Swiss Family Schuchardt

Ciao, Ragazzi -- Ciao, Lugano

2006-06-28T18:48:00.000+02:00

And we're outta here. Older, wiser, humbler, broke.

You can find us at our new coordinates:

R&R Schuchardt
66 Monroe Hwy
Brooks, ME 04921

temporary phone number is 207-722-3712
e-mail Read at read@cleave.com
e-mail Rachel at rschuchardt@gmail.com

Best,

The Schuchardts

Snow Fun

2006-03-23T12:01:00.000+01:00

Snow day sledding.

This is how cold it was this past Christmas, and how much fun the kids had on an empty campus that was full of snow. Today, by contrast, is the first full real day of spring, so this is feeling nostalgic already.

The snow covering a persimmon tree created gorgeousness and gorgeosity.

Going. Cautiously. Nowhere.

2006-03-04T13:19:00.000+01:00

And we're back. Thanks for your patience while we went through technical upgrades and huge life decisions and repeated medical emergencies. Here's the news: we're moving back to the USA, after careful consideration of the entire set of choices, futures, and possibilities that staying versus returning would grant us. Turns out that I was wrong on the homeschooling front, and while in Japan I did a lot of meditating on the future of the children, and realized what Rachel had apparently recognized years ago -- if we don't raise them to counter the culture, then nobody else will. And until Ticino changes its cantonal laws, home schooling is not an option under the current bureaucracy. So we're resuming what is essentially a slow and generational revolution. Seeing this sign in Lugano made the lightbulb pop: not only did it make us ask - Where did we think we were going? - but it also made us think about our experience of the overall direction that European culture itself seems to be headed in: death by boredom, loss of nerve, and disappearance of the lust for life. The charmed life of an American expatriate Europhile may seem romantic if you're reading this back in puddletown, but the reality is not half so romantic as our cropped photographs make it seem, and the long-term sustainability of the whole enterprise is about zero. And of course, this is its own puddletown in just as many ways as the one you're in. So we're coming back across the pond, jumping into an even smaller puddle, and planning on making a splash. More soon on all that.

We look forward to rejoining you, our distant friends, this coming July.

Is This Thing On?

2006-02-10T14:37:00.000+01:00

Tap tap. Tap tap. Okay, it's working. Sorry we were silent for like, six weeks! Didn't realize how many of you had made this your personal umbilicus to all things Schuchardt Family. We'll post something soon. Meanwhile, if you actually know us and love us, you're always welcome to give us a call on the technology called the 'telephone', quaint and antiquated as that sounds. Our number is still +41-91-980-3660. (Sorry to put in the British country code earlier -- that was not a test, just me being an absentminded professor)

We're transmigrating the old data to the new computer (thank you, Franklin College gods of computing!), and we'll have more to post forthwith. Medical drama, speaking engagements, winter fun, train travel, skiing mishaps, and Big News all to come...

Going to Gandria on a Gondola

2006-01-12T12:01:00.000+01:00

Getting on the boat - it wasn't really a gondola, I got carried away by the possibility of poetry, and I'm sorry.

Water, like fire, offers a non-repeatable pattern that mesmerizes us. This is probably why television news always lead with a house fire if they've go the footage -- everything else is visually predictable to our retina.

As we pulled closer to this quaint medieval town hugging the lake shore in the mist...

We saw someone's very nice summer home -- but going shopping must be hell.

Can you imagine, fishing for dinner out your front window? Kayaking to work? We, of course, could imagine it -- but no one we met actually does these things, apparently.

Aquaduct? Highway system? Tourist trap? It's so hard to tell these days. (Pretty, though!)

Getting close to landing at the dock...

Swiss Family Schuchardt on dry land at last...

It was a beautiful, calm, cold, melancholy day, the town felt deserted in the middle of winter, and it ended with our eating appetizers at an overpriced restaurant (the only one open) just to warm up, and then missing the last boat and having to pay 100 francs to get home by taxi -- so we suddenly discovered the hidden cost of living amidst medieval charm on the lakeside, alrighty. But still and all, we'll go again when the weather's nicer.

Buon Natale -- Merry Swissmas

2005-12-24T09:13:00.000+01:00

For those of you disappointed at not receiving one of the Schuchardt family's famously weird picture cards this year, please forgive us. No budget, no awareness of where to get these done around here, and certain props missing to make the ideal picture. Still, here's a picture of all us in snow-covered Sorengo in December, wishing you and yours a happy and joyful Christmas, and hoping to see you sooner rather than later.

The paradox of a white Christmas in Lugano: snow-covered palm trees.

Chesterton and Dad Go To Milan

2005-12-22T15:33:00.000+01:00

On the last trip to Milan, Mercer and I never got our tickets punched, so we still had two unused tickets to Milan. So this week I took Chesterton for some last-minute Christmas shopping while Rachel hung out with Nanny and Poppa and the boys. The snow was gone, the city was pretty, and the fun we had!

We took the 10:21 train this time -- forget that 5 Am wake-up call!

Chesterton in training. Getting excited...

Funny billboard: The Marlboro man misses the train! No smoking on trains in Switzerland as of December 11, 2005.

Chesterton felt sorry for the horse... so he offered his bell pepper.

We realized we couldn't read the signs, so we just did what they told us to do.

On the train at last... going tanti kilometres per hour!

Everything a boy needs for adventure: tickets, passports, hot chocolate, (tonic water for Dad), and a page full of tic-tac-toe victories. We also played hangman. The napkin reminded us of the poor guy on the horse again, who missed the train, but we just shrugged it off: we didn't have to quit smoking, because we never started. After all, we were the kind of guys who ate bell peppers in public.

Chesterton Brown Schuchardt, world traveller, in the Milano train station, track #6.

Duomo wari gato, Mr. Roboto? The big - dum, da-dum, dum - Duomo, was kind of um, dumb: it was hidden behind scaffolding. Getting gorgeous for the next tourist season, I guess: "Boy Dad, that's a modern-looking church!" " You know those Italians, son, Milan is the fashion capital of the world, so even God has to dress up real nice-like."

We got thirsty, but couldn't get the can open. Still, cool Austin-Mini with the Red Bull treatment. In truth, you can see these puppies in every major city in the world, and my stepfather once got to see the private jet hangar of the president of this company, one of Europe's wealthiest guys. His secret? He never sleeps! Also, FYI, the Red Bull logo is in my dissertation, along with the Lamborghini bull, the Merrill Lynch bull, the Chicago Bulls, and lots of the other bullish icons of the Wall Street universe. The golden calves pulling their weight, A is for Ox, Alpha and Omega, all that symbolic Metaphysical stuff, still pretty much in operation down here on planet earth, oh Lord help us...

Oh Italy, how do I love thee? Let me count the cappucinos...

We found a Games Workshop in Milan. Even in uber-macho Italy, I guess young men need a consumer venue in which to enact their masculinity. I am red bull, hear me roar! "I am Chesterton, I'm tons of fun!" We checked out the cool new Lord of the Rings stuff, but resisted all urges. It was getting near lunch time...

Check the method -- prosciutto, olivo, mozzarello, yumm-o!!! Easily the best pizza we had all day...

Gulp... Now the circle is complete: here we are in a real Italian restaurant, which is in Italy (a real country!), and they have a framed print of the program for West Side Story! Must not have gotten the memo about Romeo and Juliet! It's like living in the Neuschwanstein castle in Germany and deciding to visit EuroDisneyland to see Snow White's castle! Hyperreality time warp! Umberto Eco, get me out of here, there's no intelligent life in this cramped entertainment prison!

Movo, the only hobby shop that matters. Chesterton acquires the Formula 1 Ferrari race car, Christmas presents for other boys also found.

Does this picture look familiar? The Aviation Collect Shop, the only hobby shop that doesn't matter, because it's always closed. Never again.

Better to be a live mouse than a dead zebra! White with black stripes? Or black with white stripes? You decide -- but remember, either way you answer, you're going to offend somebody.

The glass-blower dude. AWESOME!!! Afterwards, Chesterton said, "I still want to be an architect, but maybe I could also do that too."

Were we having fun? Big Time! This actually was in an architect's office, and afterwards Chesterton thought big clocks were cooler than blowing glass.

Having more fun than reasonable in the subway station architecture.

Tinker, Taylor, Baker, Guy: Where Mercer gets his name from: from mercer, an English word for "a dealer in fine linens." You see it in the States only on your fancy socks, if they happen to have a sticker that says, "Made with mercerized cotton." As you can see in the photo, it's a fancy clothes store.

Well worn out and now back on the train heading for Lugano. A day well spent.

Happy Anniversary Baby, Got You On My Mind...

2005-12-19T10:00:00.000+01:00

December 19, 2005: Lucky Thirteen.

Couldnadunitwithoutya.

Here's to the next 37!

We Take A Once-In-A-Lifetime Trip

2005-12-18T16:47:00.000+01:00

Courtesy of dear friends, we were offered a 72-hour trip to Maine for our anniversary. Courtesy of our friend's frequent flyer miles, we got to fly Business Class on Lufthansa.

Let me translate that for you: we got to fly Business Class on Lufthansa.

You only want to do this once in your lifetime. You do NOT want this to become an acquired taste. Trust me.

But as my Dad said, you should always fly first class once in your life. Most people wait until they're dead just to ride in a limousine, so it's good to get it out of the way ahead of time. How fun was it? Oh just look at these ridiculous pictures...

Big ole jet airliner, carry me to my home.

That's actually our neighborhood from the air. We flew from Milano to Frankfurt (before heading across the Atlantic), and flew right over Lugano, Switzerland. The frozen little lake in the middle right is Laghetto di Muzzano, and is a three-minute walk from our apartment in the suburb of Sorengo. Our apartment is in about the dead center of this picture. Cool, huh?

How much of a geek do you have to be to actually take a picture to prove that you're flying in Business Class? Well, apparently this much of one. Plus, we were given the bulkhead seat for a reason...

We had a baby on board! No, Rachel didn't give birth on the flight, but we brought a baby with us. That's Oliver John Schuchardt wishing you Ein Gutes Weinnacht oder etwas...

Oliver liked the bulkhead crib so much he repeatedly tried to leap out of it.

Courtesy of Lufthansa stewardesses who were helpless in the face of Oliver's cuteness, he got just about every tchotchke the airline could offer, including his first plastic bottle of apple juice with a real rubber nipple for sucking on. Oh, welcome to the world we've created for you, little man! Get ready for a lifetime of oral satisfiers for your every anxiety... Have you tried our lollipopscigarettescellphones? How about our food? You will one day.

Happily, the rest of the trip was... all natural.

We saw two trees we really liked.

Would you trade Switzerland for Brooks, Maine? You know...

It's certainly food for thought.

Thank you, Andrea and Russell, for a lovely anniversary!

Oliver Turns One Year Old Today

2005-12-17T15:12:00.000+01:00

Oliver John Schuchardt, born December 17, 2004. We can't believe it, and apparently, neither can he. Here he is pondering his birthday cake with one candle: "What am I supposed to do with this thing?"

Brainy and inquisitive FC student Oliver Rizzi-Carlson and his beautiful architecture student girlfriend, Elena, came to celebrate with us. Actually they came for lunch, and brought an amazing cake for dessert, so we suddenly started feeling Happy-Birthdayish, since these two Olivers were with us on this special day.

The presentation of the cake.

Oliver and big sis, Constance, on his big day. On your birthday, you get to do whatever you want, like hang out in your pajamas all day (in case you were wondering). He's feeling self-conscious about it, which is why he looks so shocked to have his picture taken suddenly like this.

Oliver goes for first-degree finger burns, but is saved from sudden pain by mom's quick snatching away of the candle. Subsequent to this moment, massive chocolate cake face ensued and he discovered that he preferred, alone among our one-year olds, to eat with a fork rather than with his fingers. Already he's so Swiss!

Nanny & Poppa Arrive

2005-12-15T15:01:00.000+01:00

For the last month at dinner, our three-year old Jasper has said the same prayer: "Thank you that Nanny and Poppa can come visit, and thank you for the food, Amen." Whenever anyone else has prayed, and carelessly forgotten this sacred mantra, Jasper has reminded them in slightly annoyed tones by interrupting, "And thank you for Nanny and Poppa come visit!"

Prayers answered.

Mercer and Dad go to Milan

2005-12-05T07:59:00.000+01:00

On the morning after the heaviest snow fall this year, Mercer and I had the bright idea of getting up early and going to Milan together on a train. We woke up at 4:30 AM, bathed, dressed, walked to the train station for our 6:20 train. The trip is only a bit more than an hour, and we were planning on spending a long day in the city. Mother nature had other plans. We spent six hours on the train, then another three waiting for and riding a bus once it became painfully clear that the trains were not going to run from Chiasso to Milano, due to fallen trees on the tracks, and we arrived in Milan a little before 3pm. But what an adventure!

Waiting for the train in Lugano station at 6:00 AM.

Mercer becomes train-lingual: SBB, CFF, and FFS are the German, French, and Italian acronyms, respectively, for the Swiss Railroad system. Here's the link for getting the train schedules in English.

Here's Mercer excited, cozy, happy, as the train ride begins... what an adventure we're going to have!

Here's the view out our window -- the two Swiss engine cars reminded us of Lowly worm from Richard Scarry books. Switzerland often feels like a storybook, and What Do People Do All Day? often comes to mind.

One thing people do all day is spend a lot of time waiting in Italy for things to work... Here we are waiting an hour in the cold for a bus to take us from Chiasso to Milano, along with about 200 other stranded travellers.

On the bus at last, chilled, but not frozen. An hour later we were in Milan. The things we saw!

A very clever experiment in scale and forced perspective. A real car, the full-sized Austin Mini, suspended from a 'string' on a hand that is blown up to wall-scale, making the car look like a toy, as well as subliminally reminding us with the "string around the finger" of our Christmas wishes, and perhaps without stretching it too much, the ad also suggests our yuletide desires to be kissed under the mistletoe. "The car turns the driver into a misguided missile," said Marshall McLuhan. In this case, the Austin Mini turns the driver into a larger-than-life action figure.

In Milano's Chinatown, an exotic snow creature made by a shy boy who did not want to be photographed.

At long last, with a map, the latest ModelTime magazine, and an all-day subway pass, we finally found the Aviation Collect Shop, which was, um, closed. But cool airbrush art on the metal gate, so we decided it was worth the photo op anyway. We met another disappointed airplane buff waiting outside, hoping beyond hope that the owner was simply on a really long, you know, Italian lunch break. No luck.

But we did see, all over the city, a former member of our former church, plastered up all over the city of Milan (including the subways), in the leading image advertisement for Italian IT company Olivetti (see the website for the picture in full clarity and to see how Olivetti is using Narya as their girl for their new tagline "Simple Is Beautiful"). The photo is taken by one David Sacks, stock photographer extraordinaire, New York City-turned-Brooklyn-married-with-kids hipster and top photographer for Getty Images. He'll be coming to visit us in April to shoot Franklin College kids as well as the Swiss Family Schuchardt, so it was a nice reminder (from the friends who brought you globalization) in cold and miserable Milan to see his images and remember that you're never really totally alone in this world.

Mercer does his best imitation of our New York City church piano player as she poses in the Milano subway advertising Italian printers. Is it not a small, strange, beautiful, funny world?

In the end, we did find Movo and the world-famous Al Soldatino, two very nice hobby shops, and the guys at Al Soldatino gave us a 15% discount off our purchase because we stayed and talked so long in our pidgin Italiano. We got home late (once the trains were running again), ate a pizza in Lugano at about 9:30 pm, and vowed to go again on a better day when the weather was more agreeable.

Snow Tire Day

2005-12-01T08:37:00.000+01:00

The Swiss law states that all cars must have snow tires on their cars by December 1st. This is what the chaos at our neighboring garage has looked like for a week now. It's been so busy, that crossing the street under these conditions has now doubled my commuting time. My commute is 90 seconds.

In other local news, the neighboring town (actually a collection of the towns of Gentilino, Montagnola, and Agra) is collectively known as Collina D'Oro, the golden hill. Montagnola is where the author Herman Hesse lived and died, and his burial in the St. Abbondio cemetery leads me to believe that Siddhartha and Journey To the East notwithstanding, he must have died on good terms (i.e., a faithful believer) with the Catholic Church.

At any rate, Collina D'Oro has just begun selling their most recent bottling of merlot, the 2004 vintage, and it is by all accounts one of the best ever. Dean Zanecchia gave me a bottle for my birthday, and I must say: tasty! The contents of the bottle were tasty, I mean -- not the bottle itself...

Collina D'Oro 2004 Ticino Merlot -- that's the town crest at the bottom of the label.

As the name implies, you need a certain amount of Oro to live in the neighborhood -- we live just below the golden hill on the silver hump of Sorengo... but there's a nice trickle down effect, such as the one just pictured.

It's Official: Mid-Life Crisis

2005-11-27T10:23:00.000+01:00

Well, in fact, it's not anything like it, but if you believe the statisticians, and if the average American male lives to the age of 74, then the story called Read Mercer Schuchardt is half over as of today.

That's right, I turned 37.

No biggie.

Breakfast in bed, kids well-behaved, the love of the bride of my youth, and the St. Edward's Church pastor even called me up to the front to stand next to a 7-year old (who also had a birthday this weekend) while the whole congregation sang "Happy Birthday to You Two." It was embarrassing and funny, and I felt like a seven-year old again -- delicious.

Presents to report:
Rachel: a train ticket to Milan to find/buy an airbrush spray-booth (so we boys can paint our model airplanes without choking from fume inhalation)
Constance: a coupon for one hour of Oliver duty (her term for watching the baby) to "do something with mom." I think she's on to us.
Mercer: a coupon for "one week of no arguing." One of my favorite presents.
Chesterton: a coupon for one house-cleaning (i.e., I'll clean up my Legos)
Walker: a trifecta of chocolate bars from the gas station next door. Didn't know I liked dark chocolate as much as I do.
Jasper: "What do I get? Can I have some chocolate?"
Oliver: his first step taken, and soon to be a complete ambulatory biped
Mom sent a pair of boots, Dad sent a nice e-mail. I had my absolute favorite dinner, lamb shank (gigot d'agnello in Italiano) over a bed of orzo with tomato garlic sauce, zucchini, carrots, and a carrot cake and then oh, joy, a key-lime pie to die for.

I remember as a kid being thrilled by the idea of getting to do whatever you wanted on your birthday -- for me this always meant that I got to ride in the front seat. As we still don't have our own car, I kept secretly hoping that someone who did would pick us up in their car just so I could claim this special privilege.

In the afternoon, we had a double-wave of well-wishers, students and colleagues alike, who brought all manner of delicious wines, desserts, and chocolates with them. You cannot enter a Swiss home without offering a box of chocolates, it's pretty much the law.

So here I am, 37 and as many pounds overweight, blowing out my birthday candles with the help of my triple chin, fat and happy as the day I was born.

I'm a lucky boy. And I have a great family, great job, and great friends, and so much more to be thankful for.

Three Thanksgivings!

2005-11-24T09:41:00.000+01:00

When living abroad, sometimes you discover that your homesickness gets the better of you and you find yourself overdoing those aspects of your home culture that you miss. In America, by the time we left, there were only three holidays left:

Christmas -- When the immediate family gets together with nearby friends and relatives.
Fourth of July -- When friends and neighbors get together.
Thanksgiving -- When extended (and geographically disparate) family gets together for a once-a-year reminder of why they moved away.

So in Lugano this year, we found ourselves among dozens of homesick Americans with no family to speak of other than ourselves, so we improvised and became each other's extended family.

And then we did it again.

And then, just for good measure, did it one more time.

So we had one Thanksgiving celebration dinner on the Sunday before Thanksgiving, one on the Wednesday before, and one on Thursday itself.

Sunday night Thanksgiving at Angela Evans' apartment in Sorengo.

Angela, Jasper, Karen, Chesterton: chowing down.

Liz laughs while Angela bemoans her diseased foot: she went to the hospital later that night (all went well).

Wednesday night Thanksgiving in the college Grotto. Left to right: Professor Patrick Butler, Development Officer Alesia Keyes, Professor Rebecca Self, President's Assistant Vivien Forzano, Charlotte Zanecchia, Dean Armando Zanecchia.

When Father Carves The Duck: Dean Zanecchia makes the official first cut of the Wednesday night Thanksgiving turkey.

Constance holds Oliver, who rather suddenly discovered he was a carnivore.

All in all, it was an overstuffed and lovely week of camaraderie and binge-eating, which was followed three days later by the official arrival of my mid-life crisis...

We Enter Phase 2 of Culture Shock

2005-11-22T10:43:00.000+01:00

Culture Shock Phase 2: Resentment and Criticism of the Host Culture.

Not only are we getting nowhere with the cantonal bureaucrats regarding homeschooling, but there are even public parks where soccer is not allowed. Imagine, the national religion of Italy, and there are some places where you can't even play it!

Not only that, but our three-year-old Jasper has started smoking...

I Met Umberto Eco

2005-11-04T06:11:00.000+01:00

Last night, at la Feltrinelli in Milano, there was a reading/interview/book launch for Diego Marani's new book, which is in itself a brilliant look at where we are regarding language change and evolution. His "Europanto" is a new universal language that combines Italian, German, French, English and Spanish in order to sing nostalgic songs, for instance, about "My Romania" -- it was a very funny evening.

Eco was on hand to do the interviewing, not only because he is also a Bompiani author, but because Marani was barking up some of Eco's favorite trees. Eco, author of The Name of the Rose, Baudolino, Foucault's Pendulum, Travels In Hyperreality, The Island of the Day Before, The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana, among dozens of others (his most famous quip in online circles is perhaps the comment that PCs are Protestant while Macs are Catholic), was recently rated as number 2 on Prospect magazine's recent poll of the world's top 100 intellectuals. Noam Chomsky, another cunning linguist, was named number one, but admitted that his friends probably padded the online voting.

Here's a blurry picture of Eco signing a book for me. When I asked him if he could give a speech at Franklin College Switzerland, Eco said no and mumbled something about "not for the next two years" because he was in the midst of some "tragical" situation at present. I can only assume he meant that his rich-and-famous lifestyle keeps him busy, but who knows? My only other observation was that he seems to be quitting smoking, as the dangling white stick in his mouth was neither a cigarette nor lit during the entirety of the evening. But it looked cool, sort of like the thinking man's chewing tobacco, the intellectual's oral satisfier.

I like the way the photograph captures the blur of the book, with the relative static figures of signer and signee. It's like one of those stop-motion photographs of the artist working in his given medium, as though the camera has captured Jackson Pollock in mid-drip. It makes Eco look like he can sign books as fast as he can write them. Note the disinterested look on his face as he stares at me, clearly not needing to look down to see if he's writing his name correctly, and conveys the impression that he must write them as dispassionately and effortlessly as this, while looking elsewhere, chewing his stick, and thinking about something else entirely. Or at least that's what the Romantic in me likes to believe.

Meanwhile, I'm looking directly at the page thinking, "Oh my God, Umberto Eco is signing my book! I hope he spells his name right!" The guy lined up behind me is thinking the same thing in Italian, hoping Eco signs his book at least slightly slower than the camera's shutter can open and close...

I Return From Japan

2005-10-30T18:37:00.000+01:00

Mind blown. More soon.

I'm Turning Japanese I Really Think So

2005-10-14T23:48:00.000+02:00

I'll be gone for two weeks to Japan, co-leading an Academic Travel to the land of the Mitsubishi Eclipse, um, Rising Sun.

Our blog for that trip can be seen here, but there's not much there now, so expect a flood of uploads once we get back (not sure how much Net access we'll have on a bullet-train fly-by tour of four major cities and a few rural areas).

I applied to teach English in Japan when I was just graduating college, but never got in -- everybody was doing it, and the placements went to those who had a clue or two, or more, about Japanese history, culture, language. I now know what I wish I knew then, but still have never visited.

Meanwhile, like a kid in a hobby shop, this is my secret guilty pleasure, and already on my must-see destination list... I know what you're thinking: five thousand years of Japanese history and all you can think about is that? I'm just being honest. No, it's not all I can think about, it's just something that's very exciting for me.

Meanwhile, Janet from New York is coming to visit Rachel in my absence, and the children are still enjoying going to school.

The First Day of School

2005-10-12T20:12:00.000+02:00

Today, history was made in la famiglia Schuchardt: Constance, Mercer, Chesterton, and Walker went to the Municipio di Sorengo Scuole Comunale that is just a three minute walk from our house.

The good news: they loved it!!! The bad news: Rachel is feeling bereft, sad, and quite hollow at no longer being able to educate our children at home.

More good news: the school is next to a church, the school is walking distance from our apartment, the children come home every day for lunch from 11:45 until 1:30, and on Wednesdays they only have to go for a half-day (until 11:45). The public schools in Switzerland are in fact, quite good, and even the "well-off" send their kids to them. According to The Xenophobes Guide to the Swiss (a very funny book), you only send your kid to a private school "if there is something wrong with him." Tomorrow they have an all-day field trip to pick and roast wild chestnuts. They also have an expenses-paid one-week trip in the fall and spring, one for skiiing and one for backpacking, and if you saw the classrooms, you'd know that the Swiss put their money where their mouth is regarding education. And unlike the American separation of church and state weirdness that creates a sort of default atheism (or a more aggressive version, depending on the district/state you're in), religious belief in Switzerland is not only tolerated but actively taught. And while the town of Lugano is the third-largest banking/finance center in Switzerland, still the churches are still the highest buildings in any area (sociologists will tell you this is an unusual occurrence). In the school's religion course, you choose to take either Catholic (48%) or Protestant (44%) classes, or you can opt out if you want neither. So the push or desire to homeschool in Switzerland (or in this Canton at least) is not really driven by religious beliefs, but rather by other personal and/or philosophical claims -- and is in fact, nearly non-existent in Ticino. The churches in Ticino aren't concerned at all about the schools (so far as we've heard), and so perhaps (perhaps) what we are experiencing is that pleasant intercultural shock of realization that we don't have to bring our old state/church prejudices with us. Or at least, this is the positive spin I'm trying to put on it. Then again, that could be the naivete speaking. We are one of only four families that we know of (so far) that are interested, but we are gathering information and more local knowledge before pressing ahead with a possible "rehearing" case in order to see if the law can be reinterpreted to allow for distance-learning programs, Internet academy, or straight-out homeschooling. Those interested in supporting this cause should send an e-mail and/or give us a call. Meanwhile, here are the pictures from the first day of school:

First day of school breakfast: toast and tea and scrambled eggs!

The four school-aged children show off their backpacks given us by Vivien, a dear friend and fellow employee of the college. Constance isn't holding hers in front of her because hers is an old one we picked up in Singapore, while the boys are pleased as punch with their newfound style.

The walk up the hill couldn't be lovelier.

Mercer declares "to the right" while Leila, our neighbor's daughter and faithful guide (who has gone to the school for years) emphatically says, "Non, a sinistra!"

These are the steps up to the church, which is on the way to the school.

From this path, a view of a field and the sunrise over the mountains at precisely 8:10 AM.

The school entrance, our kids having arrived quite early on their first day.

The school in quarter angle -- the large plate-glass windows in each classroom give a lovely view of the fields and the church.

The Municipality of Sorengo Community School.

Rachel enters the feared doors on the most fateful day of her life as a mother.

After school, Walker is caught horsing around on the edge of the wood by the playground.

Walker with his Euro-style, wearing his Euro-backpack, attempts to hold still and smile for a minute but only manages a grimace.

Jasper playing after school in the playground -- that's the church in the background. The school is essentially in the backyard of the church.

The circular sandpit of delight.

Constance loved it. Her first day she found two other horse-crazy girls and received welcome cards from all her classmates, one of whom wrote, "Will you be my best friend? I am very nice."
Constance is only offering second-best friendships at this point, the best category having already gone out to Namiko in Brooklyn. Mercer loved it, and found a soccer-playing and model-airplane-building buddy named Max who immediately adopted him. Chesterton loved it and said he thought he was going to be scared and shy, but actually liked it better than homeschool. Walker just plain had fun, didn't cogitate too much about it. No tears on the first day! That's better than I can say from my first day in school in St. Maarten, and certainly wasn't true of Rachel at this age either. So all in all, it went exceedingly well.

Meanwhile, back home, Oliver, Size XL, looked around and wondered, "Where'd everybody go?"

Jumpers

2005-10-08T23:29:00.000+02:00

Bungee jumping, I've always felt, is one of those sports that only a deeply secularized culture could ever really enjoy. For only in the absence of religion could your craving for a spiritual world be so profound that you'd almost be suicidally willing to die for it. Indeed, the top ten bungee jumping locations are in the US, Canada, the UK, or Switzerland -- or else they are in eco-tourist locations like Zimbabwe, Nepal, or Costa Rica, run by secularists in those locations for the sheer value of the vertical drop the location affords them: you can be sure they don't get many locals doing the jump.

We currently reside in the Canton of Ticino, home of the "world's greatest" bungee jump location, whose claim to fame is not merely the 722-foot drop off the side of the Valle Verzasca dam, but is also the jump that James Bond made in the film Goldeneye. The Franklin College Adventure Club, to which I am the academic advisor, decided to take the jump, and I, having seven very good reasons to live, agreed merely to drive them and write letters of solace to their parents in the event of their actual discovery of the spiritual world.

As luck had it, they all survived to tell the predictable tale: the rush wears off after 7.5 seconds of free-falling. What Walker Percy (in Lost In The Cosmos) calls "re-entry problems of the orbiting self" get somewhat metastastized here, because bungee jumping instills such an adrenaline rush that you immediately want to do it again, which is good for business, since it costs 250 francs per jump. And so, the shock for me, other than watching normally sane people jump off a bridge, was to see how quickly the effect or "thrill" wore off once they were out of the harness. The first jumper needed a new sensation within the hour, and was impatient waiting for the others to finish. Like an MTV-junkie who's lost the remote control, this generation has a hard time recognizing that you can't change channels faster than MTV already does, and gets unwittingly impatient for not being allowed to try.

But of course, you don't want my socio-religio-philosophizing. You want the pictures:

The dam from the far right edge. That's the jumping platform in the middle.

This is what the insanity looks like when you first see it from afar. You wonder if aliens visiting our planet would first think this was a "new method of health recovery" or a "failed suicide attempt."

If it's good enough for Pierce Brosnan's stunt double, it's good enough for Franklin College students spending mom and dad's money...

Brooke jumped first, and went so fast that I missed her leap into nothingness, but caught her on film striking her dramatic "help me I'm falling" pose as she is buoyed back up on the tether.

Adrian, an otherwise sane and rational human being, jumps into the void.

Davis, an otherwise nice guy, jumps off a perfectly good dam.

Rob takes a deep breath, wraps his lower lip around his bottom teeth, and then leaps into thin air.

Shannon, a perfectly nice college girl, embraces the abyss.

BOI-OI-OI-OI-NNNNGGG!!! The bungee cord recoils after the first bounce.

This is why they ask you to put your hands on your head immediately after you bounce: you don't want the coil to wrap around your neck and quickly snap your head off you while you go down for the second bounce (yes, this was learned in the industry from experience).

The students strike a "Bond, James Bond" poster-style pose while I hold up two sections of bungee cord, smiling idiotically at not having lost any students to the irrational act of jumping off a dam, and paying good money to boot for the right to engage in such stupidity.

The tagline of the James Bond film, Goldeneye. It could also be the tagline of the ancient Hebrew high priests who entered the holy of holies once each year to encounter God face-to-face.

They also had a rope tied around their ankle...

Off To School You Go!!!

2005-10-06T14:53:00.000+02:00

We've just finally "presented" to the Comune di Sorengo, and the question of the children's education has come up. They are officially registered in the Clonlara School in Michigan, and doing a distance-learning curriculum. Meanwhile, Constance and Mercer are taking college-level Italian (Constance currently earning the highest grade in the class), and they are enjoying their other studies as well. The Comune di Sorengo answers to Bellinzona, who represents the Canton of Ticino, whose official law is that the children must be registered in a "Swiss-accredited school" whether public or private. So barring some sort of divine or semi-divine intervention, the four oldest Schuchardt children will be doing something next Tuesday that they have never yet done in their lives: they'll be leaving home to attend school. Stay tuned for more...

Walker Turns SIX!!!

2005-09-23T10:08:00.000+02:00

Walker on the morning of his big day. He's not intentionally channeling Malcolm McDowell's character from A Clockwork Orange, he's just very very happy to viddy his Da so early on the Birthday in question.

Walker waits while Mom cooks him a healthy birthday breakfast. That's Oliver, size 12, behind him, about to eat the table for a snack.

Dad to the rescue! Birthday breakfast of chocolate bar, chocolate egg, and Pringles, served on the coveted "You Are Special Today" red plate. Can I get you anything else, son? In case you're grandma reading this, that's a peach-flavored yoghurt drink for his beverage, so it wasn't, ahem... all bad. And okay, to be fair, he did eat his cardboard-bran-flake-health-nut cereal first, before he lost the rest of his teeth on the chocolate.

Walker and Mom gloat over his peanut-butter-frosting-double-chocolate-death-love-sugar-bomb birthday cake, eaten at his party that we celebrated a few nights later with students from Intercultural Communication at a fondue party. Picture credit to Franklin College student Katie Cicerchi.

Constance Falls Off The Horse

2005-09-22T10:26:00.000+02:00

We don't have a picture of the horse in question, nor the beautiful stables to show you, but Constance was tossed off a horse this week and, thank God, didn't break anything. I did the usual fatherly test of rotating and lifting all the joints in question, and said she'd be sore for three days on her shoulder but that she'd be fine. The next morning, of course, was a different story. She was in pain, and it hurt to move her right arm, and so we went to the Ospedale Civico, the same one we took Walker to when Chesterton cast a fish hook into his head.

The hospital has a triage system that we discovered the real meaning of: if you don't enter the Emergency Room bleeding and screaming, well... prepare to wait a while. Code Red gets seen right away, Code Yellow gets seen second, and Constance, our brave little Code Greener, got to sit in reception for five hours, which gave us all enough time to make up the other codes:

Code Blue: We'll see you before your body turns blue.
Code Purple: We'll remove your corpse before we get promoted to better jobs.
Code Black: We'll bury you before your body begins to stink up our lobby.

But we had fun drinking capuccino and hot chocolate from a machine and tasting the new flavors of Kit-Kat bars for lunch, and I got a few pictures of the funny experience to share with you.

Constance laughing over what "Code Green" really means: Hobbits get seen last of all!

Bring out the machine that goes ping!

Constance asking for donations from hospital staff to buy more Kit-Kat bars. No wait, this is the picture of her putting her arm in position for the X-ray.

For her troubles, Constance got a new pair of red suspenders. She wore them as a brace to hold up her arm. After all that, five hours plus an x-ray, the doctor rotated and lifted all the joints in question and then told her that "she'd be sore for three days on her shoulder but that she'd be fine."

I left the hospital thinking: I should have gone to medical school.

Next week: Constance Gets Back On The Horse.

Fountains of Life

2005-09-15T09:15:00.000+02:00

Perhaps my favorite thing so far about the Ticino canton of Switzerland is the water. I love the lake, of course, but specifically there's a wonderful treat you discover every time you go out for a family walk, and it is simply that you don't need to bring water bottles with you, because whenever you're just about to get thirsty, a water fountain turns up out of nowhere. The water is cold, fresh, delicious, and with few exceptions, the fountains are always on, so you don' t have to "hope this one works" or pump the handle, wait for the warm water to be displaced by cold, taste the pipes it's going through, or anything like that. The run-off from the Alps is presumably what makes water here in such abundant supply.

And when you think about it, it makes sense that 70% of the earth's surface should be freely available to all people, whose biological organisms are also about 70% water. But I had just moved from a culture where we were getting used to the idea of paying $1.50 for 12 ounces of it, and no matter which "brand" it was, it always tasted like the plastic it was bottled in. So here are some of the fountains we've come across so far -- I'll add more later as I photograph them. As you can see, each one is its own piece of art, and they seem to reflect a great deal of cultural pride.

The modern big block fountain in the Gentilino playground -- great for refreshing after a soccer game in the field nearby.

A retaining wall fountain with a faucet that turns on and off.

A fountain and algae-filled stone bathtub in Valle Verzasca.

A fountain in a rock in a playground in Agra.

A modern fountain in Gentilino.

The Franklin College Fountain, a wall-mounted bubbler just outside the library -- this was a gift from the Senior Class of 2002.

The fountain shaded by trees, in a plaza near the Lugano train station.

Close-up of the deer atop the fountain by the train station. As the Hart pants for water...

Hard to see in this close-up of the fountain, but the water is always running, and behind this one is another fountain exactly like it.

This is Walker in his "swanky" pose by a fountain on via Ponte Tresa as we go out on one of our trademarked "early morning adventures." Just where the boys picked up the word "swanky" is beyond me, as I have never used it in my life.

A close-up of the fountain's detail.

Walker at the fountain near the Percorso Vita in Montagnola. The "Percorso Vita" is the "way of life" path through the woods that has exercise stations all along it, and you can find them in several towns in Ticino. They are an initiative by the insurance companies that serve the dual purpose of maintaining the woodlands while also ensuring the Swiss stay healthy and live longer. Swiss live to an average age of 83, compared to Americans who die at the average age of 74.

Walker, of course, is going to live forever, because he drinks from a fountain that was not made by the hands of men.

When Are You Going to Post Again?

2005-09-13T09:57:00.000+02:00

Public Speaking class.

I don't know if I mentioned this, but I'm a college professor by trade. The four classes I'm teaching, the academic travel (Japan in October, Scotland in March), the Film Society, the Skeeball Club, the Yearbook, the Honors Program Committee, Faculty Council, and the Adventure Club all keep me pretty busy, and then of course there's the whole publish-or-perish business, the Metaphilm site, and did I mention I have a wife and six kids? So in general, please don't worry or fear if you don't see a post up here each and every week -- it's simply a very very busy time for us, and the blog is a great fun thing to do, but is somewhat lower on the list of absolute necessity than the other stuff.

Oliver Rex

2005-09-08T09:52:00.000+02:00

Oliver is growing by leaps and bounds. In truth, I could devote this entire blog to his first year, because he is at that stage where he no longer resembles himself from week to week. Here's a picture of him sitting in state in the boy's room throne. He looks shocked and somewhat taken aback by the request you've just made of him... but in your case he'll make an exception, again.

On The Weirdness of European Billboards

2005-09-07T16:48:00.000+02:00

I'm imagining the creative meeting in which this ad was created:
I'm picturing the week after fourth of July, three strung-out American creatives and one burned-out account executive, in Amsterdam, meeting with the still-not-sober Client Rep wondering if he's really about to lose his job, or if his boss might actually be pregnant from the night before. They all have the requisite degree of Attention Deficit Whatever needed to get and keep a job in global advertising...

Creative Type One: The billboard shows two bottles, talking not so much to each other as at the viewer. One says "Touch me" while the other says, "U Can't Touch This." It's like, "The Doors meets MC Hammer."
Creative Type Two (who has a crush on One) "Yeah, the 60's meets the 90's, it's like this beer cures the generation gap!"
Creative Type Three (who is either a different gender or different sexual orientation from the first two): Dude, it'll be like boy meets girl, or straight meets gay, or metal meets glass, it's totally multicultural!"
Account Executive: "Does the logo show up in bold face font with the red star icon facing prominently toward the viewer?'
Client rep: "Jah, vee must have duplication of the logo, and then triplication in the lower right hand corner."
All the ad team together: "No problem, done. Next?"

They wring hands and agree, but then the question of photography comes up...

Creative Type One: "Well, I think it would be nice to have a boy and a girl holding the bottles, of different races, and maybe for variety have the girl be the tall one holding the short can, and the boy be the short one holding the tall bottle. He obviously has venus envy, so we make it a sort of gender-bender thing too!"
Creative Type Two (the one with the crush): "That is so genius, like it's all about the sex, and since the bottle is obviously meant to be, you know, 'touched' then the viewer gets these subliminal sexual urges..."
Creative Type Three: "Good point, everyone knows that green bottled beer is as much or more of an aphrodisiac as green M&M's."
Account Executive: "Does the red star signify the nationalist or socialist worker's movement enough? We want the product to signify the fetishism of communist commodities in a capitalist world."
Client Rep: "We'll need the red star to be triplicated too, like it's the new holy trinity. By the way, the ad is running in Italian-speaking Switzerland, why is it in English?"

Creative Type One: "It's not in English. It's in pop music lyrics, or PML, which is a universal language thanks to corporate ownership of global radio stations. Everyone, whether their mother tongue is Farsi or Cantonese, knows these lyrics."
Creative Type Two (with the crush): "Yeah, did you know I've got the whole Madonna song 'Like A Prayer' memorized?"
Creative Type Three (under s/his breath): "That's probably all you've got memorized."
Account Executive: "So really this is not an ad for beer, it's a supplemental ad for our radio stations, which have even more Heineken ads running, and these are of course in the local dialect of the target markets."
Client Rep: "Exactly. Vee control all European radio stations, club events, and weekend parties. The purpose of the ad is really not even to promote radio, but to promote the ancient crap we keep replaying every Saturday night. Why do you think Europe only listens to late 80's techno? It's because it's the most mindless banal drivel, the best vehicle for implanting consumer desire is amidst a cacophony of conflicting messages."

Creative Team, all together: "So what about the tagline. Are we keeping the old "It's All About The Beer"? or are we changing it?"
Account Executive: "The client wants a fresher approach."
Client rep: "Jah, someding more generational, relational, und a bit more of dee crazy Internet talk. Like it's not so much a tagline as an IM sign-off."
Creative Type One: "Bingo: Meet you there."
Creative Type Two (you know the one): "It's so multi-meaning!"
Creative Type Three: "She means it's a double entendre."
Account Exectuive: "Great, what's for lunch?"
Client Rep: "I'm late for my six-week vacation. I'll be back in mid-September!"

In the end, the product is shot with two six-figure-a-day professional runway models, hair done by Modo, shoes by Prado, make-up by Dodo, and lighting by Boulo. The graphic designer, a French existentialist running a PC 486, decides against la specificite des personnes and opts instead for a bleak train-station-esque background, in which the absence of signifiers represents the significance of future movement and possibility, something the American creative types pretend to understand. He exudes so much je ne sais quois from his receding hairline that they simply submit to his genius in humbled obeisance, and wonder if his black turtleneck is pure merino wool or rather that new alpaca blend with the polysynthetic underlayer. The Americans spend six weeks in Photoshop removing the perfectly photographed beer bottles from the models' hands and inserting them against his bleak background (itself a picture of a deserted train station he took in sixth grade, after his dog died), and THIS is the reason that the tall glass bottle (the one on the right, my friends) is slightly off center and the word "Heineken" is not entirely readable, causing the Client Rep, in fact, to lose his job to a blonde from Norway who defines "rebellious" in her application packet as, "I like to drink Carlsberg on Fridays and Tuborg on Saturdays."

Joan Joan on the Telephone!!!

2005-09-05T15:34:00.000+02:00

Our Auntie Joan Zimmerman, Oliver's godmother, came to visit us from Vienna. (Vienna is a major city in a foreign country where they speak a strange language, so this was a pretty big deal.)

Here comes the big bus from Milano/Malpensa! We hope that it's the right one, the one with Auntie Joan on board!

Joan jumps off the bus, happy to have found the only town in Switzerland with a family with six kids!

Here is the arrival and hugs/kisses at the bus station. If this were a 35mm print, this would be the shot of nobody's face that you'd say, "no, don't make a duplicate of that one." But in digital photography, it's all good.

Joan looks down towards the ground, wondering where Oliver is. That short man on the right who's hair is just visible, is Walker. Oliver is not actually in this shot, he's busy crawling through traffic and increasing the lactation statistics in this town.

We Find A Church In A Hotel In A Suburb In Italian

2005-09-03T16:18:00.000+02:00

Guess which cultural influence is on top?

These two signs are seen together in the hotel where the church rents space for its weekly meeting. The sign on top says "Darwin Airline (Office on First Floor)." The sign below says "Living Word Christian Center."

Something tells me that Jesus Airways isn't coming to Switzerland anytime soon. Remember the official Cleave T-shirt: "I Heard The Sermon On The Mount and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt"? This picture reminds us of those cultural forces that put the higher in hierarchy.

And the church itself? Great! Except I couldn't understand a thing. If Christ is the word in which we live and breathe and have our being, then it will help to know the Italian word for all that.

Who Cut The Cheese?

2005-09-01T15:57:00.000+02:00

Raclette... A cultural heritage of the Swiss Alps, a rugged sheepherder's peasant dinner of a hunk of cheese, potatoes, and pickles, melted together over an open flame.... what could be simpler, more pleasant, or more economical?

Now add 500 years of cultural mythology, domesticate the experience with electronic technology, charge 32 CHF per person (no matter how old or young or hungry), and you too can end up with a 400 CHF cheese bill at the end of the evening.

But oh... the fun we had in cutting the cheese!

Check the method! Alex Read cuts the cheese.

The cheese factor requires extra Pellegrino.

Rusell Read and Mom pondering the meaning of cheese.

Moegens declares in Danish, "I didn't cut the cheese!" while suspiciously leaning to the left... Rachel smiles innocently as if to suggest she couldn't possibly have cut the cheese (while hiding Oliver's face from the whole embarrassing thing), and Constance smirks, smugly aware of who really cut the cheese but proud to be the one who is "not telling."

Valle Verzasca Trip

2005-08-28T16:00:00.000+02:00

I lift my eyes up...

You'll have to simply believe me when I say this was one of the most beautiful parts of the world I'd ever seen. The pictures seem like mere shadows of the actual experience, which was full of grandeur, awe, and the magical but terrifying indifference of the natural world. This was the trip the school took all students on for Sunday just before classes began on Monday the 29th.

I drove the College Van with the whole gang in tow. There were three students on our inward bound bus, but none on the return -- hopefully not a testimony to my driving skills. Thanks to Marcel for several of these shots.

This is where the steep climbing begins...

Looking down on Locarno from our climb upwards... it was a beautiful day.

Medieval quaintness by the kilogram...

...and by the kilometer.

A rushing rocky river, prone to flash floods.

How like a postcard, no?

This is the village of Sonogno, at the end of the valley. This was where we spent most of our day (and most of the next few pictures), and it was impossibly beautiful. It was here that our children exclaimed, "This is DEFINITELY better than Jersey City!"

Stone houses with stone roofs. Some were available for rent.

The waterfall at the top of the valley.

We ran into three billy goats, who demanded, "Who's that crossing over my bridge?" Happily, they were not gruff, and there was no troll under the bridge... though we did see a lot of garden gnomes in the front yards.

Rachel could hardly believe her eyes.

I could hardly believe my good fortune.

Walker in his element.

High on a hill sang a lonely goatherd...

Dad takes the plunge as Jasper listens to Dad's shrieking, an unusual reversal. How cold was the water?

It was about this cold, minus another ten degrees.

Mercer pops right in...

And pops right out!!!

Chesterton sounds his barbaric yawp.

Constance freezes from the knees down. Her bathing suit was red when this trip began...

Jasper, tasty as ever, gets nibbled on by a goat while we pack up to go.

Where's Waldo? He's right behind that Hobbit!

Constance in her natural element...Middle Earth.

Ma and Pa and Baby at the Roman bridge. That's an Ibby's Falafel t-shirt I'm wearing, still proud to represent Jersey City from afar.

The kids hamming it up in front of the Roman bridge.

The goof troupe in action.

The old Roman bridge, it turns out, is an instrumental icon in the school crest of Franklin College. That's a stylized version of the bridge in the upper left quadrant.

Susan Gilfert, the college librarian, was the other chaperone on the trip. She and I are co-leading the academic travel to Japan in October, so it was a nice chance to get to know each other outside of the academic context.

Moegens and Mom on the bridge.

Mom and Moegens sitting on the bridge.

At the end of the day, the college threw a cookout, and the kids played on the lawn, inspiring the college students to join in games of tag, rolling down the hill, and somersaults.

Jasper sees his opportunity, and heads over...

...to chat up the ladies. Notice the one male student, realizing he can't compete, and feigning indifference by looking elsewhere.

All in all, it was a phenomenal day. We went home exhausted and happy, and dreamt the dreams of contentment.

School Begins!

2005-08-26T10:36:00.000+02:00

In the last week, Jasper had to see a doctor about a bug bite on his, ahem, and then Walker a day later had to go to the hospital with a fish hook in his head (Chesterton's casting skills being the culprit), but then yesterday, after a week of orientation meetings, great joy, we faculty finally got to meet our students. These were our new students (freshman, transfers, study abroads) who were assigned to us as advisees. My students rock! And the school, being in Switzerland, offered us a dinner with a bottle of wine at each table. I was pleased, and reminded my students of G.K. Chesterton's quote (applicable also to wine) that "the way to thank God for good beer was to not drink too much of it." Herewith the photographic evidence:

These are Jake Coyle, Carrie Christensen, Elliot Bechtell, Jen Pulju, Caroline Chenot, Prof. Schuchardt, Eric Saline. A-listers, everyone of 'em.

The Days Are Just Packed

2005-08-22T08:16:00.000+02:00

Constance sees her target: a hawk in the sky that she's aiming for. That's grandma in the background looking on indifferently, as mere earthlings are wont to do.

Constance practices flying in the back of Ikea's parking lot. Notice the cape's difficulty in handling this much wind resistance.

This is a new species we've discovered, who is shy and only comes out at night: his name is Donkey Steiner (don't ask). It turns out, he has fellow species members with him...

...for this too is Donkey Steiner.

The school year has begun, and my tolerance for interminably long meetings when a memo would do has strengthened, and next Monday we actually begin teaching classes. I am now wearing a tie. So mostly I'm gone in the day, take the 90-second commute to and from work (and return home for lunch), and then we all have dinner, and then collapse exhausted after a chapter in Rufus the Flying Sheep Dog (about which more later).

The days are just packed...

Full Contact Information

2005-08-21T16:19:00.000+02:00

Okay, here it is, in its own separate post: all the contact information you could possibly want or need to reach us at any time of day or night. Ready?

HOME
Swiss Family Schuchardt
via Paradiso 18
6924 Sorengo
SWITZERLAND
Direct Dial: 011-41-91-980-3660

Work
Prof Read Mercer Schuchardt
Franklin College
via Ponte Tresa 29
6924 Sorengo (Lugano)
SWITZERLAND
Direct Dial: 011-41-91-985-2291

And now, ladies and gentleman....

The European Cell Phone Hobby Kit.
Our cell phone number is: 011-41-76-482-8537.

Houston, We Have Contact!

2005-08-19T18:27:00.000+02:00

We've been here almost a month, and now, at long last, you can call us on the telly.

From the US, keeping conscious of the fact that we are six hours ahead of you (if you're on the east coast, EST), dial directly the following digits:

011 41 91 980-3660

If that doesn't work, send an immediate e-mail to read@cleave.com and remind me what I've forgotten.

Can't wait to hear your voices again!

And if you want to bug me at work, my work number is:

011 41 91 985-2291

Don't be a stranger.

Our Stuff Arrives

2005-08-19T18:19:00.000+02:00

After six weeks at sea, our boxes o' stuff finally came this morning via Zurich. Here's the delivery truck, and then here's the three oldest helpers smiling at their accomplishment, and then finally there's Constance, proud owner of the contents of Box #65, pleased as punch to be in possession of her treasures. There were 91 boxes in all -- remember that first post I said about leaving it all behind? Confession: I couldn't either. To be fair, 50 of the boxes were books, and about half of them are actually necessary to do my job well. The other half are family favorites, sentimental attachments, or just chalked up to the spelling of my first name.

The helpful crew, satisfied by a job well done, and a garage well stuffed.

Constance, tickled pinkish.

Livin' La Vida Pasta!

2005-08-18T18:07:00.000+02:00

Jasper is ravenous, just ravenous, these days!!! He's eating like a pig!!! I can hardly feed him fast enough!!!

And watch your fingers when feeding him spaghetti noodles, because once he opens his gullet, they're history. Kind of like feeding a shark, you're best off just yanking your hand away and releasing the food as soon as his mouth is in the general area. When he was a baby we called him "Jasper the Grasper" -- now we'll have to start calling him Jasper the Gobbler. Soon, of course, to be called Jasper The Great.

Trenino

2005-08-17T13:47:00.000+02:00

One of the nicest and most convenient methods of public transportation in and around our area is the little trenino that runs from the Italian border at Ponte Tresa to the small towns close to Lugano. We take it from the Laghetto di Muzzano station to whereever we're going, and are especially fond of the hazelnut tree next to the station that has fed us, the non-working ticket machine that allows us (so far) to ride for free, and the train's smiling face that makes you feel like you're living in a Richard Scarry story. The fine for not buying a ticket is 80 francs, but so far we haven't seen a single ticket collector, and there are non-working machines at several other stations, so while regular commuters can buy the monthly subscription (train/bus/ferry pass) and always have a ticket, the rest of the riders seem to enjoy it as a government subsidy for those too poor to own a car. We'll keep you posted on this score, as the stations are video-monitored, yet a colleague has said that in thirteen years she's never once seen a collector.

This machine is broken and in the little window says "Da Resto" -- I don't speak Italian (yet), but I think it means you get to ride for free. All the graffiti is a big issue in Switzerland right now. Again, by not reading Italian, it seems a lot more charming than it probably is. We've just signed up for Italian 101, and pretty soon we'll be able to decipher it all. But oddly, the graffitti is one of the things that makes Switzerland feel thirty years behind America (in social problems) and yet the Swiss also simultaneously seem ten years ahead (in technological progress). It's an odd but nice combination. Then again, it's a first impression, so maybe it's just my naivete speaking.

The back of the train stop is good for climbing.

especially for Chesterton, who is a monkey.

What do people do all day? They ride the happy train!

Who wouldn't want to ride this train?

It's been brought to my attention that we don't have our e-mail address on this blog. You can reach us at read@cleave.com. Sorry about that.

A Day At The Lake

2005-08-16T13:32:00.000+02:00

We spent the day at water's edge at the Agno side of Lake Lugano. The kids couldn't get enough.
Chesterton runs, or rather flies, at water's edge.

Chedzilla!!!

Handsome Mercer, our studly ten-year-old.

One of these children is American, one is European.

Mom and her fan club stayed out of the water.

Oliver couldn't go swimming until later that night, but he did remember to brush his tooth.

Constance's Contentment... But She Misses Namiko

2005-08-15T12:58:00.000+02:00

Constance's books arrived today, and yesterday we went to the beach/park/campground in Agno for a swim on Lake Lugano, and she found several Hobbitish places and things, all of which made her miss her best friend Namiko even more. She continues to be Oliver's best source of comfort when mother isn't available, and has taken quite fondly to Swiss food and, of course, the thrill of finally having her very own bedroom.

She can make you sleep... or make the sky turn blue.

Constance happy as the day is long. And Constance content on the rocks by the lake.

Constance catches a swan preening... and the swan gets jealous of her, then waddles off.

Constance the Hobbit by a mirkwoodish tree stump... Hurry Namiko, I'm a lonely hobbit!

An Excellent Adventure

2005-08-03T21:45:00.000+02:00

The Swiss Family Schuchardt sets out on a day full of excellent adventures. See that look of boredom and indifference on Walker (front left) and Jasper (front right)? Just you wait...

We've discovered much that is excellent according to the verdict of our six children. As I am still technically on vacation until August 22nd, we've been exploring quite a bit on foot. Herewith are some of our children's favorite discoveries:

Excellent parks and playgrounds...

Excellent merry-go-rounds...

and excellent see-saws...

and excellent rocking horses...

with real horsepower!

Lago di Lugano is, of course, an excellent lake.

Excellent climbing trees.

Excellent lizards (with unfortunate detachable tails that continue to wiggle...nevertheless excellent to a three-year old, though not terribly appetizing to the parents.)

And of course...

supremely excellent gelato.

6924 Sorengo

2005-08-01T12:27:00.000+02:00

It ain't Beverly Hills 90210, but our address does indicate that we live on Paradise Road. You can reach us by snail mail at:
Swiss Family Schuchardt
via Paradiso 18
6924 Sorengo
SWITZERLAND

We live above the Alimentari Valfiorita. If you're coming to visit, look for these signs:

Feldschlosschen is apparently a famous Swiss beer. Not terrible, not great -- in my opinion-- but they make nice signs, no?

Mercer Turns TEN!!!

2005-07-30T12:21:00.000+02:00

If you can believe this, our son Mercer, in whom his parents are most pleased, has turned the infamous double-digits today.
Here he is, trying to look not too smug, on the fateful day. His birthday present is on a ship in the middle of the Atlantic, due in about August 13th.

When he was born, way back in the twentieth century, his father and mother had just moved to Jersey City in order to begin graduate school at NYU.

Truth In Advertising

2005-07-29T11:54:00.000+02:00

Okay, okay, so that last post was pretty enticing, right?

Here's the truth about all published images: they lie.

The truth of the view from our window is slightly different:

That's the edge of Franklin College's Villa Panera that you're seeing on the left.

And if we're going for full disclosure, well then here's a picture that actually includes the window frame of our bedroom window itself:
Truth is, we live right over a convenience store and just before a gas station, which you can see on the right in this picture. The two trees framing the "view of the Swiss mountains" can be seen now in relation to everything else. You have to use the camera's zoom function (or a good photo editor), in other words, to create images suitable for advertising.

But still you probably wouldn't believe me if I said that the gas station gives off exactly zero smell of benzine. The Swiss definition of cleanliness borders on the Japanese definition, and when we throw open our window in the morning, it really does smell like a meadow.

Why we live here is because it is precisely across the street from my employer, Franklin College. In the states, my commute from Jersey City to Manhattan was one and a half hours. Here it is 90 seconds. No really, I have an extra three hours a day... and I love it. My son Mercer comes over to tell me lunch is ready, because he likes to visit and it's as quick as a phone call.

The Master Card Version

2005-07-28T08:25:00.000+02:00

Eight tickets to Milano, Italy: US$3500
One-way bus ride from Malpensa to Lugano, Switzerland: Euro 160
Three taxis to take family and luggage to via Paradiso: CHF 90

A view of the Swiss mountains from your bedroom window: priceless

There are some things money can't buy.

For everything else there's graduate school.

The Obligatory Visual Cliche

2005-07-27T09:15:00.000+02:00

The picture of the wing out of the airplane window is one of the most known photographs in the world (since commercial flight began), second only to the picture of the sunset over the horizon. In this case I've tried to capture both cliches in one image: the airplane wing over sunrise (sunset was unpicturesque on this particular flight). This shot is of the sky over the clouds in Milano, Italy on July 27th, 2005.

Perhaps this is such a frequently taken photograph because it captures one of the primordial human mysteries: It says, "I know I'm not supposed to be able to fly, and I'm certainly not supposed to have technology that proves my defiance to the gods - but I can, and I do, so there."

It's Official -- We're Moving To Switzerland

2005-07-20T05:08:00.000+02:00

The chronicle of our move and time together there for those who cannot visit, or who won't be persuaded to visit until and unless this blog persuades them that they must (hint hint).

To move overseas, here is all you need to know: leave it all behind. And with whatever best deal shipper, mailer, container, or etc you think you've got going on, forget it -- you'll pay a dollar per pound of junk if you intend to bring with you. That's the flat fee, no matter what kind of junk it is, by sea or by air. Remember in Pulp Fiction when John Travolta's character says of Europe, "They got the same stuff we got, it's just a little bit different." So just have a big yard sale (or three), and then buy the junk you need when you get over. If three moves equals a housefire, then one international move leaves a pretty big smoke trail -- many happy Jersey City, Brooklyn, and Manhattan residents now carrying our junk into their homes, chuckling to themselves over what a good deal they got.

For a quick primer on the whys and wherefores of the move, and what I'll be doing to feed everyone, click here for shameless self-promotion as well as a quick history of our lives until now.

We fly out on July 26th, 2005. One way tickets.