perhaps the change I have come to look for in the world around me has finally happened inside of me…

I have now decided not to be planning my life’s end with 68 nor be booking a bed in a home. For the first time in my life it has occurred to me that perhaps I should consider investing in anything else than only in what is hanging in my wardrobe. Oh my God, I never thought I could be so …Swiss but perhaps taking another look at the insurance options is not the worst idea after all…

Maybe it is rather the fear that has finally caught me – that getting older one day will merely mean being old… So the other day I looked up my pumps and marched to a job interview, practised saying „I have a boyfriend“ out loud so that I wouldn’t get scared to tell it to the others and therewith – started my 28th year where the world with me could only get better.

Even if my handsome brother managed to only leave me just one missed call on my birthday and I bet my precious little sister is going to wear my Max Mara out during the Christmas holidays in Tallinn, I feel I need to be thankful for what I have around me and perhaps if I manage not to forget about it, occasionally declare and invest into it, I will not be alone when I am old. Besides, it‘s not even the famous thirty.

This sunny Sunday afternoon I took the S7 back to Berne from a lovely brunch we had been invited to. It had been a morning full of good humour, great coffee and delicious Zopf-bread flavoured with the genuine caring of the hosting couple – for us and for each other. Watching them two guys occasionally grasping hands, leaning on each others shoulders and making compliments was like watching love live and celebrated in this house and it made me feel appreciated, too.

My little pink-capped friend of the age of three and a half was skipping on my right hand now. Just a quarter of an hour before I had played the dirty card on her promising an ice-cream in town. She wasn’t bad at the game, either, and earned a big chocolate one by loudly declearing I ha di ganz fescht gärn! into the full afternoon train. All heads turned and she quietly climbed on my lap.

I sometimes feel that what is generally missing in the streets of this country is the love you can see and hear. Hardly anyone is kissing in the middle of the streets, and if so, earning the looks of don’t-you-have-a-home… Its not that I necessarily need to witness burning passion in a pizzeria but somehow it seems to stamp love with an „Attention! Heavy!“ seal. I believe love is very fragile, instead, and deserves some space, significance and admiration.

I think in many ways love gets so organised by milestones of days it is living – the dinner menus, the weekly shoppings and holiday plans – and the milestones its supposed to be passing – the getting to know you, the getting together with you, the getting used to you and the that’s why staying together with you – that loving you does not get celebrated at all. The love that makes you giggle on the phone in a meeting, wear perfect make-up every day, put up with jokes from friends and family and fall asleep smiling every time careless if he is next to you or not and careless how many days, weeks or decades you have only had him next to you. Also the same love that makes you make decisions you have never made, face fears you have never acknowledged and eventually, cry madly in case it doesn’t work out after all…

But don’t throw sour looks on it, even if its cried out too loud in a crowded train, or if it happens right in front of your eyes and in front of the vegetable-stand. Its simply a little sign of its genuineness and in between your own planning of the week, why don’t you just celebrate love.

verb

A couple of weeks ago I could witness another juicy proof of the things that only happen in Switzerland - the Swiss Post had glued a note on our mailbox requiring to write my name on it in case I really lived there. We naturally obliged immediately and smirking. In an odd way, however, when I saw my name typed on the milkbox, the seemingly insignificant detail actually made me feel I was now really living here and not just residing at someone`s basement any more.

[ intrans. ] make one's home in a particular place or with a particular person :
Besides residing at the above mentioned address I have found a career path in house sitting. Claudia is on holiday in Spain so I get to inhabit her lovely light three-room roof apartement at Monbijou. I am happily alone and that leaves me the freedom to invite other good people to join me. Just yesterday I had a bunch of them over for a four-course dinner, even though they needed to bring their own cutlery…

have an exciting or fulfilling life :
Besides waking up with John Legend every day, I am enjoying the obvious advantages of living alone: dancing naked across the living room to the shower in the morning with the sun shining through the glass doors, brushing my teeth on the balkony watching people going to work and being fulfilled with the thought of my day off…

supply oneself with the means of subsistence :
I never wash up until there are no clean dishes left and then make the decision to go to Musig Bistro next door for lunch instead. Or eat a divine bowl of K Special Flakes right before midnight because I have forgotten eating the whole day and there is nothing else in the fridge.

be alive at a specified time :
For me it is definitely the late hours. I am one of those who can easily swift between day and night and wake up at four o’clock in the afternoon after watching Scrubs until five in the morning. My mind seems to start working after the clock has stroke midnight – this is when I get creative, nibble at my thesis, write my blog, toy with other interesting projects…

spend one's life in a particular way or under particular circumstances :
I came here six months ago with the idea to be going on again by now. Instead, last Monday I issued my application to prolong my living permit for another half a year. I have seen how plans change, circumstances change, I change… So for now, I am not going to change my address but rather living the life as it comes.

Good friends, old friends, new friends, boyfriends, best friends... The memory of my three-year old hopelessly out-of-fashion Sony Ericsson was full and when deleting old smses in the Inbox it occurred to me that they walked me back through my last months. These short messages so meaningless in form and lenghth however make me smile every time I receive one.

Sunset, are you still in Switzerland?
I had received another sms from Arvo. I believe anyone who is listed in his phone book would agree that he could be called the artist of the short message service. When you live abroad and have to put up with the distance you can be pretty picky when it comes to these flashy texts; in many ways they are the means for the important messages like saying I miss you or that I have bought a superb pair of boots. Anyway, Arvo, besides casually asking me if he could bring me a bottle of Estonian beer, he asked me how I was.

Ciao Bella. Wanna have lunch?
I am fine, I am. It is the longest time of year again – autumn. With all its cold, darkness and other fashionable accessories, its my favourite time of all. To me it has always seemed to be a beginning of numerous lovable things: The first mornings you need your black cashmere gloves, the first days for the winter coat, the first scented candles in bars… I wake up in the autumn. And I do have a perfect pair of boots, sis.

Saved in Unsent Items.
However, the time of year also seems to bear a certain gloomyness of leaving: Birds leaving the country for warmth, friends leaving you for new jobs abroad… Not that I will sincerely miss the birds but everyone suddenly seems to be on their way to a better place. I lost Riin to another continent and even though she has been my best friend for over a decade and we have always been living in different locations it suddenly appears to matter more than ever. I miss you. And I hate the fact that your phone does not seem to receive my smses.

The weather is perfect, Mum.
Berne is treating me well after the horribly hot summer. It is the perfect place to be at this beautiful time of year. But in a dark back corner of my heart I feel the quiet itch I know too well. It is an anticipation like the one you feel when you open your eyes to a sunny morning. And yes, I will be at home for Christmas, Mum.

Options.
A short text message needs to be good to express a thought or a message in a limited space and it needs to be short to be good. I believe everyday business should always be handled over the phone – a smoky voice can add so much to a routine description of your shitty day. I always feel very sorry to delete smses from my friends; but it feels nice to be able to carry all those wonderful people in my pocket.

The only thing uncomfortable in autumn is typing messages with cloves.

(A Selection of Thougts About and Deriven From the Public Transportation. Part Two.)

I do miss my Nissan from time to time but in general, I enjoy the clean streets, the quiet trains and the friendly buses of Switzerland. Here another selection of extravagant examples.

Men cannot share their feelings. No 10 Köniz – Bern.
This is a sure belief of this one girl sharing the whole story about her and her significant other having communication problems in all areas of a relationship with the rest of us sitting on the Number Ten bus the other morning. Apparently her friend on the other end of the mobile connection agrees. I don’t think I necessarily do. Despite us females always complaining about that – do we really want them to always share? And I do think the girl makes the distance of merely three bus-stops seem kilometres long.

All men worth trying are either taken or gay. S-Bahn Zürich HB - Zürich Oerlikon.
On my way to the concert last Sunday afternoon in Zurich I naturally bought a ticket before entering the yellow-blue S Bahn. The conductor, an averagely handsome young man approached us and I proudly presented my late purchase. Turned out, I had paid a half a franken too little and BANG! was faced with an 80 franks fine. I naturally focused my blue eyes on him but it wasn’t worth a try. In this case, gay…

The Good Deed She Does. Loeb-Egge - Köniz.
Sabine had brought Saku Beer along from Tallinn, and we met at the Loeb-Egge to go celebrate. Aare was as green as ever and the delicious refreshment accompanied the two charming hours of girl-talk. We climbed back and I waited for the No Ten to come. There was a lady standing right next to the ticket-machine and when a gentleman started to reach for his wallet to buy a ticket, she told him she had one too many and would like him to have it. He gratefully accepted.

And this is the pay?
We entered the bus and he took out his cell phone. Dialed a number. And started to discuss something that seemed at least a life story… It was in a language foreign to us but it was so loud one could physically sense the misery of each and every co-passenger this evening… I glanced at the lady who had given him the ticket. She was concentrating on looking out of the black window.

In general I like public transportation in Switzerland. But even in the pedestrian zone of Berne it may happen that you step into a genuine dog shit. Just as I did last Sunday morning.

Or Life Without My Green Nissan Micra I Called Salad.
Part One
Zurich Examples.

Public transportation in Switzerland is very special to me. Actually, it carries a significant meaning to the whole nation. Greetings to the bus-guy.

Tuesday, Berne-Zürich
I need to be at the airport at 9:30 so this calls for the eight o’clock InterCity. I am incredibly sleepy and the thought of a cup of the bad coffee from the little Elvetino-carriage on wheels makes me sit on the upper floor and keeps me awake. It is a very special morning, because none of us there going somewhere today says a word, and everyone has feet-space; it is indeed unusually quiet, so I, too, switch off my phone and close the eyes. The little friendly man is yelling from the back: „Kaffee-Tee-Gipfeli-Sandwich-Mineraaal!“

Same day, Zürich-Berne
I have always wanted to write a train story. Perhaps a crime one. There is an utterly unattractive young man in a pink pullover sitting across. I wonder if he would soon kill someone in my crime story. He definitely looks as if able to. He entered just before the train took off and asked me the damn question: Ischdanofrei? I wonder if anyone ever tried simply saying no, this here is not available for you. I felt so much like it – and instead of telling him that all the three free seats were taken by my bag, my Mac and my imaginary friend Anna I heard myself replying JA. He was rude enough to take the window seat so I had to move my feet. Naturally, he has now turned on his hiphopping Ipod, is now watching me and drawling through his yellow teeth. I have decided that his character is the one to meet his end in my book.

Saturday night, Zürich-Bern
I have just had a wonderful day. Long undisturbed sleep in the morning followed by a cup of perfect cappuccino in the Café Federal. Cooking delicious thai food with an old friend Philipp, accompanied by an excellent white wine and high quality conversation, followed by a late-night shot of grappa and a half an hour of sparkling chat with Yvonne. Having capsuled all these emotions I enter the train and try to find an available seat facing the driving direction. I hate sitting backwards but I compensate it by asking a handsome guy travelling alone if the one across him was still free. We immediately have an unspoken understanding regarding the arrangement of feet and he has cute green eyes. Everything looks promising until a minute before the doors close two giggling teenagers plump themselves next to us. Both of us throw them icy looks, and then look at each other in a silent agreement. Perhaps I could write a love-story, instead. Great material available here in the public transportation just waiting to be put down.

Or On How It All Started

Today ten years ago I first set my high heeled feet on the land of high mountains, delicious chocolate, cows and their bells, extremely smelly cheese, passionate skiing and gold. During those ten years I have learnt that there are so many other things there: the amazingly green waters, the impecable sorting of garbage, excellent public transportation, very good bread, snowboarding and somewhat suspicious gold.

Arriving at Zurich Airport on August 2nd 1996 my first decision was never to wear heels again. Except for the operas in the Bernese Stadttheater I almost never did. And so the relationship started – a real one, with making compromises where you have to and defending your rights when necessary. I mean, I can learn your language but I will never put butter on the bread and then top it with jam, thank you.

I remember many little things from that first day. The colourful flags on the windows, the people being very small and constantly repeating the two words meaning has been and exactly: gsy and genau. I remember the horryfying thought of being stuck in here for the whole year and wondering why on earth did I have to leave the best place on Earth there is.

Today, ten years later I cannot imagine living without the feeling of being constantly torn by comparing everything Swiss to the Estonian equivalent, occasionally undergoing showers of extensive patriotism and at the same time notice growing signs of becoming Swiss. Like getting used to the till-lady at Migros thanking you six times while you are getting your basket paid as well as having bread and jam for breakfast. Bread and jam! The weird thing about it is not the food but rather the fact that I enjoy it, I even look forward to having one every morning… I will always be a proud Estonian and always keep a good pair of pumps at a go but I have learned to honour and like the people in the small country of army knives, blue glaciers, clean streets and great kitchen. Despite their somewhat frightening policy on foreigners and putting jam on macaroni Switzerland has been nice to me and could soon take my masters in sorting garbage.

It has been exactly ten years. I will go to Migros and buy a loaf of their potato bread with nuts toight I think. I do not necessarily like chocolate but some celebration is due.

On How Switzerland Was Probably Made
Or
Some Thoughts in the Honour of the First of August

The creator of Switzerland must have been a woman. (Or a very gay man). I came to to this conclusion on a top of a mountain I got to be this weekend. I mean, the flowers all over the place, including around traffic signs are a bit of an overkill, aren’t they? As I descended the flawless green slope with at least a half a million little stone steps I tried to keep my the eyes down on the smaragd lake and ease the pain in my knees by coming up with this story on how in my opinion Switzerland came to be.

I think she was pretty, although nothing too classy, from a good home and pretty young, too. She must have had a good taste however I would have heard a second opinion on the measures of some places. As all of us in this age, she wanted it all, a fairy tale. So she decided to start with this small piece of rough land, put small blue and green spots of water all over it to make it the most beautiful one. Quite soon, so it was indeed. However, as ever so often, it was not enough. She then painted all slopes green so precicely that the grass never grows into wild pastures but rather keeps a well-groomed carpet. I believe she must have forgotten that there are other important things in life than the perfection of her work, so she kept on making sure that the roads did not have one hole in them and that fields were tailor-made bearing crops in different colours when lining up next to each other.
In the end she must have been exhausted so she topped the last mountain and never touched another country again (this is why all the rest of us are still trying to finish up on ours).

I wonder if she got to be happy ever after.