Congratulations Geneva, you are one of the top five most expensive cities in the world! This according the Mercer’s 2010 cost of living survey which measures the average cost to someone living abroad for work (such as ourselves).

The top five

• Luanda, Angola (1st)
• Tokyo, Japan (2nd)
• N’Djamena, Chad (3rd)
• Moscow, Russia (4th)
• Geneva, Switzerland (5th)

Geneva, you have been slipping since 2003, but the $30 lunches must have made all the difference this year. The CERN cafeteria isn’t quite that steep, but include a glass of wine, dessert, and coffee and you can come pretty close. I remind you that, though the term “restaurant” is sometimes used, in this case you are paying for a fully carry-your-stuff-around-on-a-tray cafeteria experience.

Oh, and yes, it is true that some cash machines dispense the equivalent of $1000 bills, I’ve run across UBS machines that dispenses only 1000 and 500 CHF bills. It’s a very crazy thing to those of us who grew up in America teething on credit cards and completing major drug deals with dramatically stuffed briefcases of paltry $100s.

[photo source: 1suisse on Flickr]

Everyone knows that bunnies are cute and fluffy; why then do human-constructed likenesses of them turn out to be so utterly terrifying? Appearing harmless and adorable in nature, a bunny writ large is at best creepy and at worst, devastating. And yet we insist on creating ever larger monuments to the long-eared ones. It’s possible that our widespread practices of rabbit idolatry perversely reflect some deep and ancient animosity between the races; after all, a child’s first impulse, when given a small (possibly edible) bunny effigy, is to bite off its head. Like other dangerous and potentially world-ending pursuits, CERN finds itself right in the center of the ongoing human vs. bunny struggle, with rabbit flesh prominently featured as a dish on the lab’s rotating menu. Now the world’s tallest chocolate bunny has been erected a stone’s throw away from the LHC in the outskirts of Geneva. Physicists and laypersons alike were encouraged to worship at the feet of this delicious and unholy monstrosity. While other countries may claim to have constructed the most massive, I sincerely doubt anyone can beat this 5-meter tall chocolate bunny.

I fear that our overweening pride has not only threatened the destruction of the universe, but that this graven image shall reach unto the heavens as the ancient tower of Babel, its pointy ears penetrating the event horizon of some intergalactic time warp, bringing down Armageddon upon our heads.

Here it is — it’s 8.48pm.  You’ve just scarfed half a package of biscotti, with a little help from your friend Nutella.  The next thought is, “Jesus, I need some milk.”  As you sashay your way to the refrigerator, you start to remember — maybe you finished the milk last night?  Did you have it with your cereal this morning?  Opening the door to the cold box, your worst fears are realized.  OMFG YOU’RE OUT OF MILK.  What will you do?  You know, and I know, that all the stores in the immediate 100km closed long ago, as you live on the Franco-Swiss border.  As it would appear, you are shit out of luck.

…unless you reside in the wonderful community of St-Genis!  The city organizers recently rallied in an effort to eliminate late-night milk famine, and have provided the citizens of their locality with a novel addition to the main round-about’s plaza.  That’s right, folks.  St-Genis now has a milk vending machine:

The mirage.

Whether you drink milk by the cupful or by the liter, this machine will serve your needs.  With a flashy and shiny exterior, I’m convinced that any passers-by will be drawn to its majesty as I was.  Hell, with that adorable bovine face peering out at you, how could you resist?  Fuck the grocers — this thing is open 24/24, 7/7.

I’m licking my lips just thinking about it.

A quiet Christmas

The winter shutdown has begun. CERN closes its doors, turns off the heat, and stops doing physics for two full weeks, starting today. And CERN Love will do the same.

It’s time to say good-bye to 2009 — an epic year — and prepare ourselves for the next stage of CERN craziness.  We here at CERN Love have appreciated all your support and willingness to laugh a bit at a place which we are truly lucky to be associated with, but one which is pretty fucking weird.  We’ll be on holidays ourselves, trying to party as hard as our colleagues… and it appears we won’t be missing much here at the lab →

The LHC is expected to come back to life near Valentine’s Day/Chinese New Year, 2010 (that is 14 February for those of you who are neither consumers of greeting cards printed in China nor printers of greeting cards printed in China).  Don’t worry, CERN Love is expected to come back to life much sooner, around 6 January, shortly after work begins again at CERN.

CERN Love would like to extend our heartfelt season’s greetings to you and yours.  As a small gift to you, we attach a gallery of pictures from current and past winters in Geneva (including Fête de l’Escalade) and CERN.

Love,

CERN Love

I was pretty sure I was going to go blind, so I thought I’d try to maximize the remaining life out of my throbbing eyeball by heading to work. I headed to the tram stop where I heard some announcement being broadcast loudly but I couldn’t make out what it was saying. After waiting a little too long for the tram (I prefer sleek, quiet and smooth transport options over dirty, loud and bouncy) I gave up and jumped on a bus, the most crowded bus ever in the history of my career working at CERN. Eventually it became clear that the trams weren’t running at all because of a student demonstration obstructing the tram tracks, and they didn’t really call in extra replacement buses. OK. Note to self: student demonstration = “manifestation des étudiants.” Thanks, étudiants.

Then it was time to transfer to bus number 56 at Avanchet, which is the last time I will ever have to do that, incidentally. I waited for like 20 minutes (WAY TOO LONG, SOMETHING IS WRONG) and watched multiple 29′s go by until I realized the 56 ain’t coming. So I decided to hop on the next 29 and hike the rest of the way to CERN from P+R Planche. As I had walked just far enough that it wasn’t possible to turn back to catch any more buses, guess who rolled up?! BUS 56!! Followed about one minute later by another bus 56!! Thanks, Transports Publics Genevois.

FFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUU…..

Border crossing in front of CERN

Just beyond the main entrance, the road in front of CERN crosses from Switzerland to France at an important border station.  CERN is not just international in its political status and spirit, it is physically international: the main site straddles the two countries.  In its early years CERN was entirely within Switzerland, but only just barely.  Later expansion now puts most of its area in France.  Still, outside of limited weekday hours the only entrance is from Switzerland, and many employees and users from other countries choose to live in France. The international border has kept the “French suburbs” of Geneva, which surround the city on three sides, distinctly less developed. Because of this, housing can be cheaper and distinctly easier to find on the French side of the border (though prices have been equalizing over time and apartment searches are still not without their frustrations).  So for many the everyday the commute requires a border crossing.  This was the situation I was in a few years back.

Even at a popular crossing like the one in front of CERN, the border stations are intermittently staffed.  The Swiss are almost always visible for part of the day, mostly during the morning commute into Geneva.   The French make an appearance somewhat randomly, we might see them once or twice per week.  Most cars are just waved through; or, more likely in the French case, an intense expression of disregard forces you to the conclusion that you may pass.   If no one is around, of course, you just drive right through.

One day when I was driving home with my flatmates we were actually stopped and questioned by the French border guards.  I didn’t speak any French, but they are usually kind enough to switch to English when necessary.  The person questioning me was a woman, which was already a significant distinction from the Swiss: though this is not unusual for the French, I have never seen a woman “manning” the Swiss crossing. (Gender politics trivia: Switzerland was the last western democracy to allow women to vote). I may have shown her my passport, though usually my passport gets only a glancing inspection. She then asked if I had anything to declare, and moved almost immediately to the topic of cigarettes. (Shortly after arriving at CERN I read somewhere that importing tobacco and Ikea products are two good ways to run into trouble with the French border patrol. The only Ikea store around is in Switzerland, where the tobacco prices must be significantly more favorable also.)

She questions:
“Do you have any tobacco products to declare?” No.
“Are you carrying any cigarettes at all?” No.
“Do any of your friends have cigarettes?” No.
“Do you smoke?” No, none of us smoke.

It seemed this last response made me especially suspicious. Her persistence and focus was getting a little weird. Finally, she pointed to the console in front of the gearshift.

“What is that?”

“Ummm, this? It’s my camera.”

Puzzled expression.

I pick it up and show her. I go everywhere with my camera. This one is compact and boxy, a little too shiny and thick for a cigarette pack, but I’m starting to see the resemblance. Later I purchased an SLR that has the auxiliary advantage of being clearly identifiable as something other than a cigarette pack. I hold it up to her and say again, “it’s my camera.”

The thin film of tension quickly breaks and washes away. She asks, “what do you call that in English?”

“A camera,” I say.

“Camera.”

“Yes, camera.”

“Thank you.” She even apologizes for stopping us.

“No, thank you“.

Now I am puzzled. A French official is thanking me for teaching her some English. Not only have all implied accusations of smuggling been dropped, but stereotypes are being smashed.  In fact I have never run into much snobbery regarding the language from the French.

Some days later, we were stopped as we crossed into Switzerland. Typically stiff and serious, the Swiss guards are outfitted with the green canvas of military personnel. The guard addressed us in French, and my friend who was driving the car this time didn’t immediately understand his request. (Sadly, none of us, probably not even the guard himself, had the language skills to engage with a distinctly Swiss language, Romansh. Maybe I should learn a little, or maybe not.)  The guard grudgingly clarified with some English, but before moving along we were reprimanded: “You are entering Switzerland and we speak French here!” It was an oddly specific statement considering the country we had clearly come from.

You might be amazed at what you can move with two wheels and a few CCs.  We passed this fellow in Meyrin on the main route from Geneva to CERN.  The bike is motorized, but only barely, notice it has pedals too!  This is near the top of the hill in Meyrin, the ideal place to be with a rig like this.  Most importantly, you have to appreciate this man’s impeccable sense of style: the plaid dog-bag perfectly coordinates dog, bike, and attire.

Recently, I expressed interest to a certain CERN engineer who was advertising a studio in St. Genis for a reasonable price.  I visited, and told him immediately that I would take the apartment.  After informing me that there was one other competitor in the queue to visit the unit, he said that he would contact me at the beginning of the following week with information about applying for the apartment.  It was CLEAR that day that both myself and my rival would be applying, and that it would be up to the rental agency as to which of us got to start a lease.  Needless to say, I was skeptical…

By Tuesday of the next week, I had not heard from said engineer, so I wrote him a message:

Engineer,
Is there any news about the apartment?  Will I still be able to submit an application?
Regards
lovehurts

…no response…

Wednesday, Thursday…no response…

On Friday, I received this e-mail from my engineer-friend:

Dear lovehurts,
the studio is renting now
have a good day
best regards
P

(NB: This was NOT in response to my follow-up e-mail.  Nay, he sent this e-mail as a response to my initial message to him, in which I expressed interest in visiting the studio…)

In case that’s not clear to the readers, allow me to translate:

Dear lovehurts,

Hey asshole,

the studio is renting now

Fuck you!

have a good day

Fuck you again!

best regards

Do not ever speak to me or attempt to contact me again,

P

–The Engineer