Seven years later

Today, we met up with our former colleague and friend at Efficient Frontier here in Zurich. It’s always incredible to think about where life takes us in just a handful of years. We were all colleagues then in our own respective relationships. In the last seven years, all three of those relationships have dissolved. She moved to Chicago, then to Shanghai, and finally to Zurich. Chris and I have been at five companies collectively since then, and somehow we got together, became engaged, and are planning a wedding for this coming March. She ended her long distance relationship from 2008, met a guy through a friend in Shanghai who happened to be Chinese American in Shanghai, had two weddings, and gave birth to a son who will be turning two just days after Christmas next month. She had no idea we even got together, but she seemed really excited and happy for us to be together. We’re all a little different than we were in 2008, but so much has changed in our lives since then. The one thing that has remained consistent is that more or less, we are still connected and have a level of affection for one another. I hope we will be able to meet again sometime soon. Distance makes staying in touch and remaining friends harder, but it always feels warm and fuzzy when you meet up after a long period of not seeing each other, and you still feel the same level of comfort as you did the last time you saw this person.

Basel Christmas markets

We spent the day exploring the beautiful capital city of Bern, complete with a visit to the rosengarten to see the sweeping view of this well preserved city, Einstein’s apartment, and Zentrum Paul Klee. In the evening, we took the train from Bern to Basel, where we wandered through several of its ornate Christmas markets that are reputed to be the best in Switzerland. The Christmas markets there were quite buzzing, with huge crowds and lots of happy people drinking their gluwein and other alcoholic spiced drinks.

As we drank gluwein out of our little 2015 Basel boot mugs, Chris lamented how the Union Square holiday market was sorely lacking, not just in the goods being sold but also in the alcohol area. There actually is an area where you can drink at the holiday market there, but it’s roped off and you have to stay within that area to consume your alcoholic beverage. “That sucks,” Chris sneered. He insisted the whole glory of these Christmas markets in Europe is that you can freely wander around the markets with your alcoholic beverage and not have to worry about going over some dumb border line. We even noticed kids who were clearly under the legal drinking age serving us our mulled wine. That would definitely never happen anywhere back home.

I suppose another major reason that we travel is to experience culture and life that we don’t get exposure to back home, and in this specific case, it means being able to drink without boundaries at an innocent Christmas market. Whereas back home, they would be terrified of people doing this, giving alcohol to minors, and people getting drunk, throwing up, and perhaps engaging in lewd conduct, here in Switzerland, everyone is seemingly drinking responsibly and simply enjoying life. Enjoying life seems to be harder in the alcoholic regard back home.

Thanksgiving 2015

I spent Thanksgiving this year traveling with Chris east on a Swiss rail train from Geneva to Zurich in the morning, then wandering through the old town of Zurich and its Christmas markets through the afternoon and evening. As we walked through this beautiful city, I thought about all the Thanksgivings in my past.

The last time I was home for Thanksgiving was November 2003, my senior year of high school. That seems like a hundred years ago even though it was just 12 years ago. Those were the days when my cousins, Ed, uncle, and I would have a Thanksgiving meal together, mostly prepared by my oldest cousin and me. Some sides would be brought over by my uncle, some crappy leftover food and chips from my second oldest cousin and his wife, who were always in a rush to leave our dinner to go to the wife’s family’s dinner in Vallejo, and a turkey that was painstakingly made by my oldest cousin. For some reason, we never called turkey gravy “gravy,” and instead my cousin insisted on calling it “au jus.” I don’t really get that even until today, but maybe that was his attempt at sounding fancy.

Family Thanksgivings for me are sadly a thing of the past. After I graduated from college and started earning an income where flying cross country to go home during a “peak” season wouldn’t break the bank, I realized I had little desire to go home during that period anyway. We were a broken family. The only reason I ever thought even for a second of going home was because I always felt bad about not seeing Ed that day, and his not having a “family” to have Thanksgiving with. After a while, the cousins stopped getting together, which meant my uncle stopped coming, which finally meant Ed had no one that day. Guilt is pretty much built into our DNA. Before he passed away, I thought, maybe I could go home for Thanksgiving in 2014, or he could come here, and we could have a meal together once again. Well, that never happened. I was too late.

“Experts” always say in those articles about grieving that everyone grieves on their own timeline, that it can take months to years to decades to let go of the regrets you have about things you wish you had done or not done or said or not said to those who have passed. That is all true. It’s hard to think of a major holiday like Thanksgiving or Christmas and not think about my brother, which then leads me to wonder what else I could have done to have helped him. It’s futile since nothing will bring him back, but I always think about it anyway. He loved turkey, especially the dark meat, and we both loved the canned cranberry sauce we grew up with. It would be really great to have a Thanksgiving meal with him once again. Now it can only happen in dreams.

United Nations Geneva

This morning, we visited the United Nations Geneva for a tour. I’m a bit embarrassed to admit this, but I still haven’t visited the UN in New York for a tour even though I have lived here for over seven years, but at least I can somewhat make up for it by visiting the second largest UN here in Geneva. As we waited for our English tour to begin, I watched as one of the UN employees, who initially sounded like he was French, speak in completely fluent Mandarin Chinese with a Chinese man and woman. They discussed intensely the need to know many languages regardless of what country you are in, as it would always come in handy. And in this case, working at the UN, of course it wouldn’t be surprising to meet people who speak two, three, four, even five languages. I’m sure a number of UN employees could even know all six official UN languages.

It reminded me of one of my colleagues with whom I work closely. One day, we were talking about a lot of random things, and we talked about how even when we are speaking the same language, we can oftentimes misinterpret what the other is saying. Communication is best in person since written word’s tone can so often be misunderstood and misinterpreted, but then if you don’t even speak the same language, it would be even more difficult. “If I had a super power, I’d want to be able to speak every single language,” my colleague said. “Then, I’d be able to communicate with everyone and understand everyone better!”

It would be amazing to speak every single language in the world. But the more I think about it, being able to speak different languages also means that you need to understand all of the cultures that they come from, which is a huge, daunting challenge in itself. You cannot really truly learn an language in a language silo. Colloquialisms that are unique to each language reveal nuances of cultures that we may not consciously think about, but these nuances are key to understanding people who come from cultures different than ours. Learning the language is one step closer to understanding, but learning the culture is the next.

Patek Philippe watches

We spent our first full day exploring Switzerland by foot today in Geneva. Despite what a few people have told us regarding their thoughts on Geneva, I really enjoyed it, especially the views from the top of St. Peter’s Cathedral, where you could see Lake Geneva, a view of the entire skyline of the city, and of course, the famous jet d’eau in the middle of the lake.

One place I wanted us to visit was the Patek Philippe Museum, which is a watch museum devoted to the history of Patek Philippe watches and time pieces, and the work and intricacies that go into watch and clock making. I wasn’t sure what I would think of the museum and if it would be more for watch fanatics rather than people like me who just like the way they look and wanted to learn more about the history of watches, but this ended up being one of my favorite things we did in Geneva. We saw the most sophisticated watches I’ve ever seen in my life at this museum, and they show you small videos where you can see the mechanisms that go into each part of a watch and how they control each movement. Each feature, as the exhibit describes, is called a “complication.” Whereas in real life, we think of complications as negative things, in the watch making world, “complications” are another intricate component to a watch that makes the watch more unique and multifacted.

One of the most ornate watches, in addition to of course showing the time, also depicted Moses knocking rocks with a big stick, which would then release water. One mechanism controlled Moses moving his arms to hit the rocks. Another mechanism controlled the water flowing. An additional one controlled people around him drinking the water. And if that wasn’t enough, there were even more mechanisms on the exact same pocket watch that controlled what looked like angels moving around.

Another peculiar thing I learned at the museum was that in the 1600-1700s, it was very posh for the well-to-do in Europe to have little pocket watches custom designed and hand-painted to depict nude women either touching themselves or touching each other. I wonder if these people actually used these for masturbation purposes. It’s amazing how times have changed if this is the case because I never would have thought to use a pocket watch for that purpose.

Golden Pass panoramic route

After an uncomfortable overnight flight in economy class, we landed in Zurich this morning and boarded a scenic train going west towards Geneva. We chose the Golden Pass panoramic route, which is definitely not the fastest route to Geneva, but the most scenic given its path that is literally through mountains, streams, little waterfalls, sleepy and snowy  mountain villages, and endless little ponds and big lakes.

Two years ago when we spent our Thanksgiving week in Germany, we did one of the most memorable museum visits I’ve ever done and went to the Miniatur Wunderland in Hamburg, which is the biggest model railroad in the world. Miniatur Wunderland has some of the most life-like models of different parts of the world, including Switzerland. The Switzerland exhibit depicts trains coming in and out of mountains and riding along the edges of them. It’s quite ominous when you watch the little miniature trains seemingly scaling mountains. But as I found out today, this depiction is 100 percent real and accurate. There were moments riding the train today when it felt like we were on the edge of mountains and any second, we could have slid off the tracks and fallen to our deaths. But no, this didn’t happen. The Swiss rails are reliable and incredibly safe, and we had the most beautiful views during our entire train ride, which lasted pretty much the entire day. After a while, we realized it was too silly to keep snapping photos, and we put our phones and cameras down and just enjoyed the views for what they were.

Oftentimes when you see photos of cities and countries in postcards, you often think that a lot of photo editing was probably done, especially when it comes to depictions of sunsets, sunrises, and mountains. With Switzerland, it seems that everything here is fitting of a “postcard” image. Riding along the Golden Pass train and walking through its cities and towns feels like you are going through a real life postcard, except you know that this is real life in front of your eyes, and this is not made up or Photoshopped. It’s just that gorgeous here.

“Stranded” in London

The last time we got stranded at an airport because of a missed flight due to connection delay, we were given barely $25 for dinner and breakfast, and a hotel stay at the airport Crowne Plaza in Chicago. Yesterday, our connecting flight from Heathrow to JFK was delayed to the point where it didn’t make sense for us to get on the plane, so we took the airline up on their offer to stay at the Renaissance hotel at the airport, accept dinner and breakfast vouchers at their very plush hotel restaurant, and $800 USD each in airline credit for the inconvenience. Apparently this type of reimbursement is due to British law with delayed and cancelled flights in the U.K. I could get used to delays and cancellations with reimbursements like that.

This also meant that I finally got to see London and set foot in the United Kingdom, even if I only got to see the city for about four hours. It was the most glorious delay and accident that could have happened, and an unexpected ending to our France trip. The only thing missing was crumpets.

Bastille Market’s poulet roti

I’ve been hyped up to go to Marche Bastille on our last Sunday for the last several weeks in great anticipation of our French version of the Last Supper in Paris: poulet roti from the famous poulet roti woman at the market, along with chicken-fat-drenched tiny yellow potatoes. Poulet roti is just French for roast chicken, but this roast chicken is marinated for two days in sesame, soy, and a large variety of herbs, then roasted on a rotating spit over tiny little yellow potatoes. I’d read about it on multiple food blogs as the thing to eat when visiting Marche Bastille, so I knew we had to have it.

When we picked the chicken up and I ripped into it with a sad random spoon we had in our bag and my fingers, I knew we had made the right decision. The skin was crackling, crunchy and very complex tasting and flavorful. It was sweet and slightly salty and herby all at once. The flesh of the chicken came apart quite easily, and the dark meat was perfect. The breast meat was tasty, but the star of this chicken was clearly the skin and the dark meat. It even came with its little giblets on the inside cavity; that’s something you don’t normally get when you buy roasted chicken in an American supermarket. Americans can’t really handle their giblets. I wanted to inhale the entire chicken, and I almost did since Chris’s dad doesn’t like to eat with his hands, and Chris’s cousins shied away from eating that much.

It was a sweet finale to an end in France. I practiced a lot of French here, was received more happily than I was last time, and bought enough chocolate, butter, caramels, and pharmacy products to last me the next year. I can’t wait to come back and eat the rest of France.

Fairy tale wedding

Today was one of those one-day-in-a-lifetime days when I got to experience a fairy tale in real life — a wedding at a chateau in the French countryside complete with endless white and pink roses, ending with torches shooting their flames up high toward a sky of fireworks. It’s one of those things that American girls dream about growing up, but they never really get that type of wedding in the end because how many American girls will have a destination wedding at a chateau in France?

Since I left home in 2004 for college, I’ve realized exactly how sheltered I’d been about the world, and every day I’m learning exactly how little I didn’t know the day before. When Navine and Andy began planning their wedding, Navine said to me that she originally didn’t want to have a chateau wedding, that she wanted to do something “different” and get married along the French Riviera where there was warm weather, sunny skies, and the beach. She grew up in Paris attending weddings at chateaux because that’s what the French do when they get married — have a multiple-day-long celebration at a chateau. I laughed out loud when she said this because I thought, yeah, that’s not what my version of “normal” and “what everyone does” was when I was growing up. I grew up thinking the normal, everyday thing to do when getting married was having a church wedding and having a Chinese banquet at a Chinese restaurant, or having a wedding and reception at a hotel or country club. Our versions of “normal” or “cliche” are so different depending on where we grew up and how we were raised. It still makes me laugh to think of Navine rolling her eyes at a chateau wedding and thinking it’s a cliche.

At the end of the night, she and I chatted, and I told her how beautiful it all was today and how it really was very much like a fairy tale. She was glowing and saying, “Screw the French Riviera and the beaches and the sun; this is perfect!”

That’s how I felt. But I guess she’ll get to see our wedding overlooking a beach in just a few months, and that will be incredible in its own way. I’ll be honest and say that after being a part of this wedding, I felt slightly insecure and thought our wedding may be nothing compared to the extravagance of today. But as corny as it sounds, as long as the people we care about are there and I don’t screw up my vows, I think our wedding day will be another version of “epic,” and that’s coming from someone who never uses that word.

Tea ceremony

Today, the wedding events began with a tea ceremony at Navine’s parents’ home in Paris, and ended with the largest bonfire I’ve ever seen at the chateau about an hour away in the French countryside. As with most Chinese events, the food was endless, and the food offered to the ancestors to bless the marriage was even more endless. We left the bride’s family’s home wondering what would happen with that huge roasted suckling pig, the duck, and all the fruit and sticky rice cake offerings. My family has never hosted a tea ceremony, so I have no idea if all that food really gets eaten or not.

Chris’s cousins’ parents and family were asking me if we would also have a Chinese tea ceremony when we got married. My first response is laughter, not because I think it’s dumb or ludicrous, but more because my parents would barely understand what a tea ceremony is for or what they would do during it. My dad is less Chinese than I am, and my mom doesn’t know anything about tea ceremonies and is Vietnamese. I summed it up nicely by saying, “No, my family isn’t that Chinese.”

I think these traditions are a great thing to have and to continue, and I was happy to be able to be a part of this one. I’m honestly a little sad that my family isn’t that Chinese and won’t be doing it because it ultimately means that any potential future generation of our family will not do it. If I didn’t have a tea ceremony, it’d be like a farce if I ever wanted my future children to have one. None of my cousins had a tea ceremony when they got married, either. It’s like the degradation of cultural identity as the generations continue and the lack of understanding of what the value is to keep these traditions going.