Progression

My hair and my skiing hopes...one of these is gone and the other is strong.  You have until the end of this blog to figure it out.

This week, I had a strong urge.  People who really know me, know that I can be very spontaneous.  That's what I was this week.  I decided the hair had to go.  Here's a pictorial progression...

Yes, ladies.  That was me without my shirt.  If anyone wants the full body shots, send a self-addressed envelop to me.   

And yes everyone else, that was Macsen cutting my hair.  I hired him to cut and Aiden to document.  After the initial cuts, I got really nervous Macsen was going to cut off my ear, so I got out the razor and went to town.  As you can see, a new final result.

Couple notes on the new do:

1. It is a LOT colder.  And just my luck, the same day that I cut my hair, my car window broke.  It rolled down and won't come back up!  MY window.  I think God liked my long hair.
2. I've been getting strong reactions to this look.  Its funny, but it seems like 2 camps are forming: short hair vs long hair.  Clearly, my preference lies in the look which requires NO maintenance.  This is nice.  But I also think that people like change.  I think the people who think this looks better are at least somewhat responding to the fact that there's a change.  There's probably some psychological explanation.
   

Secondly, I can SKI!!!  I'm really not good.  But I can manage to go down slopes now.  I fall.  Boy, do I fall.  But I don't mind.  I fight through it and once I get going, I fall much less.  If you're curious as to what I look like while skiing, I'm convinced that I look like a bear with skis stumbling down the mountain.

I'm going to the Alps next weekend with the family.  My goal is to be able to catch up with Macsen.

Also...my job hunting has begun.  I might post my progress once in a while, but I might not...I don't know.  If there's anyone out there who wants to give me a job, sign me up!

Aiden fans: here's a picture of the kid.  I also have a new video of him saying the word "yellow."  The link is on the right under "youtube videos".  Enjoy.

Editor's note: After receiving much feedback last week on the shoes comment, I feel I need to make another statement.  Wearing shoes in the house seems to be a very localized phenomenon.  Europeans told me that Americans wear shoes in the house and vice versa.  There is no blanket statement that works.  I am just sharing my experiences, however limited they may be.

Things that Suck

I suck at skiing.
Ok, this might be premature.  But let me tell you where I'm at.  Last week, I went up the mountain twice with the purpose of skiing.  The first time, I went by myself because I couldn't find anyone to go with.  This was a mistake.  I REALLY wanted to go out my first time and nail it.  Then I was going to write how awesome I am and how I can do anything and how my dad is better than your dad.  But no.
I arrived to the ski lift without knowing a single thing.  And of course, there was a group of cool snowboarder-dudes parked right next to me.  And here I am-I don't even know how to put on my boots!  I must have looked like a moron.  I tried my hardest to stall so that they would leave.  But they were too cool to be in a hurry.  So I went on looking like an idiot.
I then made it to the top of the mountain (well, not the tip top).  It was packed with kids!  It was a Tuesday morning!  They don't go to school on Wednesdays and then they spend days in the mountains skiing.  Come on.  Anyway...this did not help.  I was hoping to go down people-less slopes protecting my image (clearly, I have a flawless one to uphold).  Instead I was going to have to learn while being surrounded by all these little kids who can ski laps around me.  I'm embarrassed to say that I spent 20 minutes watching everyone else, 20 minutes trying to figure out how to get my skis on, and 20 minutes trying to talk myself into giving it a shot.  I'm ashamed to say, I couldn't.  I went home.  The good news was that it was gorgeous up there.
Attempt #2: this time with a lesson.  My friend, Katrina (who is a town mom), was having a private lesson.  It's actually the same price for 1 or 2 people, so she generously invited me to join her for free.  The lesson was pretty good.  But it was all in French.  I don't speak ski-French.  I speak food-French, polite-how-do-you-do-French, and I-don't-speak-French-French.  I think I got the gist of what the guy was saying.  But I couldn't do it.  I would say that I was very bad.  Not quite horrible.
Am I a quitter?  Not yes and not no. (Did I just quit on giving an answer?)  I would be perfectly content to pack up my skis and say that's enough.  Mostly because I have no motivation to learn.  I'd say I have only a slight possibility that I'll ever ski again.  So why learn?  However, I did spend hundreds of euros on a ski pass and the equipment.  That alone will make me try some more.  I also have an Alps trip planned with the family in 2 weeks.  My goal is to keep up with Aiden (my 4 year old) at that point.  Wish me luck.

Finishing TV shows sucks.
Does anyone watch an entire history of a certain TV show?  You start at the first episode and work your way through several mini-marathons and finish the entire collection.  Here's all the shows that I've done that with since I've been here: How I Met Your Mother, Breaking Bad, Weeds, Arrested Development, Mad Men, Psych, Monk, and maybe some others.  That's a lot.  I'm pathetic.  But anyway, I just finished Monk a few days ago, and now I'm lost.  Everytime I finish a show, I get a little sad.  Ok, maybe a lot sad.  It's like I'm closing a book that can never be opened again.  Does anyone else get this feeling?  Or am I just being ridiculous?

Europeans view on shoe-wearing sucks.
The vast majority of homes that I've visited in America required the removal of my shoes upon entering.  Am I right?  Or am I remembering this wrong?  Well, here, the majority of home-owners prefer to keep their shoes on.  People actually look at me like I'm a martian when I take my shoes off.  Cultural difference, I guess.  Is this bad?  Um, yes.  I actually, hate this policy, and here's why...
Dirt and Snow.  During the summer, it wasn't a HUGE deal.  But now that everyone walks in snow, it is a HUGE deal.  I can't tell you how many puddles of water I've stepped into while walking around the house.  And this is in a house where I'm trying to make the kids take their shoes off before entering.  I can't imagine a house where there's not even a little regulation.
I know there are a lot of cultural differences out there.  While I might side with the American view most of the time, I'm accepting of most.  This is one I'm not accepting of.  I think I might move to Japan.  Let's take off our shoes!

Thank You

Thank you...Couch Surfing.  If you don't know what this is...its a website where you create a profile and search for people living in the city you wish to visit.  Then you ask this stranger that you find if you can sleep on their couch.  It is free.  The caveat is that you are supposed to return the favor whenever they travel to your city.  But when will someone want to visit Indianapolis?

Anyway...this was AMAZING!!!  Especially for a lonely traveler like me.  I had great places to stay in each of the cities that I visited.  And free tour guides.  And free friends.  And free chefs.  And free history professors.  I'm telling you, this is the way to travel.

Thank you...thieves.  Allegedly, a Norwegian hired some Polish thugs to steal the "Arbeit Mach Frei" sign at Auschwitz (Work for your freedom).  And they did!  This happened 4 days before I went there.  And the day before I went, they found the sign, in 3 pieces.  The day that I was there, they were investigating the site for about 5 hours.  This prevented me from seeing the smaller but more moving, Auschwitz I, for a very long time.  It was unfortunate for me, but at least I have a semi-neat story to tell.  Everyone has a picture of that famous sign...but I have a picture of a replica, ha!

Thank you...Polish food.  You are amazing and cheap.  I'm telling the truth...I've been to France, Switzerland, Spain, Italy, Hungary, Norway, and Denmark...Polish food has been my favorite.  Pierogies, Golumpki, Kielbasa, Polish beer...so, so, so good!  And the best part is that Polish people eat with no abandon and no apologies.  Who cares if its too much food and unhealthy?  I'm hungry.  My mentality all along.


Thank you...Chicago.  Every time I said I was from Chicago (I know...I'm from Indiana.  Its easier to say Chicago than explaining where I'm from) in Poland, I got this response..."Chicago!  I know Chicago!  That's the largest Polish city in the world!"  My research tells me that its 2nd, but still...pretty cool.

Thank you...Serendipity.  Let me paint you a picture.  Imagine yourself walking in Oslo.  Now imagine that it's Christmas Eve.  Finally, you are all alone.

It's not like this was surprising to me.  I knew I would be.  But still, it's not the best situation.  Thankfully, I happened to walk down a certain street at a certain time and I noticed a certain stranger.  She looked my age and she looked like a tourist (map out, wandering aimlessly).  So I approached her (it took me about 20 minutes to build up the courage).  It turns out that she, too, was all alone on Christmas!  What are the odds?
Evelyne, a girl from Belgium, was doing a farm-stay (basically the same as au pair except you work on a farm) and decided to come up to Oslo for the holidays.  We ended up spending all of Christmas and Boxing Day together.  I'm so so lucky I found someone because everything was closed!  And she happened to be good company, as well.  So I'm glad that happened the way it did.  It was a Christmas miracle!

 Thank you...my right foot.  My right foot carried me through this trip...literally.  On Christmas Eve, I guess I sprained my left foot.  It was killing me!  So did I pack it in and sit all day?  No.  I'm in these cities once.  So I limped and hobbled my way for miles over the next week because I didn't want to miss anything...putting all my weight on my right foot.  So thank you, right foot.

Thank you...American dollar.  In Norway, 2 plain cheeseburgers, 1 small fry, and 1 small milkshake...$11.  Ok, so that wasn't my most healthy meal.  But $11!  That's what, $5 in America...tops.  You suck, American dollar.

Thank you...God.  What's better than a white Christmas?  2 feet of Norwegian snow, white Christmas.  I wanted to go north for the holidays, so I wanted a bunch of snow.  And I got it.  But surprisingly, snow on Christmas in Oslo is not common.  They usually get rain.  So I got lucky.  Thank you, God.

Thank you...George W. Bush.  I voted for the man, twice.  So shoot me.  I'm not saying he was the best president we've ever had, but for me, he was the better candidate both elections.  And I'd do it again.  To say this to a European!  Its like I was telling them that I voted for Hitler.  This led to some interesting conversations.  So thank you, George Bush.

Thank you...immigrants.  Quick, what's your image of the people in the capital city of Norway?  White, blonde, blue eyes?  Sure...me too.  And they are there.  But not as many as you'd think.  Especially during Christmas.  Most locals are at home with family.  That leaves immigrants (especially Muslims) to roam the streets and man the stores.  This was surprising to me.  I didn't expect to see nearly as many minorities as I did.  There's nothing wrong with this...it was just surprising.  And actually, it was good.  Where did I eat on Christmas?  Kebab place with Muslims.  Where did I go to church on Christmas?  A Catholic mass performed by Asians (Norway is protestant).  If it weren't for these people, the city might have been a ghost town.

Thank you...subtitles.  Scandinavia takes pride that they don't dub their foreign films.  Unlike larger countries, like France, these people hear English all the time.  American English.  This leads to amazing English...especially in Norway.  I met no one that didn't speak near perfect American English.  I loved it.

Thank you...fireworks.  Danes loves fireworks on New Years.  This leads to a dangerous/fun New Years Eve in Copenhagen's town square.  Literally, among the masses, people light off huge fireworks right where they are standing.  No professional show, just amateurs (although they seemed more than amateurs).

Thank you...Easyjet.  Amongst my eagerness to return home from my flight, I left my eyeglasses on the plane.  Surpringsly, they found them and turn them into lost and found.  They managed to scratch the hell out of them...but better than nothing, I guess.


F*ck You...Public Transportation.  I hate you so much.
Case #1: Christmas Eve.  Instead of dropping me off at the doorstep of my couchsurfing guest, you take me 1 stop and then quit.  You said that there were buses still working to take me home.  Nope.  So now I'm 10 miles downhill of where I need to be with 15 minutes to get there.  I literally ran threw the streets of Oslo trying to make it.  I gave up once I realized that I would be traveling outside the given map.  $35 taxi ride instead.
Case #2: New Years Day.  A bus was supposed to pick me up from the airport.  Nope.  So instead of an easy ride, I walked 3.5 miles to France.  Not so bad, you say?  Well, I hadn't slept for 30 hours, hadn't eaten for 15 hours, hadn't drank in 6 hours, had a sprained foot with a huge blister on it, had my luggage to carry, and it was raining...and it was uphill through construction sites.  I had to climb fences.  I know...let's throw me a pity party.  I have a private violinist coming to my house in about 4 hours.

Happy Holidays!

I felt that if I left tomorrow without a new blog, I wouldn't have any closure before the holidays.  I can't just leave without wishing everyone a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.  So that's what I'm doing.

Stockings from my mom

Also, I wanted to give the final details of my holiday expedition.  I thought I'd give my stalkers a little help.  I know when I travel, its hard to follow me sometimes.  So this is my Christmas gift to all of you.

 Our Christmas decorations

Tomorrow (Sunday, 20), I'm taking the train to Milan.  Then on the 21st, I'm flying to Krakow.  On the 23rd, I'm flying to Oslo.  I'm thinking on the 27th, I'm taking a bus down to Copenhagen.  And then I'll fly back to Geneva on the 1st (morning...no sleep for me).

 Ornament from my mom

I'm sure I'll have lots of stories to pass along once I return next year.  So until then, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Budapest

Before going into detail, let me tell you that I LOVE BUDAPEST.  I think I say this after every city I visit, but this is my favorite city.  Ok, now that I've proclaimed my love, I'll tell you about my trip.

Who: Me, Ali, Alisha, Mariana, and Molly (all au pairs)

There we are (Mariana, Molly, Me, Ali, Alisha)

Food:  There were two things that were exceptional...no three.  Paprika, cakes, and the prices.  The goulash was phenomenal (made with paprika...their paprika is REALLY sweet).  The cakes were numerous, and best of all, mostly chocolate.  And the prices were out of this world.  Especially considering I live near Geneva.  We ate at a very nice restaurant, getting wine and dessert and big dishes for about 20 euros.  And this was in a touristy area.  But more on prices later...

How about now?
Prices:  We saw AMAZING ballet in the Hungarian State Opera House (STUNNING) for about 4 euros.  I saw crappy ballet in a crap auditorium in Switzerland for about 22 euros.  I got a massage for 12 euros, hostel for 7 euros a night, fast food for under 4 euros, taxi ride to airport for 4 euros, and Wild Boar Stew (goulash...to the left) for 10 euros at a nice restaurant.

Money:  It took forever to get used to the prices.  Basically, 1 euro=280 HUF.  And even though I knew this, I nearly peed my pants when they told me it was going to cost 5,000 florins for a Taxi.

50 euros=13,400 HUF

History lesson: Budapest is two cities.  Buda and Pest.  They are separated by the Danube River.  Buda is a little older and more historic.  Pest has more things to do.  I think I like Buda a little bit more than Pest...but not much.

Buda is closest, Pest is on the other side of the river.  Tall building on left in Pest is the Parliament Building, tall building in right-center is St. Stephan's Basilica (our hostel was next door), and bridge on right is Chain Bridge

Thermal Baths: This is my best story of the weekend.  I could make this an entire new blog, but I'm not going to.  I've known that Budapest is somewhat famous for its Thermal Baths.  So this was high on our list of things to do.  With several to choose from, we settled on Gillert thanks to the recommendation of a couple of American tourists.
The baths were set in a gorgeous old building (to the left).  And this is were the confusion starts.  It took a little bit of time to find the entrance.  Then we were bombarded with signs in Hungarian and English with different services and where to go, but nothing telling us the basic info.  We just got in line and paid what we were supposed to.  We walked into the lobby area, and had no idea where to go.  Knowing that I wouldn't be changing with the girls, I headed off in my own direction trying to find out what to do.  I found an Irishman who was equally confused.  We finally made it to the locker room.  Then after some more wondering...this time, half-naked, we found the coed swimming pool.  That's what you see in my picture below.  On the other side of the pool, there was a coed hot tub as well.
Then on each side of the pool, there were single-sex areas.  Walking into that was like walking into a Hugh Hefner dream...if he dreamt about old fat naked Hungarians.  So now I had the option of sitting in the saunas and hot tubs with these men or sitting in the coed section with a chance of seeing a good looking girl amongst the crowd.

This wasn't over, however.  I've heard about the massages at these places.  And for some reason, a massage by a 300-lbs Hungarian sounded interesting to me.  So I got my 3,000 HUF and paid the only guy who spoke English (yes, 300 lbs.).  He took me into a cramped side room and tells me to get naked.  No problem.  I laid on the bed expecting him to come in and close the door.  Like most professors, I guess he prefers an open-door policy.  No big deal.  So now this huge guy is going to town on me.  It takes about 20 minutes before he uses any kind of oil.  Weird.  And he basically does the same motion for the entire 30 minutes.  Weird.  And the whole time he is yelling at what I assume is a co-worker (yelling because of distance).  Weird.  Then this man (who sounded like a Hungarian version of Barry White) comes into the room and sticks a foil wrapper in the face of my masseuse.  He smells it and places it on his "work bench."  What was in this wrapper?  I have no idea.  All I know is that the room started to smell like hot cabbage.  I'm guessing it was a sandwich of some sort.  Weird.  Finally it was over.  Did it feel good?  Sure.  Not great, but good.

House of Terror:  Awesome museum.  Its basically about the Nazi and Communist occupation of Budapest since WWII and how oppressive it was to the people.  The coolest part was how the museum was set up.  It was the former headquarters of both parties and many rooms were made to look exactly how they were.  Even the basement which held political prisoners was intact.  Seeing rooms smaller than the size of coffins and gallows in dark, damp cornered rooms was silencing.  Its hard to describe this museum because I couldn't take pictures.  I'm telling you, if you go to Budapest, go to this museum.

Weather:  We never saw the sun.  Rain on the first day and beautiful snow on the last.  Cold and dreary the rest of the time.  Not really that cold.

American Embassy:  Roaming the streets one night, we came up to a group of policemen standing behind barricades.  On one barricade was a sign of a camera with a line through it.  We looked around wondering what it was talking about but couldn't figure it out.  Then we saw an American Flag on a building and forgot about the sign.  In our excitement in seeing the good ol' USA, I grabbed my camera.  The policemen quickly stopped me.  "No pictures."
"Of what?  I'm just taking a picture of that flag."
"That's the American Embassy and due to terrorist threats, you can't take a picture of the building."
They were nice about it.  I told them that I was an American.  I asked if I could take a picture on the building with my passport in it.
"No."

Language:  Most people spoke English pretty well.  And if they didn't, they knew someone else working who did.

 We became 3rd graders...relying only on pictures

People:  Very nice people in Budapest.  It seemed like they were genuinely interested to talk to us Americans.  And they were happy to help us.  We couldn't figure out how to use a pay-phone.  So I flagged this random guy down and he called the place for us with his own phone.  Super nice and down-to-earth people.

I Now Have a Beard, So I'm Allowed To Write Like This...

Maybe it because I'm listening to the Garden State Soundtrack (which is the only cd which literally transports me to an exact location...a certain dorm room during my Freshman year of college) or maybe it's because my next few blogs will be heavy travel-blogs (in the next 3 weeks I'll be in 6 different cities), but I'm feeling the need to write a sentimental entry today.  So fair warning: if you're looking for something interesting in the next few hundred words, click this link.  If you can stomach some personal writing, keep reading...I dare you.

A few weeks ago, I was feeling homesick again.  No secret.  And to be honest, I was looking at Christmas being away from my family as the pinnacle of my homesickness.  I figured that the most family-oriented holiday of the year would lead me to a mass bone marrow-selling spree to buy a ticket back home.  While, a ticket back home for the holidays still sounds great...I'm not getting homesick enough to resort to such a drastic plan.  Male prostitution is still on the table, though.

Instead, Christmas is having the opposite effect.  Instead of making me miss my family, its making me feel more connected to them as ever.  Its amazing. 

As soon as I listen to Dido sing Christmas Day, I immediately smell my Christmastime home growing up...pine tree, oranges with cloves, Yankee Candles, etc.  I can sense my mother slaving away to bake us 23 different kinds of Christmas cookies, of which I only eat 6.  I can hear my dad begging us boys to help her because it would mean so much to her.  We'd come to help take the cookies out of the oven.

As soon as I step into a mall here, I hear more Christmas music and see the same decorations as back home.  This transports me to my local mall running through the stores to find crappy last-minute presents for my family.  I can remember splitting up with my brothers because we are all shopping for each other.  Or my parents taking me into GAP to see if Devin would wear a certain sweater that's on sale.

As soon as I see a house garishly decorated, it takes me to a somewhat cold, dry December morning with my dad yelling at Andrew to get his ass outside to help us with the manly outdoor decorating that needs to happen.  I can then see Devin's ass as he ascends to the uppermost reaches of our dieing Oak tree in the front yard to get the best wrapping of Christmas lights around the branches.  And finally, I can literally then see my dad's ass as he's bending over untangling last year's lights.  I guess I not doing much in this scenerio.

As soon as I put on Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer for my boys here, I can remember my own mother gleefully watching with us every Christmas special she can manage to find.  And I can see how much I enjoyed it when I was my boy's age, but then remembering how much of a struggle it has been over the last decade to sit through a tired Christmas show or made-for-TV movie.

I could go on...but my testicles have now officially retracted, and I'm now the proud owner of a nice new vagina.  Before I run to the store to get some tampons, diet pills, and a Driving for Dummies book, I'll wrap this touchy-feely stuff up. 

While being here, its easy to get a different perspective on things.  I've always appreciated my family (immediate and relative) and the traditions that we have.  But I'm seeing for the first time just how much these traditions will always be able to transcend time, distances, and experiences to bring me back to the most important part of my life.  So thank you, family.

*If you're up for some more reading...this is hilariously accurate.  And hilariously poignant for this blog...
http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.com/2009/01/11/120-taking-a-year-off/

Christmas Time=Christmas Markets

This Sunday, Alisha, Ali, and I went to the Strasbourg Christmas Market.  This is supposed to be one of the best Christmas Markets in all of Europe.  I think they are right.  Here are the stories of the day.

Story #1
After searching all over the city for a place to eat, we settled on Chez Yvonne.  This was the cutest, most homely little restaurant I had ever seen.  Old paintings on the walls with quilted French sayings next to them hung everywhere.  These were sandwiched, inexplicably, by photos of possible French celebrities.  Eclectic? 
Anyway, the kind old lady who seems to own the place leaves us waiting at the bar for a few minutes after she greets us at the door.  She then shows us our seat.  After what seemed like 17 and a half minutes, she comes to take our order.  We had decided that we were going to get some Foie Gras and a typical Alsatian dish, sauerkraut and sausage (Alsatian is Alsace...the region Strasbourg is located).  We would share.  The patient old waitress said no.  We had to all get a dish.  She sped off.
Round 2, she comes back 10 minutes later.  Ali, the most francophone of the three of us, starts the ordering.  After some hesitation, she says what she wants.  A little timedly.  Then Alisha and I order.  She gets our order, but points to Ali and says "I don't have time for you!".  The gentle and warm old lady gets someone else to come talk to us.  She speaks in English to us with a smile.  Perfect.  We give our order.
Round 3.  The sweetheart of an old lady throws a menu on our table and points to the drink section.  After 5 minutes, she comes back and asks us what we wanted.  We tell her we aren't thirsty.  "OH!  You three are REALLY speacial! ASNDAFKNFDSK!"  As she storms away, we can feel how much she is working to get our tip.  We decide to leave.  We ordered and dashed.  We are rebels.

Is there better food?  And drink?  I think German food is vastly underrated.

Story #2
The Christmas market was AMAZING.  I was expecting maybe 30 booths with some mass-produced pieces of crap.  Nope.  There were hundreds of booths with mostly hand-made pieces of mediocrity.  You could find everything from candles that never died to Santa Clauses that never gave presents to snack huts that never made anyone skinny.  We ended up getting a 6-pack of beer.  At least it was from a local brewery.
And the amount of people!  Tons of people.  And what I liked most of all, the people were old and local.  We were easily in the 99th percentile of coolness.  I'm usually in that category when I'm alone, so it was nice to be back up there as a collective group.
As for the set-up.  Basically, there were 14 different areas dispersed throughout the city.  They were easily walkable.  This gave a great tour of the city.  And best of all, it was all centered by its magnificent cathedral.
And the lights!  The market was a lot cooler and night because every street was strewn with lights.  It finally felt like Christmas.

The lights!

The market and the cathedral.

Story #3
I drove for 9 hours that day.  I left at 6AM and didn't get back until 11:30PM.  Long day.  We went up through Switzerland, into Germany, and finally back into France.
This was my first time in Germany and onto its Autobahn.  I should probably research this before I write about it, but I'm sure I'm an expert on this subject.  There is no 1 Autobahn.  It is the name for highway, in German.  And yes, there are no speed limits on some parts.  Where these parts are, I don't know.  I just noticed that several times during our trip in Germany, I didn't see any speed limit signs.  During these times, BMWs, Mercedes, VWs, and Opels roared past me easily over 100 mph.  I tried to keep up.  I really did.  But my crappy French Renault can hardly get up to a normal French speed limit.  There was one point where I hit 95 mph and I almost pulled over because I thought I blew a tire.  I really thought the car was going to flip over.
But we made it safely.

Story #4
Russia was the guest of honor at this year's market.  The Russian women are gorgeous.

What Russian woman wouldn't want a piece of this?

Story #5
*Warning!  History nerd alert!  Quit reading now!!!*
Strasbourg has been the center of conflict for hundreds of years.  Every time there is a war including any German states and France, Alsace (again, the region Strasbourg is in) is up for grabs.  Both countries think its inheritantly theirs.  Therefore, the city benefits from a strong influence of both.  Both languages are seen all around, but French is dominant and is spoken much more often.  But what I thought was really cool are the buildings.  They looked very German, but then the city felt very French.  The wooden panels felt German, but the giant cathedral was very French.  The food was very German (sauerkraut, sausages, beer), but with a strong influence of France (quiche, wine, baguettes).  I thought it was a perfect marriage of the 2 cultures.
Geneva needs to learn from this city.  Instead of feeling French or Swiss, Geneva feels like...an awkward 15 year old with acne and a strange fascination with world politics.  Its trying to find its place.

German and French