We are slowly but surely settlilng into what will become our regular life here in Winterthur. The urban-ness of life here is what thrills us the most. Our ability to set out on foot or bike to everywhere we need to go is fantastic and even the kids are loving the simplicity this brings to our lives. 

The transition to Swiss life, while simple, is also quite complex. Learning to read road signs for instance can be tricky. We’ve evidently, inadvertently broken a few rules while out and about already. Thankfully some signs are perfectly clear.

Some of our transitions have been more surprising than others. One part of Swiss life that has perplexed me is their love of ironing. A frequent response to an inquiry about how someone spent their day involves ironing. Really? Why? I couldn’t remember the last time I ironed. Quite literally I think it has been a few years. 

Well, I’m proud to say that after just 3 weeks here I may be becoming more Swiss than I thought. I had the urge to iron! 

Oh, and in Switzerland, we’re cat people. Missing our Lucky pup terribly, we are seeking animal companionship however we can get it. Midnight (or so we’ve named her) seems to have adopted us.

The real transition to becoming Swiss for me, still involves the jumping-through-hoops required for my working visa.

I consider myself a fairly strong, independent person. (Don’t get me wrong, if something breaks in the furnace room I’m not independent at all.) In the past, this has served me well. In Switzerland, not so much…

Yesterday I headed out on my pretty blue bike to the visa office to finalize the process. As with other visits to similar offices, this involves taking a number and patiently waiting. 

Evidently my independence is not admire here in Switzerland. When it was my turn to go into the secret rooms they looked quite perplexed. “And where is your husband?” 

“Do I need to have him with me?” To this they do seem a bit embarrassed but do concede that yes, it really would be better if he came along too. Plus this will need to see proof of our marriage and family registration. You mean all the documentation I’ve provided now countless times? When I show them the marriage certificate I carry in my wallet they just laugh as though I’ve handed them the comic from a piece of gum. And so, still no visa for me. Tomorrow I will return, escorted by my husband, to try again.

 (I’m truly starting to think the universe is telling me I’m not meant to work this year…but my need for an O bag, perhaps a few O bags, tells me I am, indeed, meant to work.)

Last night we had a lovely surprise visit from Heinz & Monika which turned into the discovery of our new favourite neighbourhood pizza place. And the best part was that I now know the German word for anchovy so I am confident that I can avoid accidentally ordering it on my pizza.

 The very best part of being here is the family we are surrounded by. That makes anywhere feel like home.