The embassy of animals

I'm usually not a fan of zoos - I'll say it straight up. In fact I can't even remember the last time I went to a zoo. (Probably in Canberra.) But, having thought about it with my ex-pat goggles on, I decided that if you thought about it hard enough a zoo could be seen to be the embassy of the animals. And maybe if the general public see and know animals, they're less likely to want to harm them.

OK, enough rationalising. I want to say I won't rave on about the architecture (even though I was struck by the very sturdy building which housed the penguins and other lives aquatic), but there was something about the feel of the place that made the adult in me feel nostalgic.

You see, my memories of being a child in the 1970s are occasionally back-lit by some of Canberra's then-'new' buildings like the National Gallery and the High Court - great thundering pieces of modernist architecture replete with yawning walls of concrete and shades of Frank Lloyd-Wright-ish-ness. (And brown.)

So it was a little disconcerting to be so very distracted by the building as we followed the children up and down wide atrium walk-ways and stair-ways, to a background screeching of monkeys and finches, and an unbelievably designer-looking collection of frogs.

Never mind the occasional zoo attendant with swarms of children 'patting' an orange snake. Yes, the Aussie Hausfrau in me was cringing: I guess I've always taught the children to steer well clear of snakes and spiders - a fundamental lesson which I doubt would cross our Dear Local Neighbours' minds. (Maybe they're more occupied with stories of bears and wolves.)

Even more surreal was the Zürich Masoala Rainforest. We had a bit of a walk to get there - the zoo is 'zoned', and we had to go through 'Africa', past an African-themed playground, past (read: on) a big slide, and into 'Madagascar'. (Note Swiss House behind African Hut in photo.)

The Zürich Masoala is inside a huge 'greenhouse' of sorts, and I confess it was more than strange: it was completely bizarre. We had to strip off puffy jackets and jumpers in order to cope with the 22-degree humidity after the 4-degree outside temperature.

DH and I of course gazed into each others' eyes across the chameleons and busy German chatter, wistfully mouthed, 'Queensland,' simultaneously, and made an instant pact to get to the Daintree Rainforest one day when we get back to Oz.

As we plunged back into the near-zero late afternoon, we realised of course that there had been one thing happily missing from the rainforest: mosquitoes.

So to celebrate we went to get some dinner at our favourite vegetarian restaurant in the city.

(Where DS flopped sideways on his stool with exhaustion and, despite lentils and cous-cous and other international yumminess, refused everything but a hot chocolate.)

A question of balance

Ever found yourself musing about wearing a pair of white chiffon jeans with a side zip? Stop right there, sister (and brother - definitely brother). As of today I know about style, and the new-found stylist in me says NO!

I say No! to jeans without back pockets. No! to jeans with side-zips. No! to thin fabric for white jeans. And No No No! to tight-armed t-shirts unless your upper arms are fabulously toned.

See? It's amazing the stuff you can learn if you put your mind to it.

Yes, today saw me heading over to the apartment of a fellow SP ('Spouse or Partner of...' in case you've forgotten) to attend an afternoon tea with an ex-pat Zürich Stylist and a Dear Jeweller (who is also an SP in her spare time).

Just to make sure we weren't all fading away to nothing, our hostess had put on a wonderful spread of hors d'oeuvres, wine and cake. This Hausfrau felt it was her duty to sample most of the offerings, plus the Greek dessert wine, which another Dear (Greek-speaking) SP informed her was often drunk at communion. (Not her, the wine.)

I was interested to see the clothes our Stylist had assembled to show us. (Pink, according to her, is the colour to be seen in this summer.)

I can't say I would have naturally gravitated toward anything she had on offer, but I am rather in awe of someone who could get up and, without batting a mascara'ed lash, tell the doubting Thomases among us that she could make slim-cut or wide-leg jeans or even halter-neck dresses work for anyone - it's just a question of balance.

Yes. At that moment, communion wine in hand, I had an epiphany: This woman knew halter-necks. I may have been in the presence of a Guru.

Happily the epiphany lasted a little longer than expected (I don't get epiphanies very often, so it was good to settle in with it), because it extended to the Dear SP Jeweller, who clearly enjoyed her passion for jewellery in all its various guises. (Plus she was wearing pink.)

She talked about gold and silver and platinum, and the various mixes with copper and other metals, and she talked about diamonds (why not: we are in Zürich after all). And she also talked about how hair-spray and perfumes are Death to the Pearl, which had never before crossed my mind (perhaps because perfumes and hair-spray are also Death to the Hausfrau).

But back to the extended epiphany, and I must say I agree whole-heartedly with the DSPJ when she said you should really just wear what makes you feel good: things you like to look at, and which make you happy.

Now I don't pretend to understand the 'question of balance' in a wardrobe (especially not after the Greek communion wine, because balance is clearly an art). But I do wonder if preceding that question must exist the question: Which style is your particular style? Stove-pipes or flares? Silver or gold?

And, for the Hausfrau, that particular quest is one on which only the Hausfrau can travel.

I'll let you know when I've found the Holy Grail (also which metal and jewels it was made from and if it's worth its weight).

Haus of the rising son

After another week of being woefully Haus-bound (it was DD's turn to be sick this week), the weekend was shaping up to be a little more social.

Friday night saw four other 'Spouses or Partners of...' (SPs) turn up on the Hausfrau's humble doorstep for the second meeting of the new Book Club.

As the rather long fortnight of Flying Solo was drawing to a close you can imagine how excited the Hausfrau was to receive guests. Yes, folk to talk to in English and, what's more, chat with about books. One of the Hausfrau's favourite topics.

We did indeed talk about the book (Midwives by Chris Bohjalian, in case you're interested) for the obligatory 4% of allotted time, and dutifully ate, drank and were merry for the remaining 96% (figures taken from the Global Guidelines For A Successful Book Club), thanks to the timely recent delivery of the Online Shopping Queen's groceries (read: cheeses, grapes, lychees and of course Austrian wine).

Much fun was had by all present, including my offspring, who punctuated the evening with various impromptu visits.

One of the SPs had brought along her daughter (the Sleep-Over-Friend), so DD and the SOF settled in for a bout of DVD-watching in DD's bedroom.

DS, however - whom I'd managed to get into bed and to sleep prior to the arrival of the SPs, but who was woken approximately 3 minutes later by Very Loud Sibling - was quite keen to rise from his bed occasionally, just to check we were behaving ourselves.

So by the time the S8 pulled in the next morning (one of the two trains from the city which stop at the main station here), the sun was shining, birds were singing (well, I didn't notice that, but they usually do, so I'm sure they were) and two very tired but excited children flung themselves at DH as he hauled off the train much more luggage than he'd left with.


Hooray! Presents!

Of course I mean: Hooray! DH!

Old town, new look

Over the few days DC and DCIL were in town we spent a bit of time wandering around the old town of Zürich on the East Bank, which I never cease to find awesome: the buildings are remarkable and still standing! (At home in Oz, we feel like our house is ancient, and it was built in the 1950s. So you can see how I'm loving the city-scape here.)

I do need to jump forward in time a little bit here (speaking of old parts of the city): this weekend I ventured properly into the 'new' old town on the West bank of the Limmat River in search of my new hairdresser (whom I located by interrogating a dude in a department store who looked like he might know a thing or two about the Zürich hairdressing scene. Well, he had a Number Two and he was a makeup artist...)

As I left the house the conversation went as follows:

DD: Mama! Where are you going?!
Me: To get a haircut.
DD: (dubious) Well... OK, but don't do anything crazy.

It ended up being an interesting ramble, as I looked closely at the East bank and discovered tiny cobblestone streets and some jolly expensive boutiques as well - mostly clothing. The shopfronts were still flush with Christmas decor, too, which was at times no less than gaudy.

I eventually ended up at the hairdressing salon, which housed two hairdressers and a gob-smackingly huge, wall-sized mirror, which enabled me to see myself from head to toe in all my Hausfrau glory. Shockingly confronting. I could only thank my lucky stars that I'd worn some lippy. Shortly after being seated in front of aforementioned Massive Mirror I was served hot tea and croissant to aid my recovery.


Turns out my hairdresser, like many young thangs around these parts, is a mad snow-boarder. I wouldn't have picked it, but her hair-cutting associate confirmed it, and urged me to go snow-boarding as soon as humanly possible.

I've added it to the growing list of Things To Do In Europe...

PS. You might have noticed the blog has a new look too... (This is so when I'm 80 and want to print out pages for my great-grandchildren I don't have to buy up the world's supply of coloured printer cartridges.)

Once more unto the breeches

Back in Zürich once again, and I was very excited to have Dear Cousin and Dear Cousin-in-Law-To-Be arrive from London for the New Year festivities.

I can't say it felt like a homecoming after being in Paris, but there is no doubt Zürich is a beautiful city.

DS, fuelled by a recent post-Christmas swords-and-shields Lego fest, was easily convinced to accompany us to the Swiss National Museum, which houses a huge collection of arms (swords, muskets, helmets, jousting equipment to name but a few attractions), as well as clothing from various centuries, and artefacts from prehistory and the early modern era.

[Bat Girl: What are you doing for New Year, Ginny Weasley?
Ginny Weasley: I dunno. Probably just hanging out on this flying horse or something.]


DD was at first less than enthused ('Why would I want to do that anyway?'), but probably because she was still sporting a miserable cold from before Christmas, which wasn't helped by late evenings in Paris spent jumping on mattresses and consuming chocolate, vacherin, chèvre and other dairy delights.

I particularly enjoyed the clothing exhibit, which contained various displays of folk (stuffed puppets, really) in garb from various eras: in their drawing rooms, playing cards, at the market, and so-on. The clothing from the 1700s was quite something: ornate, with subtly coloured fabrics and beautiful detail. This goes, too, for the army uniforms which, while they were bolder in colour (so the enemy couldn't miss you in all your splendour), of course would have been hand-made and -tailored. The work!

One uniform in particular DC and I found amusing: the chap wearing it looked more like a court jester than a soldier, with striped, ballooning knicker-bockers and blousy neck-tie. We wondered if today's equivalent might be Morrissey-designed Army greens. (Hey, if the Qantas airline crews can do it...)

We also couldn't help feeling slightly itchy knowing that the veneer of rich brocades and puffy wigs would have in fact disguised seething, multi-generational lice families and other entomological delights.

By the way, we had a fun New Year's Eve in Horgen: fireworks in the city could be seen from the vantage point at the top of our Hill, and the locals got into the spirit of it, exploding mini-rockets in their front yards from 10pm onwards. Let me tell you, those rockets aren't quiet. I'm amazed our children didn't stir, since it sounded like we were under attack. (Even though that's kind of unlikely in Switzerland of all places...)