The Lugano Experience

or, How You Too Can Be the Bus King…

I have owned a car since I was 17.  No, Daddy, didn’t buy me a Beamer for a college-going-from-home present.  I worked my ass off reconstructing a K-Mart in the middle of the Mojave desert in 100+ heat all the while making a whopping $5.50 per hour…  I fondly remember the supervisor telling me to go out to the tool cabinet and get a board stretcher for a length of two by four that I had miscut…  And I did.  Ah, to be young and dumb and full of testerone again…

And what car did I get with my life savings of $400?  Why, a 1979 Datsun B210 hatchback, of course!  I loved that wreck of a piece of shit.  The alternator was bad, so you had to jump start it whereever you went (I didn’t have the $200 to fix it - that was, afterall, half the value of the car), but the car was so light I could do it myself.  Ahhh, first year in college with wheels of my own - look out babes, here I come… Of course, once winter hit in Idaho, jump starting a car takes on a new meaning (for you Californians, think snow… on the roads… snow has a quality of being slippery… ahh… nevermind), and a Datsun B210 was not exactly the babe magnet I had hoped it would be. 

Since that time, I have had a myriad of wonderful cars - crap and more crap.  The Chevy Chevette - a hand-me-down from dear old dad that was missing a front door handle on the driver side… So, in order to unlock the door you had to open the hatchback, reach through and unlock the back door, open the back door, reach through and unlock the front door and then open it from the inside… And no right blinker and a left blinker that, when clicked, would not go out unless you made a sharp left turn.  Heh, I blew that poor old thing up up (65 mph on a hot Idaho day was just too much for that old girl).

And then there was the Subaru that went through CV Boots like it did gas (and at $70 per pop, that got really old, really fast).  And the Hyundai that mysteriously shut itself off when you were driving, oh, 70 miles per hour (complete with steering wheel lock) which finally caused my poor ex-wife (gawd, now I really am getting sentimental) to roll the car 3 times on a windy road outside of Boise…

Of course, I can never forget the Nissan…  That old tank had over 200k miles on it and refused to die…  Well, except for once when it just seemed to forget how to start, leaving us stranded in the middle of San Francisco in the middle of night wearing nothing but shorts, t-shirts and very erect nipples.  But, I guess she earned that rest.

I have had my share of great cars, too.  Most recently, my Prius has given me endless amounts of smug satisfaction as I drove past L.A. traffic in the commuter lane with only one person in the car - motorists cursing me as I sped by.  And even more smug while I bragged about my 45 miles per gallon…  Mmmmmmm hyyyyybrrriiiiid. 

So, after many, many years of automobile highs and automobile lows, I find myself without a car at all.  And, as American as apple pie, I must say that I miss it.  I don’t miss paying the eight dollars per gallon at the pump here in Switzerland.  Yea, you heard me right.  I also am not terribly excited about driving up a one-car wide road with a 70 degree incline and 17 blind corners, and there is certainly plenty of that here, too.  And, the signs are, well, foreign, and while the Swiss seem to be conscientious and safe drivers, we are entirely way too close to Italy, and the Italians are… Italians.  You know, inventors of Maserati, Lamborghini and Ferrari.  Oh, yea, those Italians…  And 35,000 of them pour into Lugano daily.

So, how does one get around this fine city without a car?  Well, there are pretty much three options: walking (or, as most would call it, mountain climbing), taxi and bus.  Now, while taking a taxi may seem like the civilized option, keep in mind that a 10 minute ride cost me in excess of $50.  I guess they have to pay for gas somehow.

Which leaves us with one realistic alternative:  Mr. Bus.  Now Mr. Bus is actually quite convenient, and he goes all over the city.  He runs often, and since he is Swiss he is on time, all the time.  Mr Bus is not terribly expensive - he costs about $1.60 - $2.00 per ride and that will take you all across town.  Why do I call him Mr. Bus?  Well, mostly because I am hoping someone reading this will come over here and ask some unsuspecting Swiss where they can find Mr. Bus.  Yea, I am into social sabotage.

Ok, Mr Bus is good and great and all that jazz, but it is still a bus and it still runs on its time and you still have to wait at a stop and you still have to actually get to the stop which makes moving from one apartment to another apartment almost as much of a royal pain in the ass as it can possibly ever get if you are fool enough to actually try doing it using Mr. Bus. <breathe>  And of course, I am just fool enough.  ”How in the world do you move from one apartment to another using a bus?” you ask. Well, let me tell you. 

First, you go to the Pit of Despair and fight off Olga and Demetrius (They are the new cockroach lords - there was a cockroach marxist coup and the new leaders were not especially happy that I had been teaching the old king and queen about capitalistic finance - they had wanted to get into a hedge fund… another story - sorry).  And, I pay my respects to the Dark Lord and explain to him that I am not leaving because of him, it’s really me, yea, I mean it, it really is me, and yea he is really special and will always have a dear place in my heart… 

So, by his leave (I mean, he is the dark lord and there is some decorum that should be kept), I begin to pack into the 5, yes count them 5, gigantic suitcases that I have lugged from the U.S. to here.  Of course, during my two week stay in the Pit, I have accumulated some stuff (hey, I’m American - we need to consume) like a heater (the Pit did not come with an actually working heater) and food and blankeys (the blanket in the pit was made of a synthetic that even a robot could not sleep under) and pillows and TP and, well, stuff.  So, needless to say my 5 suitcases no longer have the storage capacity to carry my now-increased belongings.

So, we (Lena helped on load one - she cleaned and unpacked for the remainder of the move - a reasonable trade, I assure you), take a suitcase each (whoever invented the tilty suitcase with rollers, I sincerely hope you are wealthy beyond your wildest imagination - thank you, thank you, thank you), and begin our trek down the hill.  Now, if any of you are up for a good tricep exercise, try this… Take a big suitcase… No, not that big, bigger.  You know the kind that the airline agent gets the measuring tape out to check - actually making sure that it doesn’t exceed the size limitations.  Yea, that’s big.  Now, fill that sucker with stuff until the seams are popping - throw in some porcelain, some power tools,  maybe some lead (gold works if you have it lying about) until it weighs, oh, about as much as a small farm.  Or 100 pounds.  Now that you have your tricep weight, start dragging that sucker around.  No, not on flat ground, down a hill.  No, not that tiny short hill, that steep one that looks like someone could have a slalom race down it… Yea, that’s it.  Mmmmm feel the burn, baby.

Now that you get the picture, here we are at Mr. Bus.  Buy a ticket.  Wait for Mr. Bus (massage the tricep).  Once Mr. Bus shows up, the driver gives you the eyeball, I mean, it is not often that they see someone carrying the equivalent of two china cabinets onto their bus.  Thank god he stops (I know he was thinking about just speeding off).  Now, deadlift time.  Deep bend, lift with the legs, 200 lb deadlift and step onto the bus.  The bus driver was kind enough to let me pick my nuts up from off the curb…    Rest.  Pretend that you do not see the complete amazement on the faces of your fellow bus goers.  Time to change buses.  Deadlift and step down.  Pick up nuts.  Repeat for next bus.

Ok, so we finally get to our stop, and I am thinking to myself that eight dollars a gallon sounds pretty gawd-damned good.  And after I pick my nuts off the ground for the fourth freakin’ time, I am really wondering if they will ever be the same, I mean, I have really grown attached to them.  Really. 

Now, if you are looking for the cardio work out as opposed to the tricep workout, take those giant, lead-filled suitcases and now drag them up a hill.  Over cobblestone.  Legs burning, nuts aching, back breaking and soul longing for a car, I finally arrived at the new palace.

Two more trips to go.

Fuck.

On the next two trips, I managed solo, and had to drag two empty suitcases across town, up a hill, fill them up, back down a hill, on the bus, off the bus, on the bus, off the bus, up a hill… twice.  And just when I thought I was done, I remembered that I have ten boxes sitting in the office just wondering when they get to come home.

Now, all of this considered, the new place is actually rather nice.  It is a one bedroom, 1.5 bath with a cute little patio that has a nice place to grow some flowers.  The patio looks out on a beautiful open area with trees and, well, it is very nice (queue Disney music).  It is also very large - both rooms are big which gives the place an open feel to it.  There is a pool and a beautiful walk that goes up a hill (of-freeekin-course) that opens up into a view over all of Lugano.  The kitchen is not horrible, but it was probably much nicer in 1970.  And the bathroom…  well, I just spent that last 20 minutes looking for an outlet.  When I finally was about to give up on the entire notion of power in the bathroom, I opened the medicine cabinet and found the outlet hiding at the top inside… I guess they want to make sure that I don’t “accidentally” drop the blow dryer into the bathtub…

And if I have to move by bus again, I might just have to find an extension cord…

Coming soon… Buttocks Beware! or TP OF DOOM…