Some cruel dream

Someone asked me today how my German was getting on. Here is the answer:

This evening, at the end of my long commute back to Zurich, I called in at a Shell station to fill up with petrol. Despite the 5 empty spots available, I waited until I could fill up at pump number 1, 2, or 3, as otherwise, I wouldn’t have known what to say if I was asked which one I’d used.

I’ve been making use of the lengthy drive (an hour or so each way) to listen to Teach Yourself German tapes, but we haven’t reached anything as useful as numbers yet.

Tuesday was my first work day. After a 700 mile road trip from Blighty, a decent period of recuperation, with a chance for a spot of orientation, would have been appreciated, but this being Switzerland, land of the (often) pointless regulation, we had to wait until the first of the month to move in. And so, barely 12 hours after arriving in this finely chiselled, mid-European city, I was re-emerging from our temporary apartment in Oerlikon, suit-and-tied, scrubbed, but still slightly punch-drunk from the journey, and from the creeping realisation that this was it. I was a new migrant in a strange land.

Life is rarely as safe and predictable as we think. Have I told the tale before? What the hell. I’ll repeat it. There I was, one warm July afternoon, sitting at my desk at home,  planning my week’s work, concocting an optimistic budget for August, gazing at the red kite wheeling around the neighbourhood… when the phone rang. It was the only decent recruitment agent I know; a chap who has helped me before. After a bit of friendly chat, he asked me if I was interested in considering another content management role. Yes of course, I said. He described it. It sounded perfect. Then he added: “There’s just one… possible catch. It’s in Switzerland.” This casual addendum was a life changer. From nowhere, a pivot appears in front of me, sending my entire life swinging round to face itself in one, shocking, unscheduled movement.

From the agent’s perspective, this caveat was a likely drawback; a deal-breaker. But to me? To me, it seemed like yet another thick layer of jam and cream. The promise was so great that the next two months were almost unbearable. CVs, emails, online reasoning tests,  phone interview, face-to-face interview, trip out to Switzerland for second meeting… Would this ever be resolved? And even after the offer came, it still seemed unreal. Until Tuesday morning, strolling up Friesstrasse to the car park, an hour away from work, when it suddenly became believable.

This reality is not a stable state. After three days of work, I still find myself glancing out of my office window at the steep green hillside opposite, decorated with Heidi houses and contented cows and, twice an hour, the local train service, and wondering where I am. Today at lunchtime, I stepped out and walked halfway down the hill towards the local village of Wollerau (where Roger Federer lives). The sun was out, and from this high vantage point, the view down the length of a glittering Lake Zurich was just spectacular. I couldn’t help it: I just started to laugh. It’s all too good. Perhaps it will become pedestrian at some point, but I can see it being slightly surreal for a while yet.

Running? OK, let’s have some running news. Before I left England, I saw the local podiatrist, who waggled my big toes for a while, before pronouncing them the root cause of my calf ills. He gave me some inserts, and prescribed me a new pair of shoes. Those Asics were just too cushioned. And so I’ve arrived in Switzerland with some new Brooks Adrenalines, AND some Adidas Supernovas. At the weekend, after my lie-in, I will go for a stately plod in this stately city. If  I manage to jog more than a mile or two without my soleus folding itself in half, I will know for absolute certain that this is all some cruel dream. Or more likely, that the red kite plummeted from the sky that day, skewering my corpse to the office floor, and that I’ve somehow managed to wangle my way onto heaven’s guest list.