OK, I'm no longer impressed with the Swiss. I was in Switzerland for a couple of months a few years ago to do a physics experiment, and at that time Switzerland seemed like a magical place. Orderly. If I were to pick one word, it would be orderly. Unlike Italy, in Switzerland "no smoking" meant no smoking; "no parking" meant no parking. So the first thing that happens when I am transferring at the Zurich airport is a blatant cigarette smoker polluting the checkin line. Then when I get to Geneva, my bus driver runs a red light. I see skateboarding youths obstructing a public sidewalk. And to top it all off, on my way out of the country the efficient SwissAir agent efficiently loses my luggage. Globalization. Every country is the same country. When I got to Rome, the first thing I did was go through the drivethrough at McDonald's. My friends, this should not be. But, in my enthusiasm to rant on the Swiss, I am getting ahead of myself. I am abroad for six weeks, with the following agenda: 1) Attend a 2-day conference at a physics lab in Geneva 2) Attend a 3-day collaboration meeting with all my fellow MACRO physicists at Gran Sasso lab in Italy 3) Take 2 weeks of shift on the MACRO experiment at Gran Sasso 4) Show my girlfriend, Biola Baetke, the romantic time of her life in a 1-week tour of Venice, Florence and Rome In between are a couple of 1-week periods of down time, when I hope to make progress on my thesis. Biola Baetke deposited me at the airport on a beautiful California Saturday afternoon. By the time I got to Chicago my ego was pumped up because I sat by two physics-admiring electrical engineers. We spent a happy hour or two discussing phase-modulated cellular phone signals and how to unfold a signal that includes bounces from nearby buildings. The inflight movie was "The Muse" by Albert Brooks, which I give a five. Albert Brooks played Albert Brooks. Lots of good one-liners but he mailed it in. The transatlantic leg was devoted to reading lots of physics papers on the "Required Reading" list for the conference in Geneva, and a half hour review of a French phrasebook. I speak French at the phrasebook level, and it came back to me pretty quickly. I like to know a little of the language everywhere I go, so I was very nervous while transferring in Zurich. I don't speak any language well, but I hope they appreciate that I try. Usually when I approach an information desk in a train or plane station, I speak the local language for about two sentences until the attendant gets disgusted with me and starts speaking English. But at the Geneva airport I successfully found where to catch a cab and what it would cost, got the cab and gave my destination, all in French. It wasn't until we were at the lab that the cab driver had to resort to English. By this time it was a cold, blustery Sunday evening, which only got worse when the sun set about 4:00. But I was on a quest to buy $35 worth of Swiss chocolate, so I walked and bussed around town until I finally found a gas station (!?) with a wide selection of chocolates. My plan to cope with jet lag was to stay awake until at least 9:00. At 7:00 I was to meet a European physicist/songwriter who has some songs I am hoping to use in a movie I'm working on. But he cancelled at 6:50. At 7:00 I was suddenly overcome with an incredibly urgent desire to sleep. I hurled everything off my bed and crawled in, clothes and all, without brushing my teeth. And I slept for 12 1/2 hours. Monday I was busy all day. The conference was fascinating and a great success, but of little interest to those non-physicists among you. I got a license agreement from the songwriter at lunch. In the evening I had about 45 minutes to prepare my talk before a bus carted us all into the city for our $40 dinner. It was elaborate but unremarkable, but at least it gave us the chance to discuss quantitative statistical inference in a more casual atmosphere. (This statement may sound ironic, but is unfortunately true.) The bus got back at 11:00. I was asleep by 11:10. Tuesday once again busy all day. I got up at 7:00 to finish writing my talk. During the morning coffeebreak, I rushed back to the dorm to pack up and check out, then presented my talk right after coffeebreak. At lunch, more casual discussion of statistics. The conference adjourned at 5:30. I rushed back to the dorm and collected my bags. I caught a pre-arranged taxi at 5:40, was at the airport by 5:48, and boarded my plane about 6:30. The ticket agent had collected my two bags, tagged them both, and sent them down the hole consecutively. Only one emerged in Rome. I filed my report, collected my rental car, slid through McDonald's, and made the 1.5 hour drive to Gran Sasso. Once I got so sleepy I parked on the shoulder and walked around in the cold night air a few minutes. I finally got ensconced in the Caltech apartment and slept for 12 1/2 hours. But not before I had my first wreck. I could fill this travelogue with stories of Italian wrecks past and present. I have a car accident about every third time I come to Italy. Not a dangerous one, but a 2 mile-per-hour one while I am maneuvering in a space too narrow to maneuver in. Due to globalization, Italian cars are now about as big as American cars, but the streets, alleys, parking lots and driveways are still too small to accommodate them. So I chipped my driver-side mirror while backing into a parking place. My car is nice, but would be nicer if I were about the size of my grandmother. Being a foot taller, the steering wheel blocks my view of the speedometer, the gas gauge, etc. Now the Italians are certainly not as orderly as the Swiss used to be, but there are certain items of cultural assumption which cannot be varied. The primo has to be served before the secondo; you must drink the liquor your host offers no matter how foul; you cannot pass on the right. One of the local customs is that the stores close for a few hours in the afternoon. The Americans call it siesta, but I don't know if there is an Italian word. On Wednesday, by the time I got around it was 1:00 pm. I walked into a grocery store, not sure if they would be closing down. I asked the woman at the salami counter what I thought was a reasonable question: "What time do you close?" She looked at me like I had holes in my head. "At 1:00!" she said definitively. There are certain items of cultural assumption which cannot be varied. Well, I am over 100 lines so I will bring this travelogue to a close. Next week will be a slow week, so I may need some stories from last week to fill out my next travelogue. Alessandra DiCredico quote of the week: "This 'spaghetti on a stick' thing is getting annoying."