Swiss Family Grass

After crossing the border we drove to the Dordogne region to see if we could locate the property where we would be staying for the next five months. The map the innkeepers had sent us contained many road markers, but no road names. The directions provided included turns based on road marks such as, “Look for the cemetery, then make a left at the yellow house.” Writing directions that contain, “Go past the house with the barking dog and make a left at the wood pile” are not uncommon here. We drove for what seemed like forever and never really found the place. But, we knew we were in the right area, and that their house was within a kilometer or so of where we had driven for hours in circles.

With all of the campgrounds in the surrounding areas closed for the season, we decided to go to Bordeaux. We had two nights before we were due to start our house-sitting stint and Bordeaux provided the opportunity to hit a large supermarket to stock up on supplies before returning to Chauffour. The travel time to Bordeaux is about an hour and a half from the Allemans (the village closest to the hamlet where we will be staying). We camped in a bustling suburb of Bordeaux, close to the National Wine Museum. It was at this campground that I got a taste of what it’s like to lack the language skills necessary to communicate a message. From the moment we pulled into the campground, a progression of language follies ensued. For the most part, Andy and I have been able to get by with a series of hand gestures and pointing to get our message across. For some reason I decided that I should attempt to communicate in the native tongue. I flipped through my trusty travel dictionary and wrote what appeared to me to be a perfectly coherent paragraph. I handed it to the manager of the campground, he read it, and looked at me quizzically. When I realized that he did not understand what I had written, I tried to bow out gracefully. But, true to the friendly French form, he took me around the campground to each occupied site and handed my indecipherable note to each camper. Most got the gist of what the note said, but lost in the translation was the true intent. Basically, instead of communicating an appreciation for an earlier recommendation the manager had provided, I was expressing my need to go to the recommended place. What little English was spoken by fellow campers led to statements such as, “We can drive you. We go in the morning, yes?” What a mess I had made. There was no way to back out gracefully, and my level of frustration grew with each passing minute. So here I was in France, a country I would be living in for the next five months, unable to do what I most accustomed to doing…talking. I instantly grew shy of encounters, and walked with my head down to avoid any possible interactions. It was obvious we would need to look into French lessons.

For the next 24 hours I immersed myself in a book Andy had in our small traveling literary collection. From the moment I picked up the novel, I was completely engrossed. The name of the book is Kite Runner, and I highly recommend it to anyone looking for a good read. My introverted demeanor changed on the second day, when we met an Australian couple camping next to us. We shared drinks in the evening at our campsite and swapped road stories.

The following day as we were preparing to leave for Chauffour Andy met a young British fellow who is biking his way across Europe and Africa. He is traveling with a small tent and single burner stove. Hearing about his itinerary made me envy his ability to throw discretion to the wind and travel anywhere his heart delighted. But, the more experienced side of me was glad those days of not knowing the next stop were long gone. The luxuries of heat and the convenience of a refrigerator that our home on wheels supply is a welcome ‘mainstay’ of our life on the road.

We went to a Carrefour Super Center (a giant Wal-Mart like store) and stocked up on enough goods to last us for the first week or so of our stay. Then, we drove to Chauffour, feeling anxious the whole way. Would they like us? Would we like them? Would Petey get along with the cats? Would we be bored out of our minds for the next five months? Only time would tell.

With our eyes heavily concentrating on the map of icons they had provided, this time we were able to find the place. We drove down a gently rolling hill, past two farms with cows grazing the deep green pastures, and an older woman plowing a garden vegetable patch. We turned at a bend in the road and saw a gate with a sign hanging that read ‘Chauffour Gites’. We had arrived. Massimo came quickly from behind the gate, said hello, and immediately began asking about our van. After a few moments discussing our vehicle he led us into the property. There, his wife Tracy met us and we began an hour long tour of the houses on the property. Next, Tracy said that they would leave us to settle in, and that we could meet them that evening for drinks at their place.

It was during our evening drinks and appetizers (margaritas and goat cheese melted on crostini) that we found out that they would be leaving the next day. It seemed we would be on our own rather quickly, and Andy and I spent the night coming up with a list of questions for the innkeepers to answer before their departure. Early the next morning we met again for a few last instructions and before we knew it, we were waving goodbye to the innkeepers from their own driveway.

For the first two days we occupied our time walking and biking the local area, and investigating every last nook and cranny of the houses.

We attempted to bond with the cats (at feeding time of course) and enjoyed the unusually warm weather. The sky was bright and sunny and the 80 degree temperature made Chauffour feel like the Indian summer we’re accustomed to in October at home.

We obtained the number of a local French language teacher from a poster hanging at the St. Severin Pharmacy and made arrangements to begin lessons that same week. We had a private lesson with our instructor on a Thursday, and on Tuesday we joined the class for a weekly two hour lesson. All of the students in the class are British, as is the instructor. It seems that 95% of the properties being sold in this area are purchased by British individuals. So, chances are you have an equal likelihood of encountering French people as British folks when out for a day in the village.

By day three we were itching to do some real exploring. We went to the small village of Aubeterre, perched on white stone high above the valley floor. We walked the tiny cobblestone streets and admired the window displays of the numerous art galleries lining the town’s main square. The air was crisp, and we sat on a bench overlooking the town to absorb the suns rays to warm our bodies.

At our next French lesson we had a ‘the world is ending’ scare. Our lessons are most civilized, breaking for tea and biscuits at the half-way point. During the break, we were socializing with classmates when we heard an approaching noise. The noise grew louder and louder as whatever it was drew closer. From all my years of attending California schools and participating in earthquake drills, my first inclination was to dive under the table. I resisted the urge and followed suit with my classmates. Andy and I locked eyes as the rumbling shook the house and thundered past. Our classmates must have seen the terror in our eyes and went on to explain that the French military conduct flying exercises in the valley. Andy told them that he thought we were being bombed. I sat, my mouth agape. As many times as I have been at the Oakland Coliseum attending an A’s game where the Blue Angels flyover, I have never heard a sound so loud. We literally thought France was being invaded. It was this encounter that made me realize how valuable having contacts is when staying abroad. Our instructor and the people attending French lessons with us have a wealth of knowledge about the area that is invaluable to those new to the area.

Over the next few visits with our French teacher, we learned more about the area. First, I found out that the large centipede looking insect I saw at the innkeeper’s house one night while on the computer is indeed as threatening as it looks. Apparently, they are a nocturnal bug that likes to hide in toilet paper spools and other dark places. The bite from one of these insects is painful and contains venom that leads to a flesh eating wound. Felicity, our instructor told us to, “Kill them on the spot!” Needless to say, I check under the covers every night before entering the bed. Yet, according to our instructor’s son, the insect only bites when provoked. Yeah…right. You know my luck.

Next, we learned that the gunshots we hear daily in the morning are from local hunters. Now of course we had assumed that the shots we heard being fired were from hunters, but little did we know that the hunters have the right to wander onto your land when chasing prey, without a property owner’s permission. So, we’re careful to accompany Petey when he’s out in the yard. We wouldn’t want him being confused for ‘prey’. A morning walk can prove challenging too, as you must be aware of what field in your walking path contains hunters. We are at the beginning of hunting season now, so we have been told that the morning shots will die down sometime mid-winter. For now, the shots fired work as a smashing alarm clock!

Our next area lesson was accompanied by a stern warning. Andy saw a mouse in the kitchen and we asked Felicity about how do deal with a field mouse that had gotten into the house. She told us that we could buy humane traps or the ‘snap your neck’ kind. She went on to say that it didn’t matter what type of trap you used, but that you must be diligent and tackle the problem head on. “Mice multiply like mad”, she said. So, we purchased a humane trap and decided we were going to catch the creature that Andy had referred to as ‘pet like’. That was ten days ago. So far, we have caught ten mice. That’s right, ten mice. It appears our cute little friend has a whole family interested in the sweet little cake we leave for bait. According to the locals cheese never works, cake or bread is best. Andy thinks that we may have reappearing offenders, so he has taken to spray painting the little guy’s tails red to identify any repeat customers. Oh, the joys of country life.

With an eventful first week and a half of ‘Green Acres’ living under our belts, we decided it was time to get out and meet the locals. Felicity recommended that we try to immerse ourselves in local culture and head to a pub. Well, I don’t drink much (if at all), but I understood the intent of her message; if you want to learn French, you need to meet French speaking folks. She set us up with her son Ian (who is Andy’s age). He accompanied us to two local pubs where, surprise surprise…we ending up chatting with the locals…a bunch of expatriates from Britain. We did not practice our limited French as planned, and to make matters worse, everybody here smokes. So there we were, sitting in a French bar gasping for air in the smoke filled lounge, listening to Ian’s brother Hemish go on and on about how much he despises America. The picture I had painted in my head of sitting at a café or bar with a smile on my face and a scarf around my neck, sipping a cappuccino and engaging in witty banter with a local evaporated. Andy and I vowed not to repeat the same mistake and visit another bar heavy with smoke laden air, but our curiosity got the best of us and we tried again the next week. This time, we ventured to Riberac and hit a lively local bar. While we enjoyed spending time getting to know Ian, Andy and I decided we could no longer frequent these establishments (if not for the health risks alone), and that we were better suited to entertain at home.

We went to town today and found a local video store that rents DVD’s. We signed up for a discounted package and browsed the store looking for movies in English. The selection is somewhat limited, but we were willing to forgo the new releases to find some cinema entertainment to pass the chilly nights. The local movie theatre plays only French movies, so until we have a bit more of the French language mastered we won’t be going out for a night of theater. Renting DVD’s is a pastime we are quite familiar with. At home, we had a Netflix subscription and not a month would go by where Andy and I hadn’t screened at least ten to fifteen films. Somehow, the membership at the local video store makes this place in France feel like home. I guess we’re creatures of habit…

We left Luzern and headed to Lausanne to begin to acclimate ourselves with the French way of life, as we would be leaving for our winter stay in France very soon. The drive to Lausanne from Luzern has too many tunnels to count and the extensive length of the tunnels makes one think that Switzerland may also have underground communities in addition to the above ground ones. When you enter a tunnel such as the St. Gottard, you begin to have a true appreciation for how difficult it once was to manage travel throughout this mountainous place, not to mention the shear engineering feat of carving the tunnels into the mountains. Once we dropped from the narrow pass we’d climbed to reach the Canton Vaud, it was apparent why the area is so popular with tourists and the Swiss alike. Lausanne is a lovely city nestled between rolling hillsides of vineyards.

We again camped by a lake (a constant running theme when camping in Switzerland), and were pleased to be one of very few campers at the place. Day one brought another trip to the store. This time we were well equipped, and were even able to use the parking dial that Heidi had given us the day we left. In Switzerland, meters are rare and most cities and towns use an honour system for parking time limits. One need only purchase a small blue card that contains a dial and is marked with the parking icon. You simply set the dial to the time you parked and the dial tells you at what time you must return to your car. With the permit, parking in blue spaces is free.

On our second day in Lausanne it rained and rained and rained. It poured for twelve hours straight and we awoke to a tent full of rain. We usually set up our commissary in a screen room outside the van, and the rain had drenched the tent and all of it’s’ contents. Andy spent the next few days devising ways to structure the tent so that the rain would not get in.

In the afternoon the skies cleared and we went for a ride through old town and toward the southern end of the lake. We began to notice people walking by with distinct reed mesh bags attached to their backs and went on a quest to find where the bags were coming from. Our walk led us to the registration tents for the Lausanne Marathon. We watched as news crews set up the press stands and teams of workers constructed the finish line, complete with a huge stopwatch. It will probably be the only time in my life that I cross the finish line of a marathon, so I glided through without breaking a sweat. Actually, I’ve always fantasized about running in a marathon. The discipline of training, the stamina required, and the satisfaction of completing in the event has all entered my thoughts at one time or another. But, I never had the drive. I left the marathon finish line no more inspired than I had been before we stumbled on the event preparations. I guess it’s a goal that will have to wait for its time…or maybe I am forever limited to being a spectator. Only time will tell.

We took a drive the next day to two museums that peaked our interest when we read about them in the tour guides. First, we drove to the Art Brut Museum. The museum houses one man’s collection of works collected throughout the 20th century and contains art from criminals and the mentally disturbed. The art work is interesting and the design of the museum building only enhances the experience. Most striking is the similarity between pieces done by an individual artist. Works often repeated patterns from piece to piece and one couldn’t help but think that the constant isolation suffered by many of the incarcerated artists led to the repetitive nature of their works. The specific ailment or crime committed by the artist is listed in a short biography that accompanies each piece, and the stories are often as interesting if not more interesting than the pieces themselves.

From the criminal art museum we drove to Vevy to visit the Food Museum. Nestle, which has been headquartered in Vevey for many years opened a museum in the former corporate headquarters, a beautiful early 1900’s mansion located on Lake Geneva.

The museum traces the history of food consumption around the globe and uses hundreds of interactive exhibits to teach museum goers about the nutritional value, production methods, and preparation of food. There are also cooking demonstrations scheduled throughout the day where you can follow along with Nestle chefs and create edible museum souvenirs. Andy and I enjoyed looking at displays that featured ‘dinnertime around the globe’ and an exhibit that dispensed mint sized tablets that you consumed and then tried to guess the flavor or taste. You could even sample flavored waters dispensed form a toy like machine that kept you guessing as to what had been added to the water to give it its taste. I think broccoli was one of the flavors. The interactive exhibits kept you guessing, and I realized just how ‘unfinely’ tuned our taste buds actually are. Travelling through the food museum feels a lot like being in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, fun for all ages. Oh, and yes…they do have a chocolate dispensing exhibit. You had to try to guess the texture of each mini bar dispensed. Needless to say, I mastered that test!

Halloween was fast approaching and we noticed American style decorations in many of the local shops. We met a young Swiss couple at the campground that had a carved pumpkin illuminating their campsite. Probably one of the best jack-o-lanterns I have ever seen. They were eager to talk about the holiday with us and practice their English too.

The following day, we decided to leave Lausanne and drive to the border. We were concerned that the border crossing may pose difficulties for us, as legally we can stay in France only three months without a visa. We planned to be in France for five months, so we were hoping that the borders were ‘open’ as we had been told by many friends and the innkeepers of the property where we will be house-sitting. At the last exit before the border we decided to exit to fill our gas tank (we heard that gas was far cheaper in Switzerland than France) and a few right turns, and suddenly we were in France. We passed through an unmanned check station (so inconspicuous that you wouldn’t know what it was unless you were purposely looking for it) and I said to Andy, “I think we are in France.” He said, “No we’re not.” But, as I drove on, he soon came around to the realisation I had as soon as we had passed through the arches of the closed guard house…we were in France. So, a simple detour for cheap gas resulted in an undetected border crossing for us…what a bonus! It took a few hours to find the autobahn again, and soon we were on our way to Bordeaux to spend a few days camping there before we were due in Chauffour to start our housekeeping stint.

We left Tenero just as the weather began to change. We drove north to Luzern and camped along the lake at Campground Lido. Luzern was chilly and overcast, but nothing could diminish the beauty of the city. We walked the old city, stopping for hot chocolate to warm our bones. The architecture and character of Luzern are a perfect blending of old world charm and big city personality.

During our stay we visited the Transportation Museum, which warrants an entire afternoon. We walked along the lake, and ventured into town on bicycle to take in local culture.

On our last day we visited Alice’s cousin Hans and his wife Ann, who live just outside Luzern. Hans once worked as a guard at the Vatican, so he has many interesting stories to share. He doesn’t speak English, but his wife Ann does, and she was more than happy to attempt the translation. We had a wonderful time at their home. They had invited us for lunch, and what was supposed to be a simple lunch date turned into an all day affair. When they found out that I knew how to play the Swiss card game ‘Jass’, three spirited rallies ensued. We stayed so long that Ann made us dinner and then later sent us on our way with a care package of goodies. They are most generous people, and they kept us laughing all day with their quips.

We left Uetliburg bright and early the next morning bound for the Ticine region of Switzerland. We drove for a few hours on the autobahn (after picking up a permit of course!), and found our way to Locarno. Southern Switzerland has warmer weather and is considered a Swiss Riviera of sorts. The weather was mild and the sky dotted with clouds.

Before checking in at the campground we stopped at a Migros (a large supermarket chain) to pick up supplies for the week. Shopping at grocery stores in Europe is quite different than in the states. First, you must always remember to carry a franc or two to leave as a deposit for the shopping cart. If you don’t have the proper change you’re stuck with a hand held basket, which can make a large shopping trip quite tedious. Next, you have to remember to bring your own bags. Bags cost money here, so recycling is a must. If you forget you bags (which we did the first few times), you end up putting all of your groceries back into the cart after they have been scanned, and then packing them loosely into your car. It’s a real hassle. Finally, I’ve made the mistake of being caught day dreaming as I stand at the checkout stand watching as the clerk scans all the items. In Europe, you are responsible for bagging your own groceries. So you better stay on top of the pile from the second the clerk begins. Otherwise, other customers in line can become impatient as you quickly try to shuttle all of your items from the belt to your cart. There’s a learning curve here, and I’ve been a little slow on the uptake.

The campground we stayed in was in Tenero, a five-minute bike ride from Locarno. Campgrounds in Switzerland are clean and usually come with amenities. The campground we stayed at had a lovely lakeside swimming pool, restaurant, and bar. The facilities look like upscale trailer parks, with grassy lots for each tenant and communal dish cleaning areas, showers, and a laundry room. The resort like atmosphere comes with a price. At most campgrounds in Switzerland you pay a fee for the site, each adult, your dog, and power (sometimes billed by the hour). Total cost, forty plus dollars a night! Not cheap, considering you can still camp in the states for about fifteen dollars per night.

We set up camp and then decided to try to connect the van to the outlet box. BAD IDEA! I was in the van and heard a loud popping sound. I called out to Andy a few times, and when I heard no response I quickly headed outside. Andy said that the power converter he had purchased in the states had not worked, and that a breaker had tripped. He said that he would make sure the converter worked by using the converter with our hair dryer in the restroom. Five minutes later Andy returned to the campsite with a blackened hand and a story of flames shooting out of the wall. So, the power problem was solved…we would have no power. Luckily, our van has two marine batteries, so we can power the appliances for two days without having to start the car to recharge them.

The following day we went for a bike ride around the lake. It was a beautiful, warm day. Andy stopped for a kabob from a street vendor and was delighted with the flavour. We walked around town searching for an internet café, and I ducked into a newsstand to pick up a Sinalco (a bubbly orange drink like Fanta, only less sweet) and a pack of my favorite Swiss chocolate wafer cookies.

At the internet café we did some research on power transformers and checked our e-mail. Then, we telephoned a family friend and Andy’s relatives to make arrangements for our upcoming visit to Luzern

Back at the campsite we met our neighbors who asked if we always drove with our bikes attached to the front of our van. When we responded in the affirmative, the man looked amused, while the woman looked horrified. She insisted on calling a police friend of hers to verify the legality of driving with bikes attached to the front of a vehicle. We received from our neighbor the news we had been expecting. It is illegal to drive with bikes attached to the front of your car, and the penalty if caught is five hundred Swiss francs. Pretty steep penalty if you ask me. The man gave us advice we had heard from others before…play dumb. The woman, on the other hand, gave us her number should we “need any help during our stay.”

One of the benefits to exploring a country as small as Switzerland is that the drive time or train ride between destinations is relatively short. You can cross the entire country in a few hours drive time, and many of the ‘must see’ destinations are close to each other.

With another of Heidi’s excellent breakfasts in our bellies, we departed for a day of sightseeing.

First stop was Liechtenstein. As one of the smallest countries on earth, Liechtenstein’s main draw is the castle belonging to the royal family. Frankly, I was expecting more. First of all, you cannot go into the castle. Second, major renovations are currently being done on the exterior, so the view isn’t quite what one would expect. For a quick stop off the autobahn, the visit to the castle is a five-minute detour, max!

With a simple entry onto the freeway we were once again travelling in Switzerland, and we headed to St. Gallen to find the restaurant of a Swiss friend of Dad’s named Markus. Markus runs several establishments in Switzerland. He has a few bars, social clubs, dance clubs, and restaurants scattered throughout Switzerland. We decided to try the restaurant US MEX, to see how Mexican food fared in Switzerland. At first, we were unable to locate the restaurant. But, it didn’t take us long to find the place. A quick stop of a young pedestrian on the street provided directions to the correct street. With a point of finger, we were on our way.

When we arrived, there was a handful of guests dining on Mexican fare and having what appeared to be a relaxing late lunch. We asked if Markus was in and the waitress replied that he was not. Less than five minutes later, Markus came trotting down the stairs. Markus passed us initially, then did a double take and swung around to our table. He said, “I just sent you an e-mail.” Next, he asked us if we ordered, motioned to the wait staff that we would all be dining in the back room, and waved us back to a large, well-lit dining room.

We passed the afternoon with conversation of politics, the price of gas, smoking bans in Europe, and more politics. Markus gave us a few protocol pointers, and sent us on our way with full stomachs and for me, a yearning to spend time with others willing to break social taboos and talk about the ‘not so easy subjects’. I’ve always thought politics and religion could be discussed frankly. I have never seen the need for avoiding subjects that may lead to debate. I guess I’ve always felt that if you are willing to engage in conversation about “sensitive” subjects, then at the very least you are a critical thinker, able to argue your point while attempting to have a grasp on your counters’ philosophy.

Out time with Markus passed quickly, and we left to return to Uetliburg for dinner with Heidi and her family. As we drove out of St. Gallen, Markus had a good laugh as he watched us drive the wrong way down a one-way street.

When we returned to Heidi’s house, a phone call from the shipping agency informed us that our van would arrive tomorrow. We made arrangements for the shipper to pick us up at the train station in Basel and drive us to the shipping yard.

The following morning we had breakfast with the ladies; Ruth (Heidi’s sister), Alice (their mother), and Heidi.

Next, Heidi drove us to the train station for the two and one half hour ride to Basel. Petey stayed behind with his new best friend Heidi, known to Petey as “the lady who gives me yummy wet cat food”.

The train ride to Basel was picturesque. We travelled along Lake Zurich before turning toward our destination. For the most part, the occasional town broke up cows and countryside. One of the most striking developments along the ride was a massive nuclear reactor. The reactor looked as if it had been dropped from the sky, with no method to determining the location of its’ resting place. Now, I’m not saying that nuclear reactors look normal anywhere, but this particular reactor rose from the ground of idyllic little Switzerland, smack dab in the center of a village. Not far out in the country, or in a deserted mountainous region, as one would assume. Instead, the reactor looked like a prop from a toy train set, resting near the tracks with a quaint village on the ground, dwarfed by its’ massive shadows. A gentle, (or not so gentle) reminder that the globe continues to be dependent on nuclear power.

We were met at the station by the shipper, a French man who drove us a total of 50 yards to the storage facility where the van had been unloaded. It took us about an hour to complete and inventory and re-pack items that had been stored inside the van for shipment. The shipping agent told us to remember to purchase an autobahn permit (or play stupid if we were pulled over by the police). Then, he looked at Andy strapping our bikes to the front of the van and asked if we planned to drive with the bikes on the front. We replied yes, and he mentioned that he thought it was illegal to drive with bikes loaded on the front. His advice for us? Same as before…play stupid. With those parting words, we were on our way.

Little did we know, that little comment would start what would become weeks of people telling us the same thing. First, as we drove through Zurich on the way back to Heidi’s, random pedestrians on the streets suffered from whiplash as they swung their heads around to look at a van with bikes strapped to the front. Some even shook their heads in disgust or made a face of complete surprise. Our laughter at our current predicament (do we try to find another bike rack to purchase or keep driving with the bikes strapped to the front) was only broken up by the sudden appearance of a number of Hassidic Jews. There were Jews walking the streets everywhere. And, just as quickly as it began, it stopped. It was hard for me to believe we had just stumbled on a Jewish neighbourhood in Switzerland, but my surprise was short lived as they had gone as quickly as they had come. It was like we had travelled into some type of time warp, a wrinkle of time and space that lasted only for an instant. We were brought back from our moment of perplexing people watching when we were waiting at a red light and saw a strip club on the street named ‘PASCHA’s”. The club had a peek-a-boo, complete with the customary sultry red-lit window. We laughed and tried to grab a picture before the light turned green. It’s a rare occasion when you find an establishment bearing the name of my sister. And if you do, the name is usually spelled differently.

We drove on the autobahn back to Heidi’s, with me praying that we would not get a ticket for lack of the freeway permit. When we pulled into Heidi’s driveway, she looked over her balcony and stared at the bikes. The first thing she said to us was, “You drive with the bikes on the front like that?” With a shrug of the shoulders we said, “That’s the way we do it at home.”

We had a farewell dinner with Heidi and her family, and dusk was marked with one last beautiful sunset. If I ever move to Switzerland, it will be to Uetliburg.