The Joys of Grocery Shopping

In the last couple years, it has come to my attention that I should probably become a little less high-strung about certain aspects of my life. So what if I haven't yet ended world hunger or started my own NGO saving little children from malaria and other preventable diseases? I'll get there, eventually. Nonetheless, while I know all of this, unless I am constantly busy, I often feel as if I am selling myself short or not doing all I am capable of doing. This is obviously something I need to fix.

In typical Hilary-fashion, I quickly followed this realization with planning how to become a more peaceful human being. Naturally, this meant I needed to spend a semester in a Buddhist monastery; monks are very tranquil people. However, after reading that I'd have to shave my head, and that there are mandatory twelve hour meditation periods where I'd be hit with a plank of wood if I fell asleep, I decided a Hindu ashram would be better. Switzerland doesn't have these, at least not that I've found; nonetheless, surprisingly, the country seems to be doing the trick anyway.

The purpose of my stay in Switzerland is to do research. Even though I've hit a few frustrations with methodology and designating a topic, I've found the going to be rather laid-back. Disturbingly laid-back. Here I am in Switzerland reading books and taking notes; for a little while, it seemed I might implode from the calm.

I can imagine how this sounds. Based on the implicit rules of traveling abroad, I am supposed to be experiencing crazy, new, and strange things. I am supposed to provide a portal others can live vicariously through. I am supposed to be thrown out of my comfort zone, struggling to adapt to my foreign experience. Thus far however, my experience hasn't been chalk full of outlandish occurrences. Rather, it has been making me appreciate little subtleties to everyday life that I frequently forget to enjoy back home.

Although public transportation is fabulous here, I've found walking to be my preferred choice of transportation. Basel is beautiful, and often the best part of my day is a simple walk somewhere. In a city untouched other than by an earthquake in 1356, old mixes with the new throughout the town. The Mittlere Brücke is the first bridge to cross the Rhine River, and it connects Little Basel with Greater Basel. Just yesterday I discovered there is a little rivalry between the two portions of the city separated by the Rhine. Every year, Little Basel has a celebration on the Mittlere Brücke where three men dance with their backs to Greater Basel. To retaliate, Greater Basel erected a Lällekönig (tongue king) on the building facing Little Basel across the bridge. Today, there is newer high tech king under the old one who periodically sticks his tongue out the other side of Basel.


Grocery shopping has also become quite an adventure. While the two main supermarkets here are Migros and Coop, all over one can find bakeries, smaller shops, and marketplaces. To spice things up a bit, I've been trying new chocolate, cheese, and cuts of meat every time I go to the shops.

Practicing my German has also been enjoyable albeit frustrating at times. I can try to read the preparation instructions on my dinner, read signs around town, talk with my housemates, talk with random people, or eavesdrop on those next to me on the tram.

Often, at home, I can get away with receding into myself. However, since I've come to Switzerland alone, I am learning how to strike up and carry on conversations with complete strangers, and how to become a little more outgoing in general. Being alone also highlights everything a little more too. I can focus on the scenery and events going on around me. I get to take time to just go down to the Rhine and do my reading there. In less than a one minute walk from my apartment, I can sit down and gaze at one of the most beautiful views I've discovered here yet.


It isn't exactly an ashram, but I am still learning how to focus on the moment and enjoy the simplicity of everyday.

Establishing Guidelines

How long are you in Europe? Until the end of December. What are you doing? Research and studying. Do you know anyone? Not really... How old are you? Twenty. This is normally followed by a chuckle, a moment of thought, and then the assertion that I am courageous. I'll take the compliment; however, I am quickly finding there is a very, very thin line between courageous and stupid.

At the beginning of the week, I left Basel for an IFT conference in Amsterdam. With over 28 countries in attendance, it was interesting to listen to the arguments, discussions, and ideas each delegation had about how to keep Holocaust remembrance alive through research, memorials, and education. However, after the conference was over each evening, I was left to my own devices. It was after these few evenings that I realized I needed to set out some guidelines for myself if I didn't want to cross over the line to stupid.

1. While traveling alone, if one wishes to stay alone, one should not smile... ever. Smiling is my default expression. This causes a number of different issues. For one, my smiles are mixed messaging; one could mean "get the heck away from me" or "please do say more." Also, after four years of orthodontics and a mild case of OCD when it come to brushing my teeth, apparently my smile screams American. (I learned this one evening when a young dentist in Basel spent five minutes staring at my mouth and asking me to smile for people.) So as a rule, if you are a single female traveling and you don't want to be asked for directions, a drink, your home country, or your name, don't smile.

2. If one is shy, traveling alone, and no longer wishes to be alone, one should find other people standing alone, wander nearby, and pretend to be madly engrossed in the same thing they are watching. I am not one to strike up a conversation. However, if I don't want to be left to the mercy of others, I need to find a way to make myself available to social contact (without smiling as this seems to only induce creepiness).

3. One should not wear anything distinctive. After leaving the conference one evening, I put on a pair of jeans and left on my cardigan and neck scarf. After an hour of walking around Amsterdam, taking in the sites, and trying to find a damn cookie (I never did), a man walked up to me and told me that he had seen me two times before, pointing to my neck scarf. Apparently, he thought that "the third time was a sign that he needed to meet me. Did I like to dance by any chance?"

4. Don't wait for others to do what one wants. Take initiative. I've been to Amsterdam before, but only at 7:00 in the morning. One hears so much about the Red Light District at night; I wanted to see it in full swing. Probably not the best place to explore as a solo female, but had I waited to meet someone, discern their character, and then drag them to the Red Light District, I would have gotten to see it at 7:00am again.

5. No matter what anyone yells, one should not turn around. If I am going to be honest, I actually learned this one in Uganda. However, it came in handy while I was walking around the Red Light District and two men told me I should become a prostitute.

6. When one is invited to explore the city or hang out, one should always be discerning about one's company. If all possible, try to get reasons as to why this person would be fun or safe to spend time with. "I'm not a terrorist" is not a good argument.

7. Although it is nice to meet new people, one should always keep in mind that it may be better to do something alone. I don't mind eating alone; in fact, I often prefer it. However, after reading numerous articles about traveling alone and meeting people in hostels, I decided to invite the two Ghanian men with whom I was sharing a room to get dinner with me. Dinner turned into a hike, then an argument over what to eat, and ended with both of them quarreling over who had upset me the most.

8. Do not be afraid to be alone. Some of the best fun I had was discovering little things and scenes for myself and being able to enjoy them as I pleased.

The Color Green

Stroking my chin, I gazed at the completely black painted canvas before me. Was this one different from the last three I had seen scattered throughout the exhibition? Perhaps. I looked closer and tilted my head, modeling the behavior of the posh art critic that had just walked up beside me. And then I saw it, this painting had a different blocks of black.

As I walked through Art Basel, apparently the largest and most important art show in the world, I struggled at times to understand the symbolism that was supposed to move me. I've always had this problem. When reading The Great Gatsby in school, I could not understand why the color green was so very significant. "Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgiastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter - tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther … So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." (The Great Gatsby 115). Beautiful prose, and I understand the purpose of the light. But why did I have to analyze the color green?

I soon stumbled upon a piece of art I could easily understand. It was colorfully painted, the primary color a light blue. However, at each of the four corners, there were rifts in the paining, and the entire canvas was covered in staples. At first, I only thought, "pretty colors." That was until I read the title, American Optimism. The purpose of the hundreds of staples clicked; they represented an attempt to keep American optimism and perhaps, in some cases, illusion alive when it has been challenged so often the last decade. Did I understand what this artist was saying?

Sometimes I wonder just how much meaning should we give to artwork, music, and things. It seems that with every tangible, hundreds of intangibles can be attached to explain its significance. However, are things really so complex or do we over think something that was simply meant to be beautiful or straightforward? I have no doubt that symbolism exists in nearly everything; thus, just how much does it affect our lives and thoughts?


This is a photo of the Münster in Basel. The figure on the left is called "the seducer," and the figure on the right is called "the seduced." If you look closely, you can see symbolism at its finest on the seducer's back. That is a snake, representative of the man poor intentions towards his seduced.

Illegal Immigration and Four Flights of Stairs

"Guten Tag! Könnten Sie mir bitte helfen? Ich muss diese Platz finden." (I gestured to the address I had written down before leaving America on Monday). "What!? 45 francs?!

And just like that, my German went out the window for the rest of the day. So I traipsed back into the airport to buy a bus pass; no ridiculously priced taxis for me. Mind you, I had already trekked all around the airport for the last half an hour trying to find a working ATM, someone to stamp my passport (I was convinced I had illegally entered the country), and someone to explain public transportation to me. I ended up with no ATM, no passport stamp, and a bus pass for the rest of the month.

Originally, I had intended to pack only one suitcase thinking that lugging my luggage all over town would be a little rough. Boy, was I right, two was too many. Although I tried my best to follow my housemates' instructions, naturally, I boarded the right bus and rode it the wrong way. After getting on and off three times at the end point, the bus driver offered to help. Once again, I tried to use my German, and perhaps it was a good sign for my accent that he thought my native language was Spanish. Eventually the lovely bus driver showed me where to get off and gave me a map. He then had people at the front of the bus call to me in German when I was supposed to depart. It was terrifying. As long as I don't open my mouth here and try not to look confused, no one can tell I am from America. Here was a whole bus of 20 people speaking to me in German and English simultaneously while pointing out the window.

An hour later than expected, I finally showed up at my apartment building to find that my room is about four flights of spiral stairs up. As often as I have learned this lesson, I just keep messing it up. When one travels, one must be able to carry one's own things.