It may surprise you to know that I am quite a sentimental kind of person. I can’t let a festive season pass without viewing (preferably on multiple occasions) ‘It’s a Wonderful Life‘ and there’s a Dire Straits album that was oddly slotted into my teens that will reduce me to tears if heard unexpectedly. There’s a ridiculously large box of child-related paraphernalia that I cannot bring myself to cull and I live in genuine fear that Posh and Becks will break up. But nothing brings on self indulgent melancholy like good ol’ Autumn. I’ve been wandering around for the last few weeks fairly misty eyed over the turning leaves, the chill in the air, the darker nights and the mellowing of the light (although this morning, against my better judgement and for reasons I am unable to articulate, I tried a Pumpkin Spice Latte. I was almost cured of Autumn Love right there and then. Yikes).
Earlier this month was the two year annualversay of our move to Switzerland, further impetus for reflection. This year I celebrated by making good on my FOMO. A few months ago, at the start of summer, Tim had climbed Mt Pilatus with some colleagues. I was hideously (cough childishly) jealous and, on Motsy’s urging, decided to give it a go myself. Despite having nowhere near the level of fitness required to scale the 2,128m mountain, it turns out I’ll do anything to get a morning away from the brats. A friend and I took it on, and after almost four hours of solid upwards hit the peak. Although the nicest day of a bad bunch, the mountain was still covered in heavy fog as we climbed. It made for poor visibility but given the scrambley nature of the path we took and my fear of heights, it was possibly for the best. Tim and said brats met us afterwards for a grill, where we cheersed to two years well spent (and it’s lucky arms are used for cheers-ing, as lord knows my legs were not up for anything much after that hike).
The last two years have gone swiftly. Theodore – who of course wasn’t even remotely on our agenda at the time – is now the age that Addie was when we moved here. In those early days, we looked around at childcare options and found that a lot of the playgroups were only accessible for ‘older’ kids – starting at about three years. I didn’t think too much more of it until it hit me a few weeks ago that, completely obviously but also somehow impossibly, my little daughter is now almost three. The horror of this discovery was counterbalanced somewhat by the parallel realisation: I can offload her to spielgruppe! And to spielgruppe she went: Swiss style.
Waldspielgruppe is forest playgroup, where the kids toddle off to the woods for the afternoon. They forage for wood, build a fire and play with knives, cook and eat cervelat (a sausage that Tim and I liken to vegemite: divine if you grow up eating it but absolutely vile if introduced to it later in life), and generally have a fabulous mucky time. Addie had her induction last week so Teddles and went along for the ride, but she starts solo this Friday and could not be more excited. It’s both thrilling and heartbreaking to see how grown up she is, and to watch her chatting to the leader and the other children in a language I can barely understand made me grateful once again for the opportunity we’re getting here.
To capitalise on her new skills – and to marvel at the newly fallen snow and the gradually changing foliage – we took a wee family hike yesterday. We went to Elm, about an hour and a half from Luzern, took a quick cable car up the mountain and did the Giant’s Playground walk. Our surly looking little bear has RBF, like his sister before him, but was actually very happy to be out on his papa’s back.
It is ludicrously easy to get outdoors here. Swiss efficiency is astounding. Cable cars take you to seemingly inaccessible peaks, where there are nearly always comfortable places to sit and rest, family friendly walking tracks to follow, and fireplaces – stocked with fire wood – to grill your lunch. This walk was only just over 2ks, a perfect distance for the littlest walker, and had an activity site every few hundred metres which was just enough to bribe inspire little Addie along.
We stopped for lunch where Addie abandoned all waldspielgruppe learnings, leaving the fire-building duties to the lads in the family, instead joining her mama in a far superior pastime: salami and cheese consumption.
Lunch consumed, we continued the loop trail along – marvelling at mushrooms (and someone’s Sporty Suit) and as always the ridiculous view. We get out and hike a fair bit, but this was the first trip that we felt was well executed. Planning and timing went without a hitch, the walk was perfect for our family, and our grill game was strong. As we made our way back to the cable car (and the massive outdoor trampoline area that was a sure fire Addie approved activity) we were, I confess, fairly self congratulatory.
Although Tim’s contract here is permanent and has no formal end date, we’d always had in our heads that two years was the time we’d commit to staying. Almost as soon as we’d jumped off the plane we figured we’d be staying longer than that, given how much exploring there was to be done. We have a long and lovely trip to Australia planned over Christmas, so we’ll see how much good food, coffee and weather influences us, but it’s hard to imagine leaving here any time soon. I mean:
Besides, if we’ve only started to nail our hiking game after two years, imagine how we’ll bring it next summer.
Years previously I travelled briefly to Vienna, memorable primarily for schnitzel, some stealthy mini-bar theft and postcards emphatically attempting to differentiate the European nation from its similar sounding antipodean counterpart. This time, we stayed in the alpen Tirol area, not far from the German border.
I’m not sure what I expected, but I loved Austria. Dommie compared it to New Zealand or Canada (with no offence meant at all to either nation) – associated with and similar to a larger country (Australia and America) but wonderful in its own right and somehow more chilled and adventurous. (And of course, with the starchy Germanic food I know and love). And she was bang on – it was amazing.
As always on holidays, we ate like kings, enjoyed a few glasses of gin / vino / whatever to wash the day away and shot the breeze like champs. Even after almost two weeks together, it felt that there were still many conversations left half finished, but surely that’s the point of family. Despite their two year old woes, Addie has been asking after Arlo (and his much less maligned brother Finn) almost hourly since we arrived home and seems quite disgruntled that they have continued on without her. I feel the same, and look forward to more family times – and finishing those chats – when we see Team Moody again.
Mystery plants remaining a mystery, we made it home with two thirds of the family sporting TDF merchandise (and provisions for three quarters of us to become so once our little lad arrives). Luckily, there are no more Purler birthdays until December which gets me off the planning hook until at least…December, no?
But Switzerland! The Alps! It’s impossible to get complacent with them. Following our Easter morning indulgences, we got ourselves ready for a day on the slopes (skiing for the lads and
We were destined for Mt Titlis, a nearby Alp that rises above the town of Engelberg. A popular ski run, it also has a glacier, revolving cable car, assorted vantage points and restaurants. We did our best tick off all of the above. 

All the while wearing Easter headwear, naturally.
Not being skiers (yet…there’s always next season), we found a toboggan run and gave that our best shot. Not just for the baby, as it turned out.

And that’s really all there is to say about that.
We popped out the other side into a wintery paradise.
A wintery paradise with super mega chocolate (I would like to believe).
After several hours of fairly bumbling travel, we caught the train to Zermatt, a ski town at the base of the Matterhorn. A snow covered village, it operates with no cars as such – only little electric miniature numbers zip around the streets. It had a hobbit-esque feeling to it: close buildings, winding narrow streets, flushed and happy people (and yeah, I might have had two breakfasts). We were staying in a ski lodge we’d booked the night before, not knowing much about the area. It had, we thought, a cute outlook. (It also had both a fondue and a raclette maker, and a legit ski bar with suspended fire place. It rocked.)
Cute quickly became breathtaking when the clouds parted to reveal the Face of Toblerone itself.
We took a stroll with the lass to check out the town and make use of her Christmas present. She was less than impressed. I’m not sure if pictures can impart the sound of a baby screaming, but please use your imagination if not. I suspect she was embarrassed that we’d miscalled the toboggan potential of the patch we chose.
Shortly after this things began to deteriorate. The poor little lass got her first real bout of Disgusting Babyitis (i.e. the vomits). The below photo was taken in our last moments of innocence. Her father’s vest will never be the same.
Despite the woes, the Matterhorn was ridiculous.
And the one plus of being up all night with a very unwell baby is getting to see it framed with glittering stars (I am aware that I would also be able to see it this way if, say, I went to the ski bar and stayed up drinking, but I’m really trying to see the positives of the dastardly situation). 
The situation had not improved the following morning, so after a trip to the doctor (where we were the only people sans ski or party injury) we made the call to cut the trip short and head home. We dropped the inlaws at Interlaken and took one very unwell baby back to Lucerne, barely surviving what was easily the most revolting car ride I’ve been on since my mate Austen’s 21st birthday booze bus. We’ve had a day of couch bound cuddles, punctuated with the occasional terrifying lurch of a cough, but she seems to be on the mend. Although it still feels as if it might have been best to cut our losses while we were (marginally) ahead, it sure was something to see that chocolate wrapper brought to life.


We caught cable cars to the top, and then walked the five or so flights of stairs to the summit, slipping a little on the iced ground and crunching through deposits of snow. 
Although a stunning day, the chill was in the air and winter was evident all around. 
We looked down on Lucerne, arguing about the location of our digs. Given my poor eyesight and poor directional sense I don’t know why I bothered (but I was right).
We stayed at the top for a hot chocolate (cough wine) and entertained the kidlets with bubbles, because apparently the Alps weren’t spectacular enough.
This week sees them on a trip to Interlaken, Tim back to Waiblingen and us all hitting France in time for the girl’s first birthday this weekend. I’m quite happy, though, to spend my days watching the two cousins play together (or at any rate near each other, Fletch trotting across rooms and making animal noises and Laidey zipping around with her one-knee-up crawl, still inappropriately uh-ohing). It was worth the wait.
There was a definite festive feeling. Tim had the first of his Christmas parties: he went to Germany on Friday night and arrived back in Zurich on Saturday considerably shadier. Neighbouring apartments and businesses have started hanging Christmas lights – a glimpse out of any of our windows is guaranteed to reveal golden twinkly stars, angels or trees. And my contribution? Eating all the Christmas snacks. Yup, they’re a thing and yup, they’re gingery and delicious.
We’ve not had much to do with snow before (as was painfully clear based on last week’s enthusiastic post) and this just blew us away.


The town itself is small but its scope vast. Every now and then the clouds would part and Alps would reveal themselves, disturbingly sneaky for masses so enormous.
