Slice of humble pie

Maybe it's just selective memory, but somehow being on crutches way back when didn't seem like such a big deal. Well, except for that one mortifying Bambi incident along the wretched green tile floors of the PJH hallway ... (i.e. rain-wet rubber crutch tips meet rain-wet tile floor and all appendages spread in opposite directions, obligating mortified, crippled girl to crawl across to retrieve said flung crutch in front of jeering adolescent onlookers). Other than that slightly traumatic incident, though, I pretty much remember it being a cinch.

Seeing as "cinch" would not quite be the word of choice this time 'round, I have come to the conclusion that there are four possible options for this difference in experience:

1. I've lost my youthful spryness
2. People in Geneva are far more sympathetic than those in Kitsap
   
3. Mother's helping hand was taken utterly for granted
4. Selective memory

To provide but a few (consecutive) examples of these latest reminders of humility:

The home-apartment shuffle (Get it? Like the supermarket shuffle??)
The apartment building requires a code to unlock the front door. Said code must be entered in the call box to the left of the double doors; friendly automated voice says 'You may now enter'; and door on the far right is unlocked. For 5 seconds. For the record, five seconds does NOT allow enough time for the slow, elderly, klutzy or otherwise physically challenged to get back over to open the door. Repeat shenanigan shuffle + lock out scenario 3 times over before mastering the art of standing at call box while using right crutch to push open the door... from four feet away.

Para-Olympics
What do you get when you take two fine women, two bad feet and two pairs of crutches ... and put them in the same office? Lots of squeeky crutch noises, many doting colleagues, one antsy insurance administrator, unlimited desktop tea deliveries, gracious lunch-time grocery orders... and well-attended hallway races. It's now been duly verified: I am the certified Crutch Klutz, and the slowest one at that. At least mine have padded handles.

Old men laughing
Sweat-drenched crutch girl pauses on street corner across from neighborhood bar for a much needed breather. Look up to find three elderly men--one of whom is apparently a crutch friend--looking over and laughing. Yes, indeed, the 70 year old smoker masters these sticks better than I can, no breaks needed.

Picture of pity
I was in the home stretch, 50 feet to go. It was a heavy sigh of releif/big gasp for air. I didn't really even realize it came out... but apparently the passing neighbor guy did.

"Just watching makes me pity you! Have courage, and good luck!"

This was immediately followed by second passerby trying to avoid eye contact as he unsuccessfully stifled a smirk ... followed by the mailman courteously stepping out of my way and saying:

"It's not easy! Have courage, and good luck!"

Ok, so I get it. I DO look as pathetically weak as I feel. I'm glad I can bring a smile to your day--you've certainly put a good self-appreciating laugh in mine.

Courtesy calls/humble pie down your throat
TGIH: Thank God I'm home. It's Crutch Girl's lucky day--the neighbors are standing by the code box. They kindly enter code, I dutifully begin the fight with my battle sticks and the door. Suddenly, kind older-like man appears out of nowhere to hold said door open. My kind reply? "Thank you, kind sir, I really appreciate it". His response? A full three minute raised-voice lecture on how:

"You're just like everyone else in your generation ... you're too proud and independent to ask for help ... you have to grow up and get over yourself before you do even more damage ... (now turns to neighbor couple at door) what happened to common courtesy and helping people out ... are you blind? ... use your head!"

Yes, yes, thank you kind sir, forgive thy neighbors and I will take my (double?) slice of humble pie.

Sir Daniels and the anonymous favourite neighbour

Never mind that it's only Tuesday, it's been a looonnnnggg week. In fact, I'm about THIS close to dubbing it the (a?) week from hell, while simultaneously chanting "And this, too, shall pass", "I love my job" "And this, too, shall pass", "I love my job", "And this, too, shall pass". In other words (reading between the lines) -- deadlines and politics (or politics and deadlines??). Gotta love 'em.... Especially when they leave you so brain dead that, in the absence of a warm body to cuddle up against at home while watching some odd stand-up comedy TV show to take your mind off it all, you desperately crave a stiff drink ... or two.

And so it was that, in an endeavour to find a mixing parter for my dear friend Jack D., I ended up making a visit to my favourite little "after-hours" convenience store around the corner. As much as I love the place (or more accurately the owner of the place), prices are decidedly steeper than "normal" stores and so, I do not generally go there often. Even so, the slick bun-bearing , charismatic Salvadoran owner always recognises me and is full of cheery conversation. While the first clue tonight may have been my walking straight past the obtrusive Coke machine and then asking if she had any Coke, she took one look at me and asked if it had been a long day - "You look tired, guapa", she said.

I've often thought of dropping off a batch or two of cookies for her during the holidays, just to say how much she brightens my days, but I haven't - yet. Funny thing is after two years and bunches of casual, friendly chats of differing depths and topics, I do not know her name. Quite frankly, I'm not any too convinced I want to know it. Somehow, in a weird sort of way, I enjoy things the way that they are ... a warm and friendly neighbour who, with a grandmother's wisdom, doesn't have to ask for the whole story, but rather can take one soul-searching look at a bottle of Coke, another look at me, and say with a reassuring smile and chuckle, "Don't worry guapa, the weekend's almost here!"

Cool happenings back home

Brag time! Can't help but be proud of my grandfather, dad and all the team at TRC for the great job designing and building such a great looking building for downtown Bremerton ... and of my two (younger!) cousins for starting, not just any business, but a new clean technology development company, Distributed Energy Management, to be headquartered there!

New downtown Bremerton building gets its first three tenants

By Rachel Pritchett

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

BREMERTON — The new red-brick office building downtown with its signature rounded corner — unofficially called the Sixth and Pacific Building — is getting its first tenants.They include Group Health, a new clean-tech company called Distributed Energy Management, and an Edward Jones investment office.The Sixth and Pacific Building was built by Tim Ryan Construction and is owned by Tim Ryan Properties. It is across Pacific from the Norm Dicks Government Center and next to the Admiral Theatre.

Group Health Bremerton Behavioral Health Services, currently located off Kitsap Way and Highway 3 near a Dairy Queen, will relocate to the 44,000-square-foot building by the summer.It will occupy 6,000 square feet of space on the second floor of the four-story building.A Group Health spokeswoman said the new space is more accessible to mental-health patients referred from its medical centers in Silverdale, Port Orchard and Poulsbo.

“It’s just better access for our patients,” Katie McCarthy said.It is a lateral move for Group Health. It will occupy the same amount of space now, and its current staff will relocate but not expand.That staff includes four doctors, seven counselors, a psychologist and a nurse practitioner.Current patients will receive notices before the move is made.

Distributed Energy Management, which will occupy the entire top floor, is a “smart-grid” business that monitors the flow of electricity both at the user end and at the utility end to achieve better efficiency. The company was started last month by local brothers Jason and Peter Crabtree, and Jimmy Jia.

“We are very pleased to conclude our lease agreement with Tim Ryan, and look forward to establishing Bremerton and Kitsap County as a leader in clean-technology development,” said Peter Crabtree, DEM vice president.

Brian Galvin, DEM technology officer, said upgrades of electrical systems are urgently needed around the world, and his company plans to work with others in Western Washington to make the region a smart-grid leader.A company statement said proximity to the ferry will help with commutes to Seattle.

The Edward Jones investment company will close an office on Kitsap Way near Arnold’s and move around May, according to Marcia Marx, the Edward Jones financial adviser there. It will occupy space on the first floor.

Representatives of all three tenants said they are excited to be part of the downtown revitalization.

“I just love the prospects of downtown ... and I want to be a part if it,” Marx said.

Hear ye, hear ye: She's showing signs of life!

For those of you who haven-t yet come to Geneva and thereafter taken the near-obligatorz-by-international-city-tradition UN headquarters tour, allow me to give you a quick idea. Let's put it this waz, the UN HQ Geneva looks and feels every bit the 1929-original-building-plus-five-million-add-ons-in-the-1960s-and-70s that it is.

Add to this, then, the usual human atmosphere in the day-in-day-out routine, and you get an old, unattractive building (albeit with fantastic lake and mountain views!) filled with frowns, stern faces, courtesy smirks/smiles, security guards and x-ray scanners, mounds of documents, loads of formal protocol, and all the politically-correct diplo-speak you could ever imagine. In fact, come to think of it, usually the most exciting thing in the vicinity are the free-range peacocks whose squawking can occasionally lend a comical air to the most serious of meetings.

And so, imagine my surprise - if not outright glee - this morning when I opened the main door, only to be blasted with the noise (a first in itself!!) of music, chatter, people - hundreds of them smiling, laughing and happily setting up stands according to country - and the amazing smells of foods from every corner of the world. Gone were the suits and ties - replaced instead with traditional clothing of each country, gone were the obnoxiously conspicuous ID badges - replaced instead with signs of people's true identity, and gone were the stoic security sentinels, who were instead intermingling and enjoying the good food and entertainment just as much as anyone else. Three cheers for the annual United Nations Women's Guild International Bazaar.

Even amid my pleasant surprise and the mariachi band beginning to close in around me for a morning serenade, however, I unfortunately could not neglect the fact that I was actually not there to indulge myself to my tummy's delight as I would have liked, but rather was already running late for a meeting. And as I (quite literally ) shimmied and shaked my way through the belly dancers, salsa dancers, small children and intermingling government delegates who were conveniently (strategically?) blocking the escalators, the awestruck smile on my face was surely betraying my thoughts ...

... once again, the women have got it all right - if only we'd let them lead the way in solving the world's woes!

On staying in one place ... and the things you didn't realise that you didn't realise

Heeding the small hands on my legs pushing me out of the way, sidestepping small children running between my legs and ducking under the extended binder-bearing, frantically waving arms of focused mothers expertly managing back-to-school shopping has been just one more not-so subtle reminder that my beloved summer is on the verge of bidding farewell.  While the sun is still shining and the lake waters still invitingly refreshing, the days are suddenly slipping into dusk  much earlier and the mornings are beginning to have that crisp Fall morning flavor to them.

What does all of this mean?  That I have officially set a personal recent-history record ... I'm still living in the same place I was one year ago!  No moving boxes, no appartment searches, no scouring the classified ads for cheap furniture ... just an appartment that hasn't had the benefit of having the clutter cleaned out annually.

While this past year has had many an up and down, it has absolutely flown by.  Marcel's recent retelling of his encounter with an American guy at the entrance to the apartment building that apparently began something like this: (American guy) "Bon soir, je cherche un ... uh, ok, I'm here to see the apartment on the 5th floor??" -  brought back memories of me looking at (and applying for) a billion and one apartments this same time last year ...

A few select memories of Geneva year 1

• moving into an all women's residence hall and feeling like I was back to freshman year of college ...


• lucking out with an fantastic French roommate ... with whom I spoke only Spanish


• breaking down in tears of relief when I got the call offering us an apartment - I was en route to look at another and had just stepped off the tram.


• The look on the real estate woman's face when we went in to sign the contract and it was clear that we didn't even know which apartment we were signing for.  I'd applied to 40 some places and we hadn't been offered any of them ... this one was the second one I ever went to see and I'd seen so many since then that I didn't remember a thing about it


• First time speaking at the UN


• Waking up one morning and realizing that I actually can speak French fairly well


• Supporting the local economy by drinking hot wine in winter, by the litre


• Braving arctic cold, cutting wind Hash runs


• Curling up on the balcony to watch the spectacular thunder storms roll over the mountains


• Learning how to only breathe through your nose, keeping your lips sealed at all times so as not to swallow the hoards of bugs when running lakeside


• Establishing, planting and harvesting the balcony garden ... I've never eaten tomatoes as sweet as the ones we've grown!


• Evading the rooftop gardener and his not-so-tricky peeping Tom moves


• Discovering, after 11 months, that I actually live only 10 minutes from the lake by foot if I take the other road than the one I've been taking the whole time ...


• EuroCup madness

Coming back from vacation has also made me realise how much I didn't realise how much Geneva is becoming my community.  I run into people I know at the train station, the grocery store, by the lake, on the road, at the park.  Funny how you can move somewhere without knowing anyone and so quickly have people calling your name behind you.  Then there are the people that you see everyday (or nearly) and have that mutual but silent acknowledgment of presence ... so long as you see them "regularly", than the world must be turning all right. A few of the favs?

• The elderly woman with wrongly dyed purple hair (I think she was going for red, but it went a little wrong) always impeccably, proudly dressed, walking her poodle dog through the park at 8:15AM (she's my perfect monitor to know if I'm running late for work!) and scattering bird seeds along the way.  Always accompanied by a girlfriend and happily chattering away ... either to the friend, the dog or the birds, some of whom are sitting on her shoulder as she walks.


• The Salvadoran woman who owns the little after-hours corner store by my house. Short, stout in a fantastic grandmotherly sort of way, with glasses and grey streaked black hair meticulously tied into a tight, low-riding bun, her homemade empanadas, smile and warm chit chat are enough make you feel as though you've won the lottery.


• The man who pushes the his little old-fashioned music cart through town with his bear-sized cat curled up in a specially made bed on the front.


• The half-crazy guy who runs around town with his bike asking people if they could "just give him one smile" and asking "are you happy?"

Cheers to year two!

Redeemed by God, fulfilled by Allah and refreshed by the Genevan waters that lie inbetween?

So last Sunday I was blissfully exposing my hide to a few cancerous UV rays lakeside on the rocks beside the Geneva Baby Plage, aka Baby Beach, i.e. beach for small screaming children, when suddenly a rambunctious and festive entourage of 80 or so Africans (unfortunately I have no idea what country they might have been from) dressed in gorgeous traditional summer attire and bearing all kinds of African drums and miscellaneous instruments "invaded" the baby beach ... whose size is just as baby as the kiddos who use it. With small children moving aside like the parting of the seas, the entourage settled in (aka indiscriminately took over) for what was to be a ceremony of several hours, full of dancing, praying, music, singing and, sorry - but I have to say it, what can only be described to the cultureless ear as "shrieking".

Quite frankly, it took me ... and the other two hundred gawking onlookers ... all of two hours to figure out exactly what kind of ceremony it was. Was it a funeral? A birthday? A birth? A family reunion? The light finally went on when three men wearing white gowns waded waist deep into the lake and began systematically dunking another forty white-clad people into the cold water. Most definitely a baptism; and a really cool one at that. My opinion? We should go back to having baptisms held in natural bodies of water. No more of this sterile cup over the head/indoor basin business. Let's get back to the truly praise-worthy, awe-inspiring, natural, settings.

I diverge. What really made the whole thing fascinating and truly unique, I think, to Geneva, was the intermingling of people, cultures and religions ... I've mentioned before the tremendous number of Arabs who make Geneva their summer home and indeed, as the festive baptism ceremony was going on, there was a group of teenage girls enjoying a dip in the lake as well ... in full burka dress. It was really a cool sight to see such diversity all in one kit and kaboodle and I was dying not having my camera with me.

That said, it was somewhat disheartening when the girls, clearly oblivious to anything else that was going on, happened to swim across the 10 foot gap of water between the dunking and the beach-bound witnesses ... only to have one of the witnesses run down, frantically screaming for them to "moooovvveeee!!!!" Was the girls' being in front of the baptism on a public beach ruining their pictures of the event or, as I fear may sadly be the case, was he fearful that having a Muslim in so close to their holy water might "curse" a Christian baptism?

Either way, it once again left us all saying "only in Geneva" ...

Whatever it takes

Geneva is a funny place - one of those places that has a bit of a double personality and can't decide if it's a small town or a small city (that said it is the second or third biggest city in Switzerland ...). A couple of months ago was the "Fete des voisins" - the Neighbors' Party, where many, if not most, of the apartment buildings organised gatherings among all of the residents to mingle, shmingle and get to know one another. As you walked around the neighborhoods, the mini-"fetes" were as colourful as the people, with music, facepainting, BBQs, light apertitifs, potlucks, akward first encounters among people who think they have nothing in common, and laughter among those who have lived side-by-side for years. The building down the road even featured a man dressed as a clown and playing a banjo who, with all the kids gathered around him, went window to window serenading the neighbors who were still in hiding, calling them by name to come join the festivities.

My building did nothing. In fact, I've lived here for almost one year and have no clue who my neighbors are. There are four apartments on my floor including my own ... I've gathered that there is an African family in one of them from the amazing smells of food that are always wafting out from under their door, but the five times I've seen someone come out of that door, it's never been the same person. Once, I've ridden the elevator (in awkard silence, of course) with the man who lives right next door and we make uneducated guesses as to his current living situation judging by the female name that was taped onto his door-name plate but which has recently disappeared. No CLUE who lives behind the door on the other side.

Downstairs there's a maniac child that I hear more than see ... "mom, I want cartoons!" "get your teeth brushed" "we're taking a bath NOW" screem, scream, scream. Actually I do see them occasionally as we seem to have similar morning departure times ... I call them the screamer family. Then there's the Polish couple two floors down who have a little baby ... the three times I've seen them have allowed me to see the progression from HUGE, HUGE maybe you're-expecting-triplets pregnant belly, to honey-please-go-grab-this-quick-from-the-store, to happy-baby-with-happy-parents. Same with a Colombian couple (minus the gianormous belly) three floors down. Then there's the Portugese woman who runs the little "corner" store by the front door who I've decided has a personal vendetta out for me.

You see, she's a bit of a car-salesman type (sorry, no offense meant) at her little store, charing outrageous prices (I think she charged me $2.50 for a single egg once...) with a fakey little smile. Just on the other side of the building, however, there's a fantastic little store run by a Salvadoran woman who I'd take as my adopted grandmother ... she's great and the store is straight out of El Salvador. Naturally, on those late-night-gotta-have-it runs (which could be anytime after 19h here!), I sneak over there for my goods ... but inevitably I have to pass the store downstairs and the hawkish Portugese woman who sees all, knows exactly what I'm doing and puts on her best smile-with-a-glare look. Now she won't even say hi to me if we happen to cross paths.

This being the neighbor situation as it is, last night was all the more exciting. At exactly 5:23AM I was awaken by the sound of yelling and shattering glass ... lots of it. I knew right away that someone was breaking windows, and I figured the most likely was that someone was breaking into the Portugese woman's store. Second runner up might be the Ethiopian cafe next to that in an unlikely racist attack. Whatever the case I ran up to stick my head out the window and see what I might be able to see ... and all I saw was all the neighbors ... doing exactly the same thing. The guys breaking glass were not to be seen under the awnings, but left and right, up and down, all the neighbors were bending as far over the balconies as they could .... sexy lingerie, homely pjs, towels, half-naked ... you saw the neighbors all at their very best. I can't imagine what one walking by must have thought if they had looked up, oblivious to the glass.

Having gone back to bed for a couple more hours worth of sleep, you can bet the first thing everyone did was run downstairs this morning to see exactly what what had been the victim. I don't know what anyone else thought, but I was surprised to see that it wasn't the store nor the cafe ... it was our own doors. With everyone gathered 'round who-hawing over the three foot hole and scratched jibberish over all of the glass, I realised that, finally, one year later, something had brought the neighborhood together.

Won't you be my neighbor?

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It's funny the things that are "instilled" within you as you're growing up ... the things you roll your eyes at when you're little and then realize later that you really kind of like them. I remember Mr. Carlson lecturing us in junior high PE class, for instance, telling us that we needed to make sports a lifetime habit. I rolled my eyes then ... and heaven only knows just how much I need sports now for my own mental safety.

Volunteering could also fit well within that roll-your-eyes category ... and yet, this weekend I found myself back volunteering at a soup kitchen - and loving it. Yes, it was Saturday, and no my eyes were not fully open when I was at the grocery store buying $450 (thank you Bacardi, for sponsoring) worth of groceries with ten other not-yet-recovered-from-Friday-night volunteers at 9AM. Perhaps here I should point out yet another interesting cultural tid-bit ... fully half of the volunteers are American and Canadian and, as we started talking about it amongst ourselves, we realized just how very much volunteerism is encouraged and promoted - if not required - in the North America, while it remains somewhat of an oddity around much of Europe ...

Anyhow ... under the watchful eye of a former restaurant owner and professional chef, we peeled, chopped, sliced, diced and cut loads of veggies to our hearts content until amazing aromas were wafting out of the kitchen and we opened the doors to some 120 people - people, we were told, who were not "homeless", per say, but rather needy.

This is indeed an interesting distinction and, especially when you really took note of the people. From my meager experience with soup kitchens in the States, I think it's fair to say that most "customers" are clearly in very dire straights of one nature or another. Not so the case here. In fact, many were well dressed, all were clean, almost none carried bags or other personal possessions. The vast majority were men - mostly in their 50s or 60s; there were native Swiss and there were immigrants; there were children, babies and even the ocassional (good looking) dog. Many, I would guess, happen to know that there is (excellent!) free food available and are simply saving a few pennies and, quite honestly, in a city as expensive as Geneva and with some salaries being as low as they are, it's an idea that's worth considering ...

Perhaps the most interesting part, though, was seeing the "neighbors" in a different environment. There was the 12ish year old Romanian girl who I see on a weekly basis on the trains, pretending (it was proven today!) to be deaf and asking people to sign her "petition" for money. There was the Asian man who can always be found trying to sell transport cards in front of the train station. And there was the seemingly half-crazy woman I always see around town wearing BRIGHT green shiny spandex pants with giant gaudy fake leather belts and jelly shoes - today she stayed to the dishes of everyone who left without washing their own. And there were a couple that were quite simply hungry university students.

I think, for the first time, I felt a connection to a certain Geneva community, a sense of seeing a familiar face that doesn't carry a diplomatic facade or a seller-of-luxury schmooze instinct. But mostly, I think I was stunned - and impressed - by the difference in social profile. I wonder if the soup kitchens of Portland or Seattle would ever have let half of these people in the door ... and I wonder if the Geneva soup kitchens would know how to serve the truly desperate attendees of those in Seattle and Portland.

Lessons on diversity - Part II

Actually, this is what I meant to get at the first time around too ... I guess I just got side tracked :-) The GENDER ROLE issue and cultural nuances particularly related to women is actually the direction I meant to go ....

Certainly cat calls, whistles and under the breath comments are nothing new (I mean that in no egotistical way whatsoever - sometimes it's surprising how 'unselective' many men are in their street harrassment), but it does become very blatently evident around the streets of Geneva that women are treated in very different ways around the world. Given that the world is represented in miniature, per say, in Geneva it is an interesting clash of sorts being confronted with the way in which, for example, men from the Middle East interact with women. Unlike the more common styles of harrassment that I already mentioned, many apparently feel that they have the full right to give you the full (but silent) head-to-toe-up-and-down-and-up-again look over with a look that is much more bold I, apparently, am accustomed to. Talking to other (girl) friends, many have made the same observations, even mentioning that they get the notably unequal treatment - if not harrassment - by collegues at work

My solution? Rather than continuing to feel like the 'victim' that cannot do anything about where others set their eyes, I've begun looking people straight back and actually saying "Hi, everything all right?" (In a rather cold tone and continued walking, mind you, so as not to invite conversation either). It's actually been rather amazing the reaction - it is nearly always a 'deer in the headlights look', followed by silence and looks suddenly shot towards any other direciton. Apparently some guys are totally taken by surprise by someone (a woman particularly) confronting them directly. And apparently my strategy works.

These are the kinds of culture clashes that are so very difficult to ease. In no way do I mean to stigmatize or stereotype men from the Middle East, yet I would argue that - in my short experience thus far in Geneva - that it is perhaps the Middle Eastern and Western cultures that most clash on gender issues. In the same way that I am very much used to being treated (nearly, I admittedly do not believe fully) as an equal with my male counterparts, they are very much used to holding a social position notably higher and more dominant than woman. Just how, then, do you reconcile the two traditions?

Lessons on diversity

Interestingly enough, one of my most poignant memories from my last week in Spain is one that demonstrates quite clearly the degree of diversity (or lack thereof) present in Spanish society. Always the one white (and often only girl) with all the Senegalese guys, I suppose I had gotten used to the looks of curiousity, surprise and often disapproval.

These looks were only increased when I would regularly go out to run along the beach with two Senegalese friends (both men). A woman doing sports? [GASP!] A white woman running with two black men? [DOUBLE GASP!!] This particular night, however, it went beyond looks of curiousity - we had photographers following us. The first time we saw them, we thought they were taking pictures of us, but weren't quite sure; but then, by the time they reappeared three more times along our path having advanced on bike, we were quite conscious indeed that we were the subject of the evening's photo shoot and broke out laughing. Picturesque, isn't it? Palm trees, ocean, sand, and the 'symbolism' of integration with a white women running between two black men. How quaint.

Adjusting to Geneva, then, has admimttedly been interesting in the sense that I feel I am now accutely aware of just how much cultural and religious diversity co-exist without hardly receiving so much of a head's bob of acknowledgement. The common site of women in their all black burkas peeking out only through the hole made for their eyes don't attract any attention at all ... in the same way that no one seems to think twice about the melange of colors, languages, clothing, etc that is seen everywhere from the schoolyard to the bus.

Speaking three, four, five, even six languages is by no means uncommon and everyone is so used to listening to a thousand different accents that no matter how bad your French might be, you seem always to be understood. And the typical ice breaker question "So where are you from"?? It's really a joke, to be quite honest ... most everyone has lived in a million places (and half the time you've never even heard of their country, though you certainly won't admit that in public), begging the question why do we almost seem to feel an unquestionable need to know where everyone is from? Will there ever be a day when we can all just be happy with calling ourselves citizens of the world?