The AlpTransit Tunnel

After visiting the castles in Bellinzona, we went to see the Alptransit Museum and to view ongoing work on the longest railway tunnel (57 kilometres) in the world.

Apparently, there is a longer automobile tunnel somewhere in Scandinavia. Moreover, the one in Scandinavia is actually finished. Initial plans for the Gotthard Base Tunnel were put forward in 1947. (I am not making this up.) Work began in 1962 and in 1992, the New Railway link was authorized. In 1998, work actually began. It is scheduled to be completed in 2015.

“Why the rush?” I asked the guide.

“It is a very important project,” he replied. “All heavy trucks will be loaded onto the trains going through the new tunnel. Pollution in the Alps will decrease and transit times will be far shorter. It will cut at least 90 minutes of transit time between northern and southern Europe.”

Unlike the bronze statues, I understood the engineering task involved. At some points the tunnel is 800 meters below the mountain top. There are several Tunnel Boring Machines (TBMs) at work. In the tunnel we visited, 10,000 tons of rocks are displaced every day. The fragments are put on a 3.2 kilometer conveyer belt running at 25 kph. Work proceeds 24 hours a day but amazingly, only about 35 people work inside the tunnel. (The TBM is the size of a small city.)

When we finished the tour, it occurred to Nazy that:

“We are very close to Mendrico, Dan.”

“Mendrico?”

“The designer shopping mall. I’m sure you remember.”

“Now I understand why you were so anxious to make this trip, my dear.” I replied as I turned the car south.

“I’ve already programmed Cleo, the on-board navigation computer, for directions.”

“Put it on quick key.”

While Nazy went shopping, I dialled into a work conference call. The weather cleared while we were in Mendrico because, as Nazy says: “It is always sunny in Ticino.”

The route back took us through the existing St. Gotthard automobile tunnel, a short 18 kilometer tube under the Alps. It was raining on the German side.

The photo at the top of this posting indicates that my wife read the previous post.

My wife does not approve

Nazy is aware that I am working in the Financial Sector, and hence have a lot of spare time. (“If your customer has no money, Dan, then you have a problem.”) She talked me into joining the American Women’s Club on an outing to Bellinzona.

Bellinzona is located in the Ticino (Italian) part of Switzerland. We left Zürich in the morning (on a clear day) and drove toward the St. Gotthard tunnel. Amazingly, it was raining on the Italian (normally sunny) side of the tunnel. Strategically located between German and Italian communities, Bellinzona is the site of several medieval castles. We chose to see….

“Castelo Grande, Dan.” Nazy explained. “There is a special exhibition of sculpture by Nag Arnoldi.”

“Nag?”

“Bronze sculptures, Dan. They are on display all over the castle grounds.”

The castle, it turned out, was really a fortress. According to the guide, it was built to keep the “Germans” (from the north) out of Italian-controlled areas. The Duke of Milan constructed the fortifications in the 12th and 13th century. The plan worked very well because:

“Although the Germans attacked many times,” the guide explained. “They were always repelled.”

“Really?” I asked. “Every time?”

“Every time for hundreds of years. The German army was not very organized.”

“Obviously this warfare took place a long time ago,” I thought.

Note: Nazy believes that the photograph my limitations as an artist. In particular, she has complained about the “unfortunate composition”. I am, of course, an engineer and, therefore, do not understand her point. (Besides, she is not named “Nag”.)

I have, nevertheless, included the photograph just to see if she is checking the blog.

The daily stroll

As if that wasn’t enough of British silliness, the sculptor selected to design a monument in the new St. Pancreas International Train Station, has created a work featuring a hapless commuter being pushed on the tracks in front a a train driven by the grim reaper. (I am not making this up.) The statue is going to be replaced because of protests from the train engineers: the grim reaper is not a union member. (I did make that up, but I think it's true.)

My reaction to these two, eh, artsy efforts make it clear that my engineering education did not cultivate the artistic, imaginative side of my being. Quite simply: “I don’t get it!”

Taxes, collages and sculptures aside, it has been a really beautiful autumn here in Zürich. Nazy, who has been taking a “daily stroll” through the city and surrounding forests for the last several months, convinced me to join her. We began…

“Nazy”!” I said looking ahead, eh, up. “This isn’t a stroll; this is a mountain-climbing expedition.”

“Those are stairs, Dan. Mountains do not have stairs.”

“Yeah, but there are a zillion stairs.” I shouted. (Nazy had sprinted ahead.)

“Enjoy the view,” Nazy shouted back.

“This reminds me of the Great Wall of China,” I thought as I trudged upward, ever upward.

“When it flattens out…” Nazy began.

“Oh, Thank God!” I thought.

“We can run.”

“You are already running.” I replied.

Financial Hubris

While we’re on the subject of finance, some claim that the bankers in “The City” (London’s Wall Street) created the meltdown because of hubris and greed. I usually reject ideas like these because I prefer a simpler explanation – stupidity. (In this case: awe-inspiring, colossal, impregnable and incomprehensible stupidity.) However, an article in the Sunday Times has necessitated reassessment. I quote from the first paragraph: “Vanity is not dead in The City. Financers are commissioning nude portraits of their wives made from collages of newspaper clippings telling the story of their own financial conquests.” And, in case you still don’t believe it, see the clipping above. (The "FT" is the Financial Times, the UK's Wall Street Journal)

To clinch the case: “In one commission, Darrit Moussaieff, the wife of the President of Iceland, was seated naked apart from a pair of gloves and a hat created from cuttings of bank notes.” Darius informs me that there are lots of useless banknotes in Iceland.

Nazy, reading the draft, observed that my financial conquests are insufficient to warrant a family commission.

“Were you considering….” I began.

“No!” Nazy ended.... "But, as former President of the American Women's Club, I have been in the news lately. Would you.."

"No."

Tax Time

Here in Zurich, autumn has arrived – and with it a very thick letter from our tax accountant.

“Tax time?” Nazy asked.

“Tax time!” I rasped – aghast.

American readers, aware that “tax day” is April 15, probably assume that I’m referring to Swiss taxes. That assumption would be wrong. According to PricewaterhouseCoopers (PwC), I have “very complicated” taxes. Therefore they always file for extensions. Nazy watched as a I perused the documents.

“My back’s to the wall. I may die.” I exclaimed – fear unmasked.

“I'll skip the mall. Please don’t cry.” Nazy complained – much too fast.

The American portion of our (astronomical) tax bill has increased by 600% in the past two years. Now it accounts for almost 40% of our total taxes. We are taxed twice! The only other country that treats its citizens this disgustingly is the Central African Republic.

PwC claims that anything I do to reduce my Swiss taxes will increaSe my American taxes. PwC is also risk averse – they actually filled out New York tax forms so that I could pay taxes for the time I spent in NYC business trips in 2007. Although I know they have a tough job – the strength of the Swiss Franc (or the weakness of the US$) not only makes it look like my salary has jumped(a constant salary in Francs would appear to increase by 65% in dollars from 2002 to 2007) it has also reduced the value of the foreign income exclusion. Naturally I complained:

“I have a huge amount of unusable tax credits.”

“Yes, but when you sell that house, you can apply the credit…”

“..which will increase my Swiss Taxes…”

“… provided the Alternative Minimum Income Tax doesn’t kick-in..”

“… as it always does. What can I proactively do to reduce my overall tax bill?”

“Many Americans are renouncing their citizenship.”

“Oh that’s a great idea. My family is in the USA and..”

“But, of course, you’d have to pay American taxes for 10 years after you gave up your citizenship.”

The Pumpkin Festival

It had been an exciting time, but that wasn't enough for us. It is Pumpkin Season in Switzerland. Moreover, Sunday was uncharacteristically warm and sunny. Accordingly, we drove to the annual Pumpkin festival in Seegraben. I used the heads-up navigation display in the new BMW. It projects information onto the windscreen so the driver doesn’t have to look down to navigate. Unfortunately, my Maui Jim (double polarized) sunglasses filter out the projection.


We have been to the festival many times, but the day was so spectacular that we could see the Alps and the foliage was beautiful. (Not quite as beautiful as New England, but really pretty.)

We had pumpkin soup and pumpkin cake. Nazy bought a pumpkin, several different kinds of squash, a few kilos of apples, pears and plums, some napkins, and a selection of flowers. (I think she was disappointed to discover that they didn’t have any underwear.)

Secrets

“When everything is collapsing, there’s only one thing to do," my wife, Nazy said.

“Panic?” I replied.

“No, no, no. Let’s drive to the museum in St. Gallen.”

“The museum?”

“That’s right. The textile museum is having a special show on lace.”

In truth, the special show, entitled “Secret: The Lure of Lingerie” was all about....

“Underwear, Nazy?” I asked. “We came for a show about underwear?”

“Lacy Lingerie, Dan. Lingerie through the ages. They have examples from 1890 until 2008.”

“Well, I said. “It is certainly a revealing exhibition.”

“St. Gallen is the home of Swiss lace, Dan.”

“Somehow, my dear, I don’t associate lacy lingerie with Switzerland.”

After the exhibit, eh, show, we strolled through the city and, somehow, ended up at the local Wofford shopping, eh, "stocking" emporium.

Banking in Iceland

The “economic climate” referred to by my dentist is undoubtedly stressed – economic assets are vanishing faster than the ice shelf in Antarctica. Naturally, I turned to Darius my son and the family expert on economics.

“You’re asking me, Dad?”

“You are the economist. You should know what to do in these troubled times.”

“My US bank account was with Washington Mutual.”

“Didn’t they go broke?”

“My Iceland bank account was with Glitnir.”

“Weren’t they taken over by the Icelandic government?”

“My salary is “paid” in Icelandic Kronur.”

“… and those are…”

“… worthless! The Kronur dropped 50% last week. The country is asking the IMF for assistance.”

“The IMF? I thought banana republics…”

“At least it’s better than Zimbabwe dollars.”

“Not much.” I replied.

“And it’s dark in Bifröst where I work – two hours North of Reykjavik.”

“I didn’t know anything was North of Reykjavik.”

It’s snowing…”

“Already?”

“Only when it’s not sleeting. The government warned people not to hoard. What do you think I should do, Dad?”

“Nice talking with you, Dar. Go to the grocery store. Stock up on necessities before the dastardly hoarders get everything.”

The Dentist

The Dentist

I spent all of last week at the dentist. (At least it seemed like all of last week.) My dental hygienist likes to talk while she’s grinding and scraping:

“I’m going to buy a helicopter, Dan. Do you know the best place to get helicopter lessons?”

“Hrumph!” I replied. “Probably Houston,” I thought.

“I think Los Angeles is best. Did you know that a helicopter is not much more expensive than a Ferrari?” Zarah reached for a nearby jack hammer.

“Arghh!” I replied. “A Ferrari?” I thought.

“By the way, did you eat before you came? You won’t be able to eat or drink for several hours after this is done.”

“What are you going to do if I say ‘no’?” I thought. “Is that a rip saw?”

“Do you know anyone who wants to buy a castle?”

“A castle?”

“Only 13,000,000 Francs.”

“If only I’d known. I bought one yesterday. What are doing with that chisel?”

“You can rinse out now.”

“No I can’t,” I thought. “My mouth is numb. The rinse dribbles out.”

“Do you think it makes sense to invest in thoroughbred race horses in this economic climate?”

“I wonder how much this treatment is going to cost.”

Who is Dan Martin

Dan Martin

A traditionalist, Dan Martin entered the world by birth. Following an eventful but not particularly exceptional childhood, he entered Georgia Tech with the objective of becoming a permanent student. He was on course as the longest serving graduate teaching assistant when he met his future wife. Attention focused, he convinced Georgia Tech to award him a Ph.D. and fulfilled a life-long dream by becoming a college professor. He had begun to assemble a suitable collection of grad students when economic reality in the form of a baby girl, caused him to abandon his “calling”. Brownian motion is the best descriptor for this subsequent career path.

Turning down a position at Federal Express (“no one will ever pay $6.95 to deliver a letter overnight.”), he managed a Research Center in Memphis for the Continental Grain Company and was surprised to discover that “you can’t make bread out of research”. The Grain Company shed non-core assets: Dan talked his wife and now larger family into relocating to Vancouver. Unfortunately, the RCMP was very interested in the new owners of “Dan’s” Research Center. Another move was mandated. Dan chose Houston just as world oil prices crashed. (“Ah, those were the days.”) Nimbly adjusting course (think pinball), he located a job in idyllic Hanover, New Hampshire.

However experiences in the Oil Business activated a latent “international” gene. After a short time, Dan located a position in The Netherlands. More impressively, he convinced his family to relocate: “just one more time”. While the family used the opportunity to see Europe and become comfortable expatriates, Dan buckled his swash with business trips through Asia, Australia, Latin America and Africa. Eventually America called. (The signal was amplified by the Dutch tax authorities.)

The family moved back to New England. The “baby girl” (and her siblings) entered colleges in Princeton, Syracuse and Santa Barbara. Dan, cured of any desire for instability, began working with the Digital Equipment Corporate – a respected fixture along Route 128. The fixture floundered when Compaq decided to purchase DEC. Dan quickly decided that a corporate (e.g. “overhead”) position was untenable. Prudence, and the fact that college tuition expenses were growing even faster than the dotcom bubble, dictated a move to the revenue-producing portion of the business.

Having constructed his career on the equivalent of the San Andreas Fault, Dan now knew that job stability was unlikely. He negotiated a return to Europe and convinced his wife that Zürich would be great. They arrived just as Hewlett-Packard acquired Compaq.

While his wife threw herself into the expatriate community, Dan was living in Zürich but working in Amsterdam, London, New York, Hong Kong, Mexico City and Frankfurt. HP didn’t like moving people, so Dan chose to “follow the money” by working with customers in the Financial Services Industry. He can categorically state that he had nothing whatsoever to do with the subprime debacle or the world economic meltdown.