an arrival

Claire est en la Suisse.

OK, that's about all the French I know, I admit.
But, Claire is in Switzerland.

It's crazy. To be quite honest, I can't quite believe that I'm not just here on vacation or something. Everyone speaks French. My parents and I have already made fools of ourselves in a café, a co-op, and a restaurant. It seems that a complete vocabulary of "oui, non, bonjour, merci and croissant" is not quite enough to get by.

But we're here. I've got to say, the trip over was probably one of the most unpleasant travel experiences I've ever had. We thought that once we were in the airport with our baggage, all the incredible stress and anxiety of the move would miraculously melt away--but it was not to be.

Our flight out of SFO (destined for Calgary) was 35 minutes delayed... and the flight took an extra 20 minutes. This wouldn't have been a problem, but for the fact that our one hour layover in the Calgary airport was now reduced to 5 minutes. Oh, and did I mention that Canadian airports make you go through customs, get your baggage, re-check it, and go through security AGAIN, even if your not even entering the country? And they're about twelve times more stringent with security, taking away stuff that SFO had no problem with (like my dull-nosed craft scissors. Um, hello? I could stab someone in the eye with my knitting needles, which I was let on the plane with, but my round-tipped scissors were too sharp??)... We were told that they would hold our flight to Frankfurt for us, but by the time we got our boarding passes, they told us that plane had left, and we were now headed for London. That wouldn't have been a problem if Heathrow wasn't a disaster. But it was.
We spent our entire three-hour layover in Heathrow first waiting in a line for new boarding passes, and then waiting in another, even more monstrous line to get through security--for the THIRD time (because apparently we could have aquired some sort of dangerous or prohibited item during the time that we spent over the Atlantic Ocean or something).
Luckily, the flight to Geneva was uneventful (except for the rather odd man next to me who kept up a mumbled running commentary of the entire flight for two and a half hours) as well as the trip to our rental house.

Now, we can breathe a little. The area is beautiful (I'll post pictures soon). There are still lots of logisitics to get through, but at least we're here, and no longer have to deal with the ten trillion little tasks of readying the house for renters. We hope that within five weeks, we'll have a permanent place to stay, means of communication, and at least a basic understanding of French (haha. Righttt).

a hasty note

In twelve hours, we will be boarding our flight.
Is it completely ridiculous, after all the packing and stress and hassle and worry and work and effort, that I haven't quite comprehended the fact that I'm moving across the world yet? Because I haven't. I suppose, when I step off the plane in the other end, and everyone in the Geneva airport speaks French, I just might realize that this is all real.
I'm just finishing up the last of my packing... wanted to post a little something before I jet off.

No, but honestly. Is this for real happening??