Switzerland: My diet of cheese, soup, bread, chocolate and pasta

I am frugal and fairly cheap. Unfortunately for me, Geneva is the 4th most expensive city in the world. Here is an account first trip to the grocery store: $9 a pound for nectarines? Oh hell no. $8.20 for a box of cereal? Never. $8.60 for a frozen meal? Daaang. $9 for a pack of coffee? Not gonna do it.
I searched the grocery store for food that was reasonably priced. Here is the complete list of what I found: $1.50 for a loaf of bread? Sold. $3.00 for pasta? Hell yeah. $3.50 for cheese? Delicious. $2.50 for chocolate? MMmmm.

My second trip to the grocery store went a little bit better. I discovered the “budget” brand always wrapped in a deep green label with white stripes and always located on the bottom shelf. My shopping cart looked like a forest of deep green when I went to check out. I’m proud of the fact that I looked like a true Geneva budget shopper.

Thankfully, at the WHO food is not outrageously expensive. You can get coffee for $2.40. After a week of trial and error I found the perfect lunch. First I tried to get the salad bar and a bowl of soup ($8). This was too expensive for lunch everyday. I then just tried to get the salad bar ($6). I could still do better. Now I just get a bowl of soup ($2.20). The WHO gives you free bread for lunch. (I don’t want to be super tacky, so I often take just 2-3 pieces but then come back to the free bread table for seconds.) They also have free dressing, olive oil, parmesan cheese, spicy sauce and water. I buy some soup, get free water and bread and then use the above ingredients to make a delicious dip for my bread. My complete lunch is filling, satisfying and only $2.20. Oh, hellz yeah. Swiss Liz= Budget Liz.

Switzerland: "I'll see you in Hell"

Dave leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Don’t mess up, Liz… I’ll see you in Hell.” I squealed like a pig heading to the slaughterhouse as he threw our bodies off an airplane that was 13,000 feet above ground. The Swiss Alps and two lakes glistened below us. We accelerated quickly to reach our terminal velocity to experience a free fall of 50 seconds. I remember swearing like a pirate in my mind during those 50 seconds. “Holy mother fucker, the parachute better open. Damn, it’s cold and my ears hurt. Holy shit, this view is unreal.” I also remember my mind being blank while a huge grin was plastered on my face.

After 50 seconds, the parachute indeed opened. I gasped for air and thanked Dave profusely for not killing me. He, again, leaned in and stated, “We haven’t landed yet.” It was true. But I giggled, high from adrenaline, and responded, “Oh, Dave.” We were still very far from ground but I oddly felt as peaceful and relaxed as I would have been reading a book in a hammock on a Jamaican beach. We spent 12 minutes parachuting towards earth. I finally had time to take in the view and enjoy soaring high up in the sky.

The best 15 minutes of my life, and Dave probably doesn’t even remember my name.

Because my Mom is reading this blog (Hi Mom!) I’d like to end this entry by stating a dangerous extreme sport that I did not participate in. I decided it was too dangerous and used my mature, rational thought process to decide the risks outweighed the benefits. I did not partake in the sport Zorbing. When one Zorbs, he/ she is placed in a giant see-through ball. A neck brace is put on the participant in order to prevent the participant from being paralyzed. The ball is then thrown down a mountain.