Not Without My Flip Flops

Did I ever mention that I grew up in the South, as in The South? Although I was born on a freezing winter’s day in Michigan, I have lived most of my life in the warm and mild Carolinas where the dreaded arrival of snow for one whole week in January heralds one thing, chaos.  Should even a few innocent flurries be mentioned in the forecast, we Southerners baton the hatches and prepare not to leave our houses for days, maybe even weeks, on end. Before we hunker down, however, we hot tail it in droves to the nearest supermarket where we stock up on bread, milk, eggs, cola and pork rinds. The grocery store aisles are left mercilessly depleted. Who knows, after all, when we will be able to get out again?

In the South, you see, although it happens for a week or two every year, we are entirely unprepared for winter weather. The only major lifestyle adjustment we make between New Year’s Day and spring is to switch out our Christmas flip flops (the ones embroidered with candy canes or brightly wrapped gifts) with something a little more generically “winter” such as snowflakes or snowmen. There is, at least where I have lived, exactly one snow plow responsible for covering hundreds of miles of roads, and the bewildered drivers are enthusiastically interviewed by anchors with glistening, snow-white teeth on what used to be the evening news. Snow in the forecast means that any plans you might have made for the week are certain to be canceled, entire school districts will be shut down and everyone will be at home furiously Googling recipes for snow cream.

Needless to say, things are just the teensiest bit different here in Switzerland. Why, come to think of it, I am not sure they have ever even heard of snow cream. But all jokes aside, even without living directly in the Alps, I have seen more snow this January than has perhaps accumulated in the Carolinas during the span of my entire life. Not for the Swiss, a pork-rind fortified retreat indoors when snow is on the way. Why hunker down and play board games, after all, when you can spend hours dressing yourself in layers and then go about your business as usual? As far as I can determine, the only real difference on a snowy morning here in Switzerland is that the orange glow of the snow plow lights up the darkness as children crunch stiffly to school in their snow suits.

Clearly the Swiss are hewn of stronger stone than we soft Southerners who simply choose not to go outdoors on days when it is too cold for flip flops. During this, my first winter here, I find it almost a surreal experience to get any real work done or errands run in the middle of a snowscape. It’s snowing outside and you want me to do what? Still, I would not be me if I did not spend my time here in Switzerland learning as much as I can from the natives whose motto in this particular instance is, “there is no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing.”

I guess it’s as good an excuse as any to go shoe shopping.