On Luck (or, The Apartment Search, Volume One)

In software development, we have a saying: "Good, fast, cheap: pick any two." I'm sure many other technical fields have a similar saying. Essentially, it expresses if you want something done right, it's either going to take a while or be expensive. I am finding that this applies to searching for an apartment in Zürich. 

The only word that comes up consistently in speaking with people here who actually have a place to live here is "luck." "I was lucky." "You need some luck." "With a lot of patience, and a little luck, you'll find a place you like." So. Good. Fast. Cheap. Lucky. "Good" here means a reasonably sized place in a reasonable location. "Fast" here means getting a place in a reasonable amount of time, as I have a sublet now, and an excellent roommate, but it's short term and would like to be out by the first of August if at all possible. "Cheap" here means under 1500 CHF/mo, which I cannot go over until I dispose of the house in Pittsburgh. So, that leaves Lucky.

So far, I've seen quite a few variations on Fast and Cheap; in other words, not Good. I have decided that I do not want an apartment that is actually a Renault dealership (I've seen two of these actually). I do not want an apartment that is actually Bahnhof Wipkingen (one of the city's most abused, least useful stations, which means it's still serviced about as well as, say, much of the LIRR or SEPTA). And though it means I could have a view of the lake and two large, recently renovated rooms for under 1500, I'm reasonably certain I don't want to live in Horgen; while Swiss suburbs are not quite the affront to the senses as, say, Dulles, or Alpharetta, they are still suburbs, and I'm not particularly inclined to have to ride the train in for half an hour every morning, and to worry about the Last Train each night. Yes, I know. It's immeasurably better than the Port Authority. But I'm here now. I want to do way immeasurably better than the Port Authority.

The places that I do want to live: small and kind of close to the lake, small and expensive and close to the lake, tiny and expensive but renovated yesterday and with an incredible view of the lake and the city (there's a lake theme here isn't there?) I are gone usually before I have a chance to see or apply for them. And that's basically the problem. The open market here is a sucker's game. The only apartments that actually have to be advertised are pretty much those which by definition have something wrong with them, be it price, or location, or the giant pile of used cans of heating oil out front. 

And so, I wait for Luck.

You're Doing It Wrong

Too much going on here to write about any of it. I'm still collecting my notes for The Post On The Apartment Search, which if it goes on much longer might make a reasonably good Russian novella.

It's overcast, again, today, and threatening to rain, as it has been every day I have been here in Zürich except yesterday. My original plan if it was raining today was to take advantage of the insanely great train system here to go to Ticino, across the Alps, where the weather is usually better. But it turns out that not only is it raining in Ticino, it's raining in Switzerland in general; Zürich, at least, seems to be the least rainy place in the whole country. So. Think I'll wander about for a while and try not imagine not being able to afford living in each building I pass by.

But I did want to share this one little story in the meantime.

Now, I've been continually amazed at fairly regular appearance of Confederate battle flags on pickup trucks bearing West Virginia plates. Okay, maybe I'm not amazed, but I do wryly appreciate the irony. However, wandering around in Unterstrass (or was it Fluntern? it's all starting to run together) the other day looking at apartments (what else, really?), I happened to see a little battle flag sticker right above the Kanton Zürich plates on an otherwise unadorned black Toyota Corolla. Er, what? Apologies to all for not having a camera on me.

das fünfte NHL-Playoff-Finalspiel

Found in Blick am Abend, on the seat next to me on the tram ride home yesterday:

As for Game Six, Let's Go Pens!!

Everything Old is New Again

I arrived in Zürich at ten on Sunday morning, having spent eight hours on a plane from Newark, two hours on the runway at Newark waiting for the storm to clear out of the way of the transatlantic routes from New York, four hours in the Continental first class lounge (advantage: first class) waiting out my layover, two hours flying from Atlanta with a crowing rooster in the cargo hold right below me (me: "Is that a...", guy beside me: "Yeah."), two hours at the Houlihan's in the atrium of Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson having breakfast with my cousin on my last way through Atlanta for a while, an hour on a plane from Memphis, two days repacking and reviewing what I'm having shipped to myself while finalizing a customs manifest the customs guys here declined to even bother looking at after they saw how detailed it was, and two days on a truck driving what was left of my stuff from Pittsburgh, country music blaring. Yes, I know I don't like country music, but what could be more appropriate for driving the stuff you just cleaned out of your house across Kentucky in a rented truck on your way out of the country after a divorce in which your ex-wife ended up with your car and your cat? Replace the cat with a dog, the car with a truck, and Switzerland with, er, Texas or Alabama or something, and you've got a country song right there! Even so the pleasantly efficient and helpful Swiss woman behind the counter at Kreisbüro 7 who registered me as a resident of Zürich yesterday said "Ah, Elvis!" when seeing I was born in Memphis, so who am I to say what's country and what's not?

I arrived in Zürich to find a great little apartment right off the 11 tram line which I have to myself until my flatmate gets back from New York in two and a half weeks, on all of which more later (indeed, it may be a bit before blogtime catches up to realtime here), although my room does lack a bit for non-floor horizontal space. A friend of mine, over for lunch Sunday, noticed this and offered me an old table she wasn't using, which given that I'd noticed the same and had even gone so far as set up two bookends on the floor, I accepted sight unseen.

So. Those of you who have been to my house in Pittsburgh, you remember the little Ikea coffee table in the living room, with all the magazines and stuff on the shelf below? Yeah. Well, it's that table. Exactly. Down to the birch finish. Apparently, I'm still meant to have one of those for a while yet.