Swiss Family and Friends…
We spent the night before meeting Meaghan and her boyfriend Stephen in the Porto Municipal campground. Truly an interesting place, the campground while in the suburbs just outside of the city center, has character like no other site we have been to. The campground is a walled piece of land that appears to have been an old park. Tall trees and green mossy plants fill the place, and a cobblestone street divides the site into two. If you follow the long narrow road to it’s’ end, you will find a place reminiscent of the fantasy lands one who grew up reading fairytales would picture.
At the end of the road, large looming gates are permanently affixed open, with weeds and vines growing at the base. The two enormous wrought iron gate doors are attached to a tall moss covered stone wall, complete with huge stone pedestaled vases sitting atop the wall. An abandoned ‘Hansel and Gretel’ style cottage lies just to the left of the gate, while directly in front of you a giant single ‘Rapunzel’ castle tower rests on an island surrounded by a moat like miniature pond. Take the dusty dirt path to the right and you come to a small bridge that offers a view into a tiny grotto where a small faded fountain fed by a babbling creek feeds water to the little pond. It takes less than three minutes to walk around the lake, but the stroll usually lasts much longer, as one makes stops to peer into each window of the tower trying to catch a glimpse of a character from a fairytale storybook. At night the tower is illuminated and through the small rounded doorway you can see small stone steps winding their way up the tower. There are other distractions too. Steps leading down from the path across the pond lead to a detailed statue of a pointing women being enveloped by a giant fish. Her pointing finger draws your view toward her extended hand. She is pointing nowhere in particular, but one can imagine that hundreds of years ago she was pointing to something…something of importance. Continue along the pond side path and ducks begin to follow your steps, eager for crumbs from a day old baguette. Both days we were at the campground I visited the pond and watched as ducks and frisky fish raced to reach the thrown bread first.
While I have provided a somewhat idyllic perspective of the park, it should be noted that Andy felt it had more of a haunted feel, not unlike the ‘Headless Horseman’ story.
In the afternoon we took the city bus to the center of Porto and strolled the main drag working our way toward the determined meeting point. We were supposed to meet Meaghan and Stephen by a metro station entrance. Imagine our surprise when we bumped into the couple while stopping to read the menu of a restaurant. As it turned out, their hotel sat atop the restaurant, and they were on their way to meet us when the chance encounter took place.
After we exchanged pleasantries and the wonder of arranging a meeting in a foreign destination, we walked to a small café and ordered drinks. We exchanged stories of our adventures and time passed quickly. Meaghan and Stephen had just completed a segment of the Santiago de Compostela trail, passing through Spain and Portugal during their travels. After an afternoon spent relaxing at their hotel, they recited with rich detail their journey, complete with visuals; Stephen’s blistered feet proved his ardor for finishing the trail.
After drinks we walked through Porto, enchanted by the steep streets and narrow alleyways of the Ribeira area. We decided to have dinner at a waterfront restaurant.
Unbeknown to us the evening meal came with entertainment. First, an accordion player stopped at our table. His loud accordion playing and gapped tooth smile a welcome example of local culture. That is, until the accordion playing made table conversation impossible. A quick passing of a euro to the entertainer guaranteed his move to another spot. Next came the main event. Our dinner conversation quickly stalled when a woman chasing a man up the street attracted everyone’s attention. From a café two doors down the woman had come bursting out the door after a tourist and his wife and two others. The resulting melee happened not twenty feet from our table. First, the shop owner began screaming in Portuguese at the male tourist, a waif like man decked out in easy to discern tourist garb (dockers pants, checkered shirt, backpack and camera around his neck). After what seemed an eternity of shouting, the woman removed a stacked heal shoe and hurled it at the tourist. Then, she charged the man and began slapping him on the back of the neck. At this point, the mans’ wife and friends joined the altercation and the shopkeeper turned her anger on the wife, grabbing her hair from behind and violently shaking the woman’s head back and forth in a whiplash style movement. The entire debacle played out in slow motion, with stunned onlookers at a loss for how to break up the dispute. I can best describe the fight as reminiscent of a Peanuts cartoon, where a swirling of dust engulfs the frame, with only a few legs and arms peeking out as a clue to the scuffle ensuing inside. After a few more shouted insults and kicks from the shopkeeper, the locals began to restrain the woman and the tourists hurried along the promenade. From a safe distance one of the tourists yelled back, “If this is how you treat tourists…”, her voice trailing off as she rushed away.
Needless to say, our conversation post altercation speculated in great detail what had led to the fight. Some felt the man had said something lascivious to the shopkeeper, others believed the woman was insulted by the lack of a tip after a meal. But, our waiter seemed to sum it up best, “She’s crazy.” We continued talking about the events that had just played out before our eyes until the dusk filled sky turned our thoughts toward the dozens of neon lights filling the hillside across the river. Porto, the world’s premiere port producer is home to some 48 port houses, and each maintains offices across the river in Vila Nova de Gaia. As the sun sets, the river is illuminated by the many neon signs beckoning tourists across the river to sample port in the tasting rooms of each house.
After walking the winding, hilly streets back to the center of town, we bid farewell to Meaghan and Stephen, and to Portugal, as this was to be our last evening in the country that had been our home for the last month.
The next morning we decided to bang out as much distance as we possibly could. Looking at the wall mounted calendar in our van always reminds us just how short our traveling time truly is. We’ll be back in the states by November, with plans to see at least eight more countries in the remaining four months on the road. Our drive got us as far as San Sebastian, with a quick detour in Bilbao to see the Guggenheim Museum.
Bilbao is a magical city, where café culture is the dominant pastime. Shops line the compact streets and people watching is surpassed only by admiring local architecture. It truly is a wonderful city to explore by foot, and I plan to return someday to spend some quality time soaking up the local flavor. One would need a week at least, and our tight schedule did not permit the stopover this time around.
In San Sebastian we took one day to recuperate from the road and one day to wander the rich sun soaked Riviera of the Basque region of Spain. In general, we were amazed and delighted at the sheer beauty of the Basque area. Andy commented that the Basque countryside reminded him of Switzerland, and I remarked that the seaside resort style of San Sebastian reminded me of Cannes, only better. Tapas bars fill the streets, literally paving ones way to gastronomical delight, and locals and tourists soak up street entertainers while sampling refreshing glace from a cone. We walked along the beachside promenade and watched as hundreds basked in the sun and cooled off in the sea. The atmosphere is lively and infectious and only our worn out feet signaled that it was time to return to the campground for some rest.
From San Sebastian we drove to Avignon, France to visit an area explored by my father and recommended highly to us. The campground sits at the Rhone rivers’ edge on an island across from the city and affords amazing views of Avignon, the city of popes. At night the city lights up, with the Palais des Papes the main attraction.
The medieval city is a mixture of historical venues blended with cosmopolitan life. We strolled the streets looking for Provencal gifts to bring to family and friends we planned to visit in Switzerland. We wound up buying the bulk of the presents in a store manned by the daughter of a Provence pattern designer. When she found out that we were American she asked us if we were familiar with the television show Friends. When we responded in the affirmative she produced a news clipping from a Friend’s episode where one of her father’s designs was featured on a tablecloth used by the character Monica to decorate her kitchen table. It was refreshing to see a young person take such interest in her family’s trade, and I could feel her pride in relaying the story to us. We left the store with two bags of housewarming gifts in tow and rode our bicycles back over the bridge to the campsite.
The following day we drove from Avignon toward Annecy and as we headed toward the Swiss border we began to worry about making the border crossing with the bikes mounted to the front of the van. We made several stops, one at a bike shop, another at an auto parts store, ending at an rv dealer. All of course reminded us that driving in Europe with bikes on the front of the vehicle is illegal. Yet, none could provide us with a rack that would mount easily to our American rig. So, we checked into a campground perched high above lake Annecy and Andy began to customize our bike rack to fit the bikes on the back of the van. Needless to say I began to worry when he borrowed a drill from our United Kingdom neighbor, but his efforts paid off when at last, late in the afternoon he had mounted the bicycles to our rack now permanently affixed to the rear of the vehicle.
The following day we set out to explore Annecy. Annecy is a lovely French lakeside town encircled by stately mountains and intersected by canals. Hikers flock to the town for spectacular hillside trails and amazing lake views. During our visit we watched as hundreds of parasailers drifted through the baby blue sky to a landing spot situated at the lakes edge. With the mountains as a backdrop their descent was both dramatic and daring.
We dined by the canal and were glad the scenery was inviting , because the food was not.
If we do spend money to go out to eat, we usually are very selective of the places where we dine. In this case, a first pass by provided glimpses of ample dishes bursting with color, and one assumed flavor too. Instead, after ordering what arrived at our table was a leathery old shoe heal (Andy’s steak) and a runny potato dish (my regional tartlette selection). A four dollar small soda and one incredibly priced beer later we were regretting our choice to eat out. And, to make matters worse we now knew we were inching closer to the Swiss border, as evidenced by the skyrocketing price of food. Our spirits were further dampened when we set our eyes on the steep (and I do mean steep) hill we had to climb back to the campground. With a creamy potato tart lining my full stomach, a wave of nausea came over me as we trekked up the incline. At first I thought I had food poisoning. Later I realized that my body was working overtime to digest the rich meal and propel my muscles and bones up the hill all at the same time.
Back at the campground a family stopped by to ask about our van. The family, a father, mother and daughter are from Canada and are on a two week road trip through France and Italy. They had rented a van and appeared to be having more luck efficiently utilizing storage space than we have had. But, in all fairness to us, we are on the road for a great deal more time than they are. Our conversations turned to trades and we were all surprised to find out that both Andy and the father are electricians. Speaking of the father…his name is Alan, and he bore a striking resemblance to Dennis Miller, the television personality. When I told him so, his response led me to believe he had heard it all before, too many times. If I didn’t know better I would think he must be a brother of Dennis Miller, for his witty banter and all too familiar laugh reminded me of many a late night spent watching Dennis Miller’s show on HBO. In fact, after we spent the better part of an hour chatting away, I couldn’t believe the likeness. It was as if Dennis Miller was standing in front of me firing off biting one liners. Later, when Andy exchanged addresses with Alan I found it strange to find only the first names of the family members included, the surname suspiciously missing from the scrap of paper their daughter handed Andy. If you ask me, Alan was definitely related to Dennis Miller…and probably spends his days avoiding his famous family members’ shadow, though it must be hard with the uncanny resemblance. Dennis miller chat aside, it was nice to meet fellow Northern American’s and share our travel stories from our similar continental perspectives.
From Annecy we drove to the Switzerland border and were promptly stopped and asked our ‘business there’. Next we unloaded forty Swiss franc from our wallets for a highway vignette and were quickly on our way. We met two family friends, Fritz and Kathy at their assisted living facility in Berne for lunch. Fritz met me with a, “Hello Sunshine” at the door and I felt right at home. For the remainder of the visit he called me sunshine, a big grin stretched across his face each time he said it. I must say, I felt quite special until Fritz started calling everyone in the restaurant during our lunch ‘sunshine’. The waitress was sunshine, the housekeeper sunshine, and of course the manager was sunshine. Suddenly I wasn’t so special. Still, nothing could tarnish my view of Fritz. He shared a treasured Grass family album with us and listened eagerly when we talked about our travels. You could tell he is a man still keen to explore the road, only old age holding him back from travels. At the end of our visit we shared an unexpected and emotional parting as Fritz told us that he knew that this would be the last time in his life he would have the pleasure to see us and how glad he was we spent some time together. Reality set in and we all realized just how numbered our days are. We parted with the three traditional cheek kisses and a “so long sunshine”.
After Berne we traveled to the Jungfrau region to the village of Lauterbrunnen. The first campground we stopped at had a hillbilly feel to it and Andy thought the services seemed a bit dated. The place we tried next will go down as the all-time best campground of the trip, I’m sure of it. Camping Jungfrau is a five star campground, with five star prices to match. At forty-six Swiss franc per night, it’s the most we have ever paid to camp. But, the price was worth it for the location. The campground itself has huge, grassy campsites. When we pulled in we were met by the owner who let us know that he and his staff were at our service. It was like checking into a fine hotel. A young gentleman named Toby met us next and asked what type of site we would like, river view or mountain view. Then, we followed Toby as he rode a bike through the campground and directed us to a site with a view of two breathtaking waterfalls.
This area of Switzerland evokes a feeling of a fairy tale book come to life. The beauty of the lush, green landscape is only rivaled by the imposing mountains. Wanderwegs criss cross the valley floor and day hikers have their choice of strolling past pleasant farms or taking aerial cable cars to the top of a number of impressive mountain tops. I would have been satisfied to spend our days in Lauterbrunnen walking with Petey on paths that skirt the river, but we had a goal.
We had planned to go to the top of the Jungfrau, the highest point in Europe. The two hour, multiple train ride to the top costs a staggering 154 Swiss franc. Visitors waiting to get a clear viewing day check television monitors at the train station that transmit a live picture from the mountain top. For the price, you want to be sure that when you get to the top you are guaranteed a spectacular view. We were in the Jungfrau region for three nights and four days. Each day we experienced wonderful weather; clear skies and warm temperatures. But the top of the mountain was a different story. Andy rode his bike to the station every morning and sometimes in the early afternoon too. Each time the monitor displayed a view of a fog filled lens, with dipping temperatures to match. So, each day we decided to wait for an optimum viewing day. And from what we’ve heard, the wait is worth it. From the top of the Jungfrau one can see Italy, Germany, and France. Snow covered mountains peak out from clouds below and all at once you feel like you are on top of the world…or so I’ve heard.
During our wait for the ascent we took a walk to the Trummelbach falls, a UNESCO world heritage site. Trummelbach is a series of waterfalls flowing through a mountain with such force that you could probably power a small city from the hydro power produced. We took a lift to the top and from there you climb into the mountain and pass by each waterfall. At each bend in the mountain tunnel a view of water coming towards you with locomotive force instantly reminds you of the power this natural resource. We stood in awe gazing at the mesmerizing wide river of water that poured through the mountain. The noise is immense and your body shakes from the intensity of the falls. The walk down the mountain leaves your knees rubbery and unstable. When we finally reached the base, we sat on a bench to rest and wipe the watery mist from our bodies. As we left the park we stopped and looked at where the falls finally drop into the river, a chilly forty one degrees, the water appears to trickle into the river compared to the rollercoaster ride it takes through the mountain.
After three nights we decided we would have to come back in the fall to visit the Jungfrau. For one, the cost of waiting out the weather was getting high. Also, the food in Switzerland is quite expensive. One day, returning from checking the monitors at the train station we decided to stop for a pastry and a bottle of orange juice. That little stop set us back 18.60 Swiss franc. Finally, we needed to get on the road and start visiting all the friends and family that Alice had arranged for us. So with a heavy heart we left Lauterbrunnen, second on the list only to Uetliburg, my favorite place in Switzerland.
Our first stop on the round of visits was to Gret and Jorg, family friends of the Grass’s. They welcomed us into their home with open arms. We spent three days with them and each day we were treated to fine Swiss cuisine. Gret even taught me to make birchermeusli, my favorite breakfast meal. While staying at their home in Pfeffikon we took a quick day trip to Volketswiel to drop off my camera at the Swiss Olympus headquarters. In Spain Andy had dropped the camera during our visit to the castle in Morella. He had actually tried to hide the blunder from me by not telling me, but the following day when the shot button and zoom toggle fell off he fessed up. Since Spain I have been reduced to taking pictures using a toothpick to activate the shot button. Candid shots are nearly impossible, and trying to balance the camera while inserting a toothpick into a pinpoint sized hole was taking the fun out of taking photos. So, we decided that since we would be in Switzerland for about a month it would be a good time to get the camera repaired.
Back at Greg and Jorg’s we had traditional Swiss raclette one evening for dinner and spectacular barbecue the next. We wandered the hillside trails with our dogs each day and during our walks we picked cherries from a neighboring farmers’ trees. Their home has the fortunate distinction of being cornered on three sides by farmland, a zoning decision nearly impossible to reverse. The resulting privacy affords wonderful views of the nearby hills and the gentle ringing of bells as the cows pass by their property while grazing.
During our stay we visited the village of Zofigen, touted as one of the prettiest towns in Switzerland. The day we visited it was incredibly hot and we stopped at each village fountain to wet down the dog. While an enjoyable detour, Zofigen is not unlike many of Switzerland’s tiny villages, pristinely kept and picture perfect to the eye. No need to make a special to this village, you can see the same thing in just about any canton in Switzerland.
From Gret and Jorg’s place in Pfeffikon we drove to Berne to walk through the old town. While Andy walked to the infamous bear pits I walked through the covered shopping district. Shops rest on the ground floor of stunning Swiss architecture. While ducking in and out of stores one has to remind oneself that just over head are some of the most beautiful buildings to be found in Switzerland. To really get a view you must walk out into the middle of the street and look up at the imposing facades.
After an afternoon in Berne we drove to Bea and Rolf’s in Ober Erlinsbach. Bea is Andy’s cousin on his mother’s side. We were welcomed in grand style. After spending just a few minutes with Bea and Rolf (and their dog Lupa) it felt like we had stopped to visit old friends.
Bea and Rolf went all out during our visit. They planned days of sightseeing, hosted a barbecue where Andy met many of his relatives, and fed us some of the finest food we have had during our travels. Rolf is a master barbecuer and his cooking skills are only matched by Bea’s amazing baking. I cannot begin to express how generous and kind they were to us, and we felt a special affinity toward them because they too enjoy traveling and seeing the world. Rolf has put together several photo books of their travels and we spent days learning about the distant lands they have traveled to together.
In addition to caravanning, we both love dogs. Lupa, their dog, was actually trained as a seeing eye dog, and now is bred for puppies that will become future seeing eye dogs. She is a beautiful black Labrador who responds to commands spoken in Italian. I loved playing with her each day and for a small moment in time I knew what it would be like to have a dog that followed commands. Petey on the other hand had to be muzzled during our visit, for the risk of him taking a finger off someone was too great. But, that didn’t stop Bea from giving him the royal treatment. First, she provided a bed made for a king. A bed we later found out belonged to Lupa. Lupa didn’t seem to mind.
Then, an endless supply of treats and strolls around the neighborhood were showered on him. Bea gave Petey lots of belly rubs too, and when he’d hear her voice in the morning he’d spring to life. Lupa and Petey were a constant source of entertainment for us during our visit, and it was nice to meet people that have such a special relationship with working animals.
Bea and Rolf’s home is striking. From the outside it looks like a moderately sized dwelling with an unimposing façade. Once inside, you realize how deceiving the outdoor view is. Rolf designed their house, and it is three levels of artistic form and function. Even the awnings attached to the sunroom are automated to sense wind and temperature change, lowering when a signal alerts. Outside, the yard is an inviting oasis, with three distinct eating areas. We almost always dined outside, with a small pond and blooming flowers as our backdrop.
Rolf pointed out to us a feature of Swiss homes we were not yet familiar with. All homes must be built with a bomb shelter in the basement. The thick cement locking door was the only sign that you had entered a bomb shelter, otherwise it looked like a well stocked pantry. But even the design of the shelter was ingenious. What appeared to be pantry shelves actually doubled as sleeping cots. Their shelter has room to sleep six. Each shelter comes with an air filtration system and outside air monitor, so that one could check the conditions outside after a disaster. It was so strange, and at the same time so interesting to see.
Speaking of disasters, I must share a most interesting side trip we took. While driving to Bea and Rolf’s house we noticed a large looming tower off in the distance. We recognized the tower instantly as a symbol of a nuclear power plant. We mentioned the plant to Rolf our first night as we were curious if he had any concerns living so close to a power plant (the plant is about seven miles from their home). Rolf told us that Switzerland has four nuclear power plants (five reactors in all) and that the government’s strict regulations left the community at ease. According to Rolf, he would rather have the nuclear power generated in Switzerland, where proper maintenance and environmental protections are sure to be in place, rather than contract out to another country where the laws might not be as strict. We mentioned that we found it so striking to see nuclear power plants in Switzerland (we had seen another near Basel), as they are in such stark contrast to the beautiful landscape. With that Rolf asked us if we’d be interested in seeing the plant up close. Andy and I looked at each other and without hesitation said, “YES!”
What followed next can only be described as science meets amusement park. We all piled into the car (dogs included) and drove to the Gosgen nuclear power plant. As we approached the security gate to the plant I was shocked, if not amazed, to see that the gate was wide open with no guard manning the entrance. As we drove the short road to the parking lot we passed two day walkers, complete with backpacks and hiking sticks. We parked the car and Bea took Lupa and Petey to a picnic area adjacent to the parking lot and we headed for the plant. A short thirty yards in front of us loomed the cooling tower and within a minute we were in the plant.
We entered a lobby and were greeted by a receptionist with a smiling, welcoming face. Rolf spoke to her in Swiss German and before we knew it we were being escorted to a room that contained a scale model of the nuclear power plant. I asked Rolf if he had called the day before to make arrangements to see the plant, and he responded that he had not; the company welcomes (and encourages) visits from the public. The receptionist next apologized for the fact that the reactor display’s interactive function only came in three languages, German, Italian, and French. This of course was not a problem as Rolf provided the translation for us.
After viewing the interactive display the receptionist returned and asked if we would like to see a short movie about nuclear power. We walked to an auditorium decorated with old time street lamps and velvet colored stools and took a seat in front of a large screen. The lights dimmed and huge boxes adjacent to the movie screen began to illuminate. Each box contained mannequins posed in different scenarios. There was a woman ironing, a worker drilling, a couple having breakfast, children watching television, and too many more to list. As a movie outlining all the possible uses for electricity played on the screen, the boxes lit up to reveal another scene. The longer the movie played, the more you realized that the entire auditorium had been designed to look like a small neighborhood, with building facades, streetlamps, and even flower boxes lining the set windows. Oddly enough, the movie contained no spoken words, just one solitary message; we need power to live. The movie ended, the lights came up, doors magically opened, and we were whisked into the next room which contained a labyrinth of displays meant to educate people about nuclear power. For lack of a better word I would call this area of the plant a ‘museum’. There were exhibits that showed what we did for power before nuclear power was discovered, displays where you could test the radioactivity of items (including yourself), and cases that contained uranium in its’ many forms. The whole place was laid out like a nuclear version of the “It’s a Small World” ride at Disneyland. Around each corner a different glitzy display was waiting to educate you about the positive effects of nuclear power.
At one point the receptionist returned and provided a demonstration with uranium pellets. She showed us how the reactor worked and used an interesting science experiment to illustrate the nuclear fission process. At this point I had to ask, “Anybody can come here?” I went on to explain that in America a person couldn’t even get close to a nuclear power plant, let alone tour one. She stated that it was the company’s policy to maintain a positive rapport with the public and that they had thousands of visitors each year, mostly school groups. She left us to continue our tour and the next stop was another movie auditorium that had a three dimensional movie that showed the reactor at work. Little people were beamed all over the reactor (exactly like when R2D2 projected Princess Leia’s image in Star Wars), and they walked you, the audience through the process.
At the end of the movie the receptionist greeted us on the other side of the eerily automatic doors and she then told us that she had done some research while we were watching the movie and had found out that America has 104 nuclear power plants. She wasn’t sure of the exact number in California, but said she could find out for us if we liked.
By this point I was in a daze. I was astonished at the amount of access we were provided and in disbelief that I was less than a stone’s throw from the reactor itself. Every time I had passed a nuclear power plant in the states (a rare occurrence as they are usually built out in the middle of nowhere), I would hold my breath and speed up to get as far away as possible, as quickly as possible. It had always been ingrained in my mind that nuclear power was bad and dangerous. Now, here I was in idyllic little Switzerland watching the best public relations plan in history unfold before my eyes. At the same time I appreciated that I now had a clearer, less skewed picture of nuclear power. Honestly, if any of my science teachers in school had provided me with even a glimpse of the ‘fun filled’ science exhibits I saw at Gosgen, I think I might have chosen a different career path. This public relations effort made nuclear science fun!
After an hour and a half roaming the halls of Gosgen we were preparing to leave when the receptionist asked us if we would like to arrange to come back for a tour of the cooling tower. My face must have said it all, “You can actually go into the tower?” She responded in the affirmative and said that the only requirement was that we have at least four people for the tour. Next she told us that the only area of the plant off limits was the reactor, and that was for security purposes of course. She went on to explain that as far as she knew, Switzerland was the only country in Europe that provides access to nuclear power plants for the public. This was a fact she seemed very proud of. Next, she handed us a goodie bag filled with five chocolate bars, two lighters, two ball point pens (all with the company logo emblazoned on them), and three thick pamphlets that provided technical information, operating experience, and a handout listing all of the nuclear power plants in the world. With that and a fond farewell we were on our way. Oh, and I forgot to mention, we toured the place on a Saturday. No rest on the weekends for positive public relations campaigns for nuclear power plants.
From Gosgen we drove to Solothurn. As it turned out, Solothurn was hosting its’ annual street faire. The cobblestone streets were abuzz with activity. Vendors were hawking everything from fine antiques to cotton candy. Rolf and Bea guided us through the maze of people to see some of the beautiful churches that lie within the city walls. As Switzerland’s eleventh canton, Solothurn’s capital city has eleven churches, eleven chapels, eleven fountains, and eleven historic towers. Even the most famous cathedral, St. Ursen, has eleven steps, eleven altars, and eleven bells. Oddly enough, Solothurn is also Switzerland’s eleventh canton in terms of population. The architecture in the town is striking, richly Baroque and maintained with vigor. The churches house some of the finest artwork I have ever seen and the detail of the frescoes lining the walls and ceilings is awesome.
From Solothurn we drove up to the Weissenstein mountain ridge and took in the breathtaking views of the Swiss Mitteland while we sat beneath a sun umbrella at an outdoor restaurant. We walked around a bit and I made the mistake of brushing up against stinging nettle. Bea, ever prepared, handed me a magic potion from a bottle that instantly had the quickly swelling hives under control. Rolf asked if we wanted to take the chair lift down from the mountain, and I graciously declined, thinking the lift looked like a rickety old chair being held up by dental floss. Honestly, I think I would have had an anxiety attack had I boarded that lift. As much as I want to view nature from high above, I want to be strapped in and enclosed in a fool proof car (me being the fool of course!).
After we left the mountain we drove to Sylvia’s, Bea and Rolf’s daughter and second cousin to Andy. She has a spectacular flat she shares with a roommate. The place reminded Andy and I of apartments in San Francisco and it was pleasant to be somewhere that reminded us of home. We sat out in Sylvia’s garden and had a lovely pasta meal and discussed politics. We both commented on the ever changing world and the impact current leadership has on global policy. I learned quite a bit about Switzerland’s government structure and was interested to hear directly from Swiss citizens that Switzerland too has its’ shae of problems.
The following day Bea and Rolf hosted a barbecue at their home. Andy’s Uncle Xavier was in attendance and at eighty-five he is one of the spunkiest fellas I have ever met. He and his wife have matching scooters and they showed us a picture (which Rolf later copied and gave us) of the two of them posing on their scooters giving the ‘thumbs up’ sign in the Swiss countryside. Several of Andy’s cousins were also at the party, and we spent the afternoon getting to know everybody and listening to childhood stories.
The following day we left Bea and Rolf’s. It was a very emotional farewell and as we parted I said to Rolf that we looked forward to hosting them at our home someday. He said he hoped that they could come for a visit some time after he retires, and I responded by saying, “We won’t hope, we’ll expect your visit.” As our van rounded the corner of their block I leaned out the window and said, “See you in America!” Their generosity overwhelmed us, and we would love for them to come to California so that we could show them the same warm hospitality that they provided us.
After leaving Ober Erlinsbach we drove to Engelberg. We camped beneath the Titlus mountain and spent our days walking the valley floor and nights watching the semi-finals of the World Cup. One day we took an aerial cable car to the Furenalp and hiked the steeply sloped paths of the mountain looking for views of the Titlus and the adjacent glacier.
From Engelberg we drove to the farm of family friends Hans and Margaret in Uster. As a child, Andy had visited and worked on the farm during the summers. At that time their property was a highly modern cow farm. Now, Hans and Margaret have retired and their son Hans Peter has taken over the farm and he and his girlfriend run a small café from the barn. The farm lies next to the Grieffensee, a small lake, and they get a lot of foot traffic from visitors to the lake. Hans Peter continues to work the land, but the farm no longer has cows.
Visiting Hans and Margaret provided a completely new view of Switzerland for me. There are farms throughout Switzerland, and there is a tremendous amount of national pride attached to the agricultural industry. But, shifting economies and the threat of free trade have altered the heavily subsidized farming industry, and with that comes change. Nearly five family farms per day close in Switzerland. And, the income farmers earn has steadily declined over the past twenty years.
Interestingly enough, farmers are not just providers of food sources for Switzerland, they are also considered guardians of the land. In Switzerland’s charter (similar to our Constitution) land is considered a rich resource, to be preserved and cherished. Many farmers are paid simply to maintain the land, not necessarily grow crops on it. And so, it was with this information that I watched and listened and learned from Hans and Margaret how the farming industry has changed over the years. For them, the transition has probably been easier, as they had diversified into real estate. But for their son, looking for and finding different ways to continue the work his father began can be challenging.
On our last day with Hans and Margaret they arranged for Petey to visit their veterinarian to have a growth checked and his blood drawn to be sure that the thyroid medication he is on is working properly. We followed them in our van to the vet. Hans walked with us into the veterinarian’s office and after a brief struggle Petey resigned to letting the vet pick and prod at him. Margaret, a champion with animals held Petey tightly to her as the doctor quickly and surprisingly extracted the two growths using only a needle as a tool (in the states Petey has always been put under to biopsy growths). After a failed attempt at a blood draw, the vet switched to a different arm and blood slowly squeezed from our old dog’s veins. The vet told us that we should have the results some time in the next week and we arranged to call him the following Thursday.
What happened next best demonstrates the generosity of all the Swiss family and friends we have encountered on our journey. As we prepared to leave the vet’s office, we asked for the bill. The veterinarian looked at us and essentially told us that our money was no good there. Hans had made an arrangement with the veterinarian to pay the bill and the doctor expressed to us that he was in no position to challenge Hans’s decision. We looked at Hans in disbelief and begged Margaret to get Hans to let us pay the bill for OUR dog. But it was clear, the decision had been made, and that was that. The veterinarian wisely suggested that we take Hans and Margaret out to lunch as a show of thanks. From the veterinarian we went to lunch and attempted in vain to pay the bill. Hans has a serious, stoic disposition and I wouldn’t dare challenge a decision he has made.
After lunch we drove to a small village for a short hike. At seventy-five I was impressed with the vigor with which Hans attacked the steep hillside. At one point, the wanderweg (walking trail) we were on abruptly ended. At the path’s end was a new, modern, richly appointed house. Hans began to look for a way around the house, to continue the wanderweg on the other side. An irritated homeowner came out onto his porch and asked what we were doing. In a calm tone Hans told the owner that he was looking for a way to get through to where the wanderweg continued. The homeowner replied that it was private property (an almost unheard of expression in Switzerland as nearly all wanderwegs pass through people’s property) and told us we could not go through. Hans just stood there, unwilling to budge. A few words were exchanged, with Hans’s tone and body language unchanged. He never took his eyes of the wanderweg in the distance, barely acknowledging the minor irritation he had encountered in the obnoxious homeowner. In the end we turned around and went back the way we had come, but not before Hans let the homeowner know that it was rich guy’s like him, moving from the big cities and building their homes right in the middle of wanderwegs that was ruining Switzerland’s countryside. All the while Hans never flinched, the entire dialogue played out like two guys talking about the weather. He’s like the John Wayne of Switzerland.
Hans and Margaret followed us to our next stop, Heidi and Jack Vinzens’ house in Uetliburg. For those of you who have kept up on the blog, you know that Uetliburg is my favorite place in Switzerland, and I was happy to return to where our European travels began. Petey was happy too. As soon as Heidi came out to greet our arrival, Petey leaned out the window and planted a wet, slobbery kiss on her cheek.
Hans and Margaret came in for a drink and we listened intently as they shared stories of people they both knew. Switzerland is a truly small country, and it seems everyone is linked by the theory of ‘six degrees of separation’.
After Hans and Margaret left, we began what became close to a week long visit with Heidi and Jack and their extended family. We rose early in the morning and went sightseeing in the famous Appenzell area and stayed up late into the night listening to stories of Jack’s time in America. Andy’s father Konrad had provided Jack with a place to stay and contacts to find work in the butcher trade when he had first come to California, and his admiration for Konrad could be heard in each story he relayed.
Jack and Heidi put out a tremendous spread each day and we were included in two wonderful barbecues where other friends and family shared in the festivities. And, Petey was spoiled too. Each morning Heidi would butter bread for Petey and include him in our breakfast meal. And in the evening, all types of barbecued meats were at his disposal.
At five o’clock each day Jack would announce that it was ‘whiskey time’ and everybody would join him in the yard for drinks. One day Heidi’s sister Ruth made Caypareenia’s (forgive the spelling), a Brazilian drink so loaded with alcohol that after a few sips I had to give mine to Andy for fear I would begin dancing on the table from intoxication. No matter what the libation, each round of drinks or glass of wine, or cup of mineral water was always met with a standard toast, “Viva”. Andy and I quickly learned that according to the Swiss it is bad luck to toast without staring the person you are toasting with directly in the eyes. You can imagine then how long a toast would take at a table of eight, each person taking the time to clink their glasses together, one by one, all the while looking each and every person square in the eye.
Andy and Jack went to the Rigi schwingfest one day, and to hear them tell it, it was lucky that they made it home in one piece. A neighbor accompanied them to the wrestling match, and according to Andy he drove like Mario Andredi and made unannounced stops at too many places to recount. Up on the mountain at the schwingfest they had experienced weather changes that led them to believe Noah’s ark would drift by any moment and their thirteen hour journey ended when the neighbor stopped in front of the house just long enough for them to tuck and roll out of the car.
On another day we helped Jack install a cd burner in his computer. It was a comedy of errors as Andy’s tension grew when he couldn’t figure out where a loose hanging wire from the dismantled computer tower belonged. Then, as he went to put the tower back together Jack’s hard drive slipped out onto the floor (after I had told him it should always be locked in the tower). Relief came across all our faces when we turned the computer on and all was working properly.
The next day we drove to the Engadin. Jack planned to visit his sister Erika in Zernez, and Andy and I stayed in a campground located just five minutes from her place. Andy and I went one day to visit his Uncle Flury in Samedan and we also drove to St. Peter’s cemetery to place two plants at his father’s grave.
At 6:00 a.m. then next morning Andy awoke to meet Erika, her husband Rudi, and Jack for a day hike to see marmots that live up in the hills. Andy came back from the hike and promptly positioned himself in the lounger, napping away the afternoon. That night we had dinner with Jack and the family, and then the next morning we took the Albula pass back to Uetliburg.
Back in Uetliburg Heidi made us a wonderful lunch and I gave Jack a quick tutorial on his new cd burner. Jack then gave us one of his woodworking carvings as a memento and we prepared to leave Uetliburg to pick up our camera in Volketswil. As we left, Heidi gave us some snacks for the road, complete with a gold tin of food for Petey. Heidi and Petey had become quite close over the week. Petey even stayed with Heidi during our trip to the Engadin. When we left Uetliburg we weren’t sure that Petey would be accompanying us on the next leg of our journey, as he seemed to prefer being with Heidi to being with us. But alas, food is always a motivator. With a little coaxing and a big treat, Petey jumped into the van.
Next, we pick up the camera and go toward the German border to spend time near the Bodensee, or Lake Contsance as we know it. Our time in Switzerland is quickly drawing to a close, and soon we will be on to Eastern Europe.