Purchasing power

A few years ago, the Swiss overwhelmingly rejected a minimum wage of SFr 22 per hour, the equivalent of nearly $25. 

To Americans, this dismissal was understandable considering their minimum wage was and still is $7.25, and a proposal to raise it to $10.10 per hour is often debated. Many say a $10.10 minimum wage could push half a million people out of work.

As it turns out, when adjusting for purchasing power parity, that $25 hourly wage translates to $14, according to Bloomberg.

It's still high by American standards, but not unheard-of. As of January 1, 2018,  Seattle adopted a $15.45 per-hour minimum wage.

Voting time again

Now the US congressional elections are over, we can focus on the upcoming Swiss referendum's three questions:

• Should farmers be encouraged to keep their cows' horns intact?

• Should social welfare detectives be given increased power in tracking down fraudsters?

• Should Swiss law have precedence over international law?
  

  I know how I will vote.
  

• Cows with horns are prettier, happier, and give better tasting milk. 

• If you have nothing to hide, then this one is clear.

• Switzerland voted to stay out of the EU.
  

The handshake sucks but not for religious reasons

A recent Facebook post on kisses and hugs led to a discussion on shaking hands in Switzerland. The handshake in Swiss public schools is a requirement that could land you a CHF 5,000-fine if you refuse to do it.

It all started with the image of a young girl and the words:

“I am five. My body is my body. Don’t force me to kiss or hug. I am learning about consent and your support on this will help me keep myself safe for the rest of my life."

This image I shared on Facebook started a discussion on handshakes.

One person wrote that she agreed with the above words but that the same should apply to shaking hands.

"Don’t come to Switzerland then," I replied.

"Woah," she replied.

To illustrate my point, I shared recent news articles regarding two Muslim schoolboys who refused to shake their female teacher's hand. They said that Islam prohibits physical contact with the opposite sex unless with immediate family. At first, the school exempted the students, which caused an uproar, as this exemption was deemed discriminatory against women and a lack of respect for the teachers.

Shaking hands is a sign of respect in Switzerland, and hence a longstanding tradition. Even Justice Minister pipped in saying that "shaking hands is part of Swiss culture and daily life."

A regional authority ruled that any student who refuses to shake a teacher's hand would face a CHF 5,000-fine. The reasons given were that forcing pupils to shake hands did not involve the central tenets of Islam, therefore this intrusion into their religion was justified. And "the public interest concerning gender equality as well as integration of foreigners far outweigh the freedom of belief of students," the decision read.

According to news reports, the naturalization of the two boys' family has been put on hold.

So, the Facebook discussion concluded with the following: The Muslim boys should have used the following reasons for not wanting to shake hands, as they are far more reasonable and pragmatic  than the religious ones.

Abolishing the handshake would:

1. help stop the spread of germs, especially during flu season

2. teach children that their bodies are theirs... hence teaching them consent

3. take away ill-mannered people's possibility to crush your hand in a vice grip

4. open the possibility for more elegant and respectful means of greeting one another, like... say the Japanese bow

No one should be forced to touch another human being against their will. Period. Sometimes, traditions need to be sacrificed to keep up with the times.

Focusing on things that really matter in politics

One of the reasons I love living in Switzerland is that politics here focus on things that really matter. You rarely hear about the sex life of politicians, their emails, or their emotionally disturbed and racist views. Here, the attention is placed on practical and constructive issues, and citizens get to vote on them.

Take one of the 2012 referendums, for example. It focused on music and youth. How cool is it that 73% of the Swiss voters chose to amend their constitution by including an article to promote music education?

This article encourages the cantonal and federal governments to provide music education, of high quality, at all levels in public schools, to ensure access to music education in specialized music schools for all children, regardless of their social or financial background. The article also ensures the financial and educational support of young talented musicians.

The Swiss get it. They focus on what's good for their country. And an educated youth is good for the country. Research has shown that music--specifically actively playing an instrument-- is very good for youth.  It improves their physical, social and academic skills as well as their brains (see TIME article on neurophysiology distinction) of children. It helps with discipline and patience. It boosts self esteem and it introduces children to other cultures.

So, while the USA and the world continue to read and watch about Trump and Hillary, the Swiss are focusing on the referendums coming this month: on creating a green economy, on increasing old-age pension payments by 10%, and on a new federal law on intelligence. Watch this space...

Learning a lesson

It was late November and too warm to snow. Brenda* and I were chatting and walking our dogs in the Oberbort, Gstaad's affluent neighborhood. Behind dark green evergreen hedges, mammoth chalets stood vacant, their shutters closed, as they are for most of the year. My dog Bizzi was free to roam and sniff the scents under every tree and bush. Brenda kept her aging and deaf terrier on a leash.

We were deep in conversation about the beauty of life, when we came upon a chalet that stood close to the road. A gardener was trimming the hedge in front. All of a sudden, a woman appeared from behind that hedge. She had immaculately coiffed shoulder length grey hair.

“Do you always walk your dog off the leash,” she asked me in perfect English.

“Uh…” I managed to utter. “Yes, uh… sometimes.”

“Well, I have a very dangerous mean dog,” the woman said. “You're lucky he’s not out today.”

I didn’t know what to say. Brenda and I kept walking.

“Is your dog mean?” the woman asked me, as we passed her.

“No,” I said.

“Well, you should keep your dog on a leash then,” she said.

“You should keep your dog on a leash,” I retorted, my back now towards her.

A door slammed behind me. We walked a few steps in silence.

“We are on a public street,” Brenda said. “She cannot tell us what to do on a public street, and if her dog attacked ours, she would be the guilty one.”

“Yes!” I said. “She was wrong to threaten us.”

We walked in silence a little longer.

“Was Bizzi on her property?” I asked. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Yes, he was,” Brenda answered. “Just a little. I think he just went about a meter in.”

“Then, why didn’t she just say say so?” I said, feeling my cheeks flush.

I then realized that the woman had been trying to set a boundary. She had been upset with good reason. My dog had crossed her property line. Had she said: “Please keep your dog off my property,“ I would have apologized and moved on. Instead she had asked me a personal question (which I had answered - mistake #1), and then she had threatened me with her nasty dog (which I had managed to ignore), and then she had given me unsolicited advice, telling me how to walk my dog (which I had copied and thrown back at her - mistake #2).

In the future, I will remember to walk Bizzi on a leash whenever walking through the Oberbort or when I am distracted. Most importantly, I will try to keep my serenity when dealing with angry people.

*name changed to protect privacy

Well-meaning relatives

As I sat down at the "Stammtisch" or local's table at a restaurant to drink a tea while waiting for my son to come out of his drum lesson, I recognized her as the old lady I had given a ride to a week prior. She had been walking past my friend's house on her way to the next town, five kilometers away, while my friend and I had been chatting on the street. I had been struck by her healthy appearance. After exchanging pleasantries, I had offered to give her a ride, and she had accepted even though she had seemed fit. In the car, she had told us how she walked to the neighboring village every day, that she was a grandmother of five, that she lived in a house "up the mountains" and that she had spent her entire life tending cows.

Today, sitting in front of a tall glass of beer, her sparkle was gone.

I asked her how she was, and she said, "Not so good. Today is moving day."

I asked her what she meant. She said that her family and the town powers-that-be had decided she could no longer live alone in her house, the home she had occupied for the past fifty years. This was the place where she had nursed her dying husband and raised her children. Now, she was forced to leave it to move into a one-room studio in the newly-built assisted living center. In a slight wail, she went on the explain that her daughter-in-law did not allow her to bring any of her furniture.

"I ran away," she said. "I couldn't bear to stay in that cold place one minute longer. I will not sleep tonight."

Here was a grandmother getting drunk because of loneliness and sadness for having to spend her first evening alone in a strange place. Although, she was clearly upset, I noticed that the more she spoke, the better she appeared. I glanced at my watch. It was nearly time to pick up my son, but I couldn't leave this woman alone. I had an idea.

"Would you give me a tour of your new home?" I asked.

"Would you really like to?" she asked, her eyes lighting up.

"Yes, I've heard good things about the new center, and I am curious to see how the studios are," I responded.

So, she finished off her beer, and we both payed our drinks. She got in my car. I picked up my son and drove him home (explaining in English what we were doing). She knew many of my neighbors, including the veterinarian who lives down the hill from me. "I was his assistant for a while," she said.

I liked her new home. It was light, airy, modern and well-heated. For an hour, we tested her new phone, the lights, and the electric curtains. She showed me the furniture that wasn't hers.

"You see this brown coffee table? It's not mine. I have a perfectly good one at home, but they wouldn't let me keep it," she said.

And in her sleeping area, she pointed to her bed.

"I have such wonderful linens, and they gave me these," she said pointing to the wine red sheets. "And MY bed has a footboard on which I can stretch my calves when I have cramps. This bed has no footboard."

Her cell phone rang and one of her friends offered to come over, which was good because I was late for book club. So, I took my leave, leaving her smiling. Her sparkle was back, and I was glad.

While driving away, I thought how amazing life was and how coincidental the two meetings with this old day had been. Why were her relatives so bossy? Why wasn't she allowed to keep her furniture? I vowed never to be so controlling in my life. Were her items antiques and therefore valuable, or were her relatives embarrassed about her stuff? Maybe her furniture was really old and shabby. Nevertheless, I thought she should have been allowed to keep her stuff.

Driving on mountain roads for health

All in all, living in the mountains has its advantages, except when things go wrong and you need to see a specialist. Visiting such a doctor involves a one-hour-plus drive on curvy, sometimes icy, mountain roads.

Recently, I damaged my shoulder by undressing and ended up with adhesive capsulitis or "frozen shoulder". The injury occurred in November but it wasn't until January that I finally went to our family physician. The x-rays showed a four millimeter bone in my joint. Afraid to hurt my shoulder any further, I stopped moving my arm. Big mistake! One week later, I couldn't move my shoulder at all.

To find a reputable orthopedic doctor, I had to leave the Alps. Now, after three trips down the windy road to Bern and an MRI, I know what I must do: three times per week physiotherapy and daily exercises. One problem is that all the physiotherapists in our area can only offer me one appointment per week. Grrr… I guess that's the subject for another post. Do people in the mountains really hurt themselves that much?

Spreading the black gold

Newcomers are shocked when they witness the spraying of "Gülle" or the black liquid cow shit and piss, considered gold by local farmers.

So what's going on?

In the olden days, farmers mucked out their stalls, scraping the liquid and solid cow excrement into wheelbarrows and dumping the mixture onto a pile outside. Problems began when farmers increased the size of their herds, and the shit piles grew. Run-off from these piles contaminated the ground water and made people sick.

To solve this problem, the government began requiring the installation of tanks to collect the black smelly, liquid manure. This liquid--which gets particularly stinky after stewing all winter long--is then pumped into a movable tank that is strapped to a tractor and sprayed onto pastures. As you can imagine, the stink is violent.

The benefit is that the spray feeds the grass without going deep enough into the ground to pollute groundwater. Much evaporates before it even hits the ground.

It can be quite a nuisance when you are planning to eat lunch outdoors, as for example, on an Easter weekend, a neighbor's favorite time to spray Gülle.

Our dog doesn't mind at all. He looooves going into the field after it's been sprayed. I haven't actually seen what he does in there. Don't really want to know.

Interestingly, farmers usually spray a few hours before rain comes, as the liquid can have a burning effect on grass. So, the spreading of Gülle is a useful precipitation indicator.

And the perennial debate continues: city people with secondary homes in the country complain about the stink, and the country people explain the importance of nutrient cycling. It reminds me of people who build homes next to airports and then complain about the noise. I just have to remember not to plan eating lunch outside on Easter weekend… a small sacrifice to pay for living in a chemical fertilizer-free area.

Thoughts on immigration vote

A few weeks have passed since the February 9 vote to reintroduce immigration quotas. I live in a largely conservative German-speaking canton, where 51.1% of voters approved the Swiss People's Party's initiative.

How do I feel about it?

I am glad that my country has exercised its sovereignty as well as its democracy, while standing up to Brussels. We are not a colony of the EU.

Secondly, we haven't voted to end immigration. We have voted to end mass immigration without controls. Every sovereign nation has the right to control the influx of newcomers, as does the USA and Canada. Even Liechtenstein, which is a member of the European Economic Area (EEA) was able to negotiate quotas with the EU. Switzerland as a non-EEA member, should have the right to do the same.

I am quite confident that things will pan out. The cabinet and parliament have three years to come up with a detailed plan. The facts are: one quarter of Switzerland's eight million inhabitants are foreign; there is 3.5% unemployment; and we need foreigners to keep the economy going. In typical Swiss calmness, pros and cons will be weighed and a reasonable solution will fe found. After all, it was the German Swiss who founded Switzerland.

I found the following comment on an article about the subject worthy of consideration: "For the most part, the Swiss gripe is not about poor, distant immigrants but about rich neighbors driving up house prices and clogging up motorways."

Everything is as it should be

"What's your favorite thing about staying up on the alp during the summer months?" I asked the seven-year old farmer boy.

"The sunrises and the sunsets," he replied.

This is why I choose to live here.

In the summertime, most farming families move up to alpine pastures, at or higher than 1,400 meters above sea-level, to graze their cattle on nutritious mountain herbs. The families live in huts using wood fires for warmth and candles for light. They might use generators, but such an extravagance is reserved for the milking machines.

This is a time when farmers make their best cheese.

This is a world far away from XBoxes, computers and other technological devices. This is a world where children have to rely on their imaginations and own resources for fun as well as work. Kids muck out stalls, rake hay, put up fencing, and assist with milking.

I like living close to people whose lives are--for the most part--absorbed in in the evolution of life without hesitation or contradiction.

It’s a simple life.

Here, there is no alienation. Everything belongs. Everything is as it should be.

People often ask me why I've chosen to live alone in such a remote area. They ask me, don't you get stir-crazy? Don't you need shopping, cultural events, and people?

Yes, I admit. Sometimes it's fun to leave the mountains, view an exhibition or go to a concert, wander busy streets, sip coffee in cafés, check out the latest trends and fashions, feel the excitement in the cacophony of traffic and voices. But for daily living, there is nothing more soothing than living in a place where full moons are so evident that you can't help but pause to admire their roundness, their brightness, and the light they cast on ridges and slopes; or a place where stars twinkle above, their splendor still unmarred by light pollution.

How about those sunsets and sunrises? No drama on stage can compare to a morning light illuminating the top of a mountain in a surreal glow. Then, there are the snowstorms that remind us of our vulnerability; and the droughts that remind us to conserve water; and the rain storms that replenish our aquifers and remind us to be grateful.

Even as I've yearned for love, companionship, understanding, and fellowship, I've pushed it all away with petty emotions, plans, and constant questioning. I've let anger or pride cloud my perceptions, and in doing so, I've hurt myself.

As Chinese American author Deng Ming-Dao wrote in his 365 Tao: Daily Meditations:

"We need to let ourselves go, enter freely into the process of nature, and become absorbed by it. If we integrate ourselves in that process, we will find success. Then the sequence of things will be as evident as the coming of the sun and the moon, and everything will be as it should be."

Helicopter flies trees

While driving the other day, I was forced to stop... not for cow traffic but for helicopter tree transport. There are houses here in Gstaad that are so difficult--if not impossible--to reach with trucks that helicopters are used to transport heavy and oversized items, like this pine tree. The helicopter picked it up behind an embankment to my right, flew over the road, and deposited it on the other side. It was very loud... and thankfully... very fast.

Post-election thoughts

Last week's Swiss parliamentary elections resulted in left and right parties losing votes and seats in the Nationalrat or Lower House. Losing the most votes was the Swiss People's Party (SVP), this country's right wing party best known for spreading xenophobia with its provocative posters. Remember the three white sheep kicking one black one out?

Upon reading the voting results, I sighed in relief for my American half and for my foreign friends. Perhaps, the strong Swiss Franc cannot be blamed entirely for the drop in occupancy rates in area hotels.

I have often thought that Switzerland was a land of contradictions. For example, our municipality nearly always votes SVP. But, I've noticed a rash of rich foreigners buying property in our area. How can a region sell property to foreigners and grant them large tax breaks while voting to stop immigration? Money? No! Duh!

A moonlit carriage ride and slowing down

The other night, I went to a birthday party that ended with a horse-drawn carriage ride. Despite freezing temperatures, my children, our little dog, and I felt warm under doubled over wool blankets. The clip-clop of horse hooves and the crisp night air lulled me into relaxation.

Out the back of our covered wagon, I watched the moonlit, mountainous landscape pass by, noticing every roadside tree, rock, and snow measuring stick.

Soon, the three-year old child sitting opposite me, fell asleep, her little body nestled at her father's side. As we moved through the wild, mostly uninhabited region behind Lauenen, I thought of my grandfather who had grown up there. I remembered the stories he had told me, including his witnessing the first motorcar to roll into the village. My grandfather died at 95, never driving a car. Yes, he walked a lot.

This carriage ride has prompted me to share a blog with you that I have been following for the past few years. It focuses on some of the same lifestyle values that the older generation of Swiss alpine folk hold dear, such as simplicity, health, frugality, family life, and living in the moment.

It’s called Zen Habits, and it's one of the most read blogs on the internet. I found it after googling "organize my life." It appealed to me because of its simple all-white large-font design and for its clear concise writing. I liked the blog's tag-line: "Smile, breathe & go slowly." Come to think of it... it sounds a bit like Gstaad's tourism slogan "Come up, slow down."

Reading his articles leaves me calm. My motivation and productivity has also increased after reading posts on getting things done, how to become an early riser, and how to start a project.

So, who's this Leo Babauta? In his bio, he writes: "I am is a regular guy, a father of six kids, a husband, a writer." Not only is he a writer, he's a blogger and journalist from Guam who moved to San Francisco in 2010, three years after starting

I like Babauta's humble, forgiving, and positive attitude. "I have no claims to perfection," he writes. "I fail all the time, on a daily basis. But I don’t let it stop me." He's not preachy. He shares his struggles and his weaknesses, making him a credible read.

In the meantime, I will try to take time to slow down and enjoy this super-fast world while singing the Simon and Garfunkel song:

"Slow down, you move too fast.
You got to make the morning last.
Just kicking down the cobble stones.
Looking for fun and feelin' groovy.
Hello lamppost,
What cha knowing?
I've come to watch your flowers growing.
Ain't cha got no rhymes for me?
Doot-in' doo-doo,
Feelin' groovy...."

Is there such a thing: warm and attractive pajamas?

Scouring the web to find plain white flannel pajamas without silly bear motifs or goofy pink bunny patterns, I have come up empty handed.

In an effort to save energy, I've been gradually turning down thermostats. We're down to 16C (60.8F) at night. My goal is 13C-14C (55.4-57.2F). The nuclear catastrophe in Japan is reminding me that although we are lucky to be living in a time and place of plenty, things might not always stay like that.

Thriftiness doesn't have to mean inferior quality.  On the contrary. How well I slept during my childhood holidays spent at my grandparents' chalet in the Swiss Alps! Under layers of thick cotton sheets, wool blankets, and a huge puffy down comforter, I roasted even though the room was frigid. My sinuses felt great, my skin remained soft, and I felt truly rested upon waking.

Today, Swiss landlords are required to provide a minimum of 18C (64.4F) at night, which was regarded as "sick room" temperature fifty years ago. People who think they are luxuriating in 25C (77F) bedrooms are in fact ruining their health.

Electricity is too cheap. We leave lights burning in rooms we don't use. We leave appliances on. We overheat rooms. We unnecessarily light facades of buildings, creating light pollution.

My grandfather, who was an electrician, reprimanded me if I left lights burning in my room. He limited hot water use to the equivalent of three inches of lukewarm bathwater once a week. He shook his head and called us wasteful, when we asked for deeper, warmer, more frequent baths. So, my two brothers and I trudged over to the public swimming pool to shower every day. We were thrilled to find the "secret red button" in the garage turning on the water heater.

My grandfather had lived through two world wars and two depressions. He grew up without electricity. As a child, he had hungered; he had scythed and raked hay for entire days under a blistering sun; he had shoveled manure and milked cows in the evenings after school; he had lost brothers, sisters, and both parents due to poverty and disease. As a grown man, he had worked as a linesman during the day, as a musician at night, and as a farmhand on weekends. I understand him. He had lived without so much we take for granted today. He had understood the value of energy.

Following the Japanese earthquake, tsunami, and nuclear reactor meltdown, the need to conserve energy is made even more clear than before.

The true cost of nuclear power is unaffordable in both human and financial terms. Hopefully, politicians will discard the arguments of short-term profiteers who refuse to include the true cost of nuclear plant construction, safety precautions, waste storage, and plant decommissioning in their energy calculations.

I don't want to be wasteful. Nor do I want to look silly or frilly. So, I will persevere and find warm AND sexy pajamas. Then, I will sleep like a charm.

It's never too late to learn rules of the road

I've had my driver's license since I was 16 years old. Granted, the test that I took in Middletown, Rhode Island, was easy. No highway driving and no parallel parking were required, (although I had practiced it with my instructor). All I was required to do was drive around the block, use my blinker and execute a three point turn. Voilà!

The most valuable driving knowledge I have collected during the past 24 years, I've learned on the road.

Like the day I drove a friend from Newport to Cape Cod and forgot to look over my shoulder to check the blind spot before passing a car on the highway. Thank goodness my friend yelped, as I could swerve back into my lane on time and avoid an accident.

Or the four times, I lightly hit a car in a parking lot, because I misjudged the distances or forgot to use my mirrors.

Or when I slid into a speeding car that was going uphill on an icy single lane road. I learned that even though the driver of that car was speeding, she had the right of way being the car going uphill, and I, being the car going downhill, must always have control over my vehicle no matter the condition of the road.

So, after living in the Swiss Alps for the past nine years, I am still learning valuable information about driving, and especially about driving in Europe. And, now I know why I've had the following strange and unpleasant experiences at two intersections in my village:

• Near-collisions;

• Drivers honking at me;

• Drivers wildly gesturing with their mouths open;

• My uttering of swearwords (out of earshot of those outside my car) at what I perceived to be the rudeness of other drivers.

Then, a good Swiss friend educated me.

It's called priority to the right or 'priorité à droite' in French. Here it is. If you are driving along in a village and the speed limit is 20-40 km/hr, anyone joining that road from your right hand side (even if they are on a small side road and you are on a major road) has priority over you. They don't have to stop, (as they do in the USA), you do even if you are traveling at a good clip. This rule is valid unless otherwise indicated by a stop or yield sign or if a yellow diamond sign tells you you are on the main road.

If in doubt, slow down, keep you eyes open and your foot near the brake, and be ready to be courteous (but don't expect any thank yous)!

Hoping to de-stress Advent

Each year by mid-November, moods change. The switch is clear and noticeable. My children come home from school and tell me about fights and bullying. They have trouble focusing on homework. They are on edge. I feel it too. Some of my anxiety if self-imposed, i.e. I should order the Christmas cards; I should make gifts with the children for relatives; I should buy all the presents now; I should wrap them all before December. If my super-mom friends can do this, so can I! Mostly, the stress comes from the outside. Scheduling conflicts occur. People are moodier and lose their tempers.

When I feel unhappy, I blame cold weather, a sedentary lifestyle, and creeping weight gain. I conclude it must have something to do with Christmas, and I start to fantasize about leaving town for that forced holiday.

Boundaries are disappearing

My friends in the construction trade work crazy hours in order to get chalets ready in time for Christmas. They work over lunch, evenings and weekends--yes, even Sundays--rarely seeing their spouses and children. Their bosses can't say "no" for fear of losing contracts. And those contracts are worth a lot of money in Gstaad, which is home to many of the world's billionaires. Known as die gute Gäste, these rich chalet owners have insatiable and exorbitant demands. And this trend is worsening. The worst are the newly rich, who seem drunk with their new wealth, unable to think of the human consequences of their demands.

I understand that people need money, but there are boundaries; and too much money makes us forget those limits. For example, the overworked husband, who doesn't see his family during Advent, and then, out of guilt, spends a month's salary on gifts, damages the family finances and spoils his children. Is this what he really wants?

Organizing Advent

This year on November 28, my neighbors turned on their outdoor light garlands. I was puzzled. Then, I googled "Advent" and learned that November 28, 2010, was the the first of the four Sundays before December 25. I also learned that Advent (from the Latin word adventus meaning "coming") is a time of expectant waiting and preparation... and of hope.

Then, I had lightbulb moment.

I realized that I will never be like one of my over-achieving friends. So to alleviate stress this year, I decided to split my to-do list into four parts, corresponding to the four weeks of Advent. So far it is helping.

Then, today, I read that Advent used to be a period of fasting starting in the 4th-century. This fast began after St. Martin's feast (November 11) and lasted 40 days. Perhaps, this could be the answer to my weight loss woes?

5 painless green changes

I had no idea that talking about "climate change" could make my friends become so... how can I say this... emotional.

A few days ago, I posted on Facebook that I had just watched Al Gore's "Inconvenient Truth" and that I was ashamed the USA wasn't doing more to curb its greenhouse gas emissions. Within one day, my post drew 13 reactions from both Switzerland and the USA. Opinions were mixed. Some got personal.

"Diana, don't believe everything you see in a movie! Climategate showed us something. And the claims of that movie are well… "

"If they [pro-oil lobbies and government officials] didn't have anything to hide, why would they have worked so hard to muddy the waters? Aren't their ridiculously vigorous denials and attacks proof perfect of their culpability?" 

"Sorry, that film has been widely discredited. Al should have quit after he invented the Internet... "

The Swiss alpine folk don't even think about climate change, they just live this way.

Five easy green changes to live like the Swiss alpine folk

1. Walk everywhere: Walking burns calories. Your legs will gain muscle and definition. Your butt and thighs will get smaller. I meditate while I walk. Sometimes, I meet people and friends along the way. I get fresh air and sunlight on my face, helping with the 'winter blues.' Swiss alpine folk walk everywhere, and don't seem to need anti-depressants.

2. Lower the thermostat: I try to keep my house at under 18C (64F) but it's hard. Since I've done this, I haven't had one sinus infection and my skin seems smoother and less dry than before. I have to wear sweaters and long pants. So what? Swiss alpine folk didn't have fancy heating systems. They used wood stoves to heat their living room/kitchen areas. They slept in unheated spaces.

3. Vacation at home: My home is more comfortable than any five star hotel. There's no stress getting around. Swiss alpine folk didn't travel much, being content to stay in their villages. They loved their homes, their landscape and took care of their surroundings. Farmers contribute to the beauty of the landscape by maintaining the land.

4. Eat food in season: I try to forgo buying foods that are out of season and that had to be flown in. Such produce tastes like cardboard. Fresh from the vine tastes much better. I make exceptions for oranges, chocolate and coffee. Also, I sometimes can't wait to taste strawberries. So I will buy them earlier in Spring when they come from Spain. Swiss alpine folk didn't buy exotic foods. They were perfectly healthy eating canned vegetables, cheese, and vegetables grown in their own gardens.

5. Avoid plastic: Not only is plastic super ugly, it's made of oil. Plus, things made of plastic cannot be repaired as easily as things made out of wood, glass, or metal. Swiss Alpine folk fix everything. When they buy something, it's to last a lifetime.

   
   I hope the scientists in Gore's film are wrong, but in case they're not, at least I am trying to do my little bit and not polluting the air, water and land... and I am doing something for myself in the process.

Black ice and the Range Rover driver

Walking my son to the kindergarten bus stop this morning, the ground was so slippery that even my miniature Schnauzer was scrambling to stay upright. He reminded me of Willy the Coyote not being able to stop running after chasing Beep Beep the bird.

Then, I saw her, the fur-clad woman driving a silver Ranger Rover. She sped down the hill going at least 60 kilometers an hour, seemingly unaware of the dangerous conditions.

Our street is a one-lane country road with no sidewalks, and the speed limit is 40 kilometers an hour. Even though it's a private road, many non-residents use it because they see it as a shortcut. It is a road that is frequented by dozens of primary school children walking or on bicycles as well as contractors speeding by, apparently late for their appointments.

"She nearly crashed into me," said the van driver, whose face was still white from the incident. "If I hadn't backed up in time, she would have slid right into me."

The truth is that all cars are dangerous on black ice, not just the heavy Range Rovers. What I think is really dangerous are clueless drivers. These are the ones who park their cars in heated underground garages and who haven't tested the condition of the roads with their own feet. These are drivers who think that just because they operate a four-wheel-drive, they can speed with impunity.

If your Subaru Justy has a head-on collision with a Range Rover, it's pretty clear who will come out in one piece.

Too black and white

Call me apathetic, but I'm not getting out of bed this morning to vote. I just don't like the initiative.

The Swiss should get tougher on crime, but the SVP's black sheep campaign is too xenophobic and radical. I just can't put a child rapist/killer and a petty thief in the same category. Furthermore, I have a problem with the idea of deporting second generation petty thieves. The counter initiative is too weak and won't accomplish anything. So what's the point of voting if I don't like either proposal?

I asked my 11-daughter this morning what she thinks. By the way, I find it strange that this issue has not been discussed in her school and not even in her "Media" class.

"If they do something bad once, give them a warning and make them pay," she said. "If they break the law again, make them leave."

"Even child rapist-killers?" I asked her.

"Oh, no! They have to leave right away!"

She makes a lot of sense. If the SVP initiative passes, I won't be sad.