Category Archives: Switzerland

It’s flying by

Posted on by under Europe, Personal, Switzerland

I have spent the last week with the very best type of visitor: an old and dear friend (apologies to my parents who are due to arrive next week, but you know how it is). It’s been a week of walking, gossip and wine (not necessarily in that order. Actually, definitely not in that order). I’ve known Mel longer than I haven’t, which is generally my favourite description of my favourite people. I met her the first day of high school, and although she moved to Sydney we stayed in touch, fortunately going through similar phases (bad 90s grunge, anyone?) at the same time. We both lived in Ireland together and enjoyed our ‘fake lives’, the details of which can never be divulged (mainly due to fake life alcohol consumption and subsequent memory haze). On my return to Sydney we lived together in a few different houses, one which received the dubious compliment ‘this looks like a dude’s place’ (due no doubt to our stubby holder collection and gentleman calendar aka porn wall). It was through her that I met ‘Dr T’ as she called him, and in those first bleary months of having a new baby she’d swing by our house – happily around the corner from hers – to have a cheeky Friday night beverage, making me feel I’d maintained a footing, however precarious, in the Real World. Having her in our neck of the woods has been an absolute treat. It’s also been – for both of us, in our different ways – a chance to reflect on the [insert embarrassingly high number of] years that we’ve known each other, as well as the here and now.

My boy turned three months a few weeks ago. He’s one quarter, which is not really much of an age to be. He seems to be making the most of it though, with sodden smiles and under-the-chin giggles and unbelievably vile gas, which I assume is what having a son is all about for the next twenty years or so. Three months with my girl seemed an age. I’d just accepted a voluntary redundancy and signed off on a not especially illustrious public service career, and we were in the process of making the decision to move over here. Despite all the large scale change that was going on, I was stuck in a weird baby time warp. This time, it’s flying by.

The girl is finally talking fluently(ish) and it has been both a joy and a bewilderment to finally get some insight into what’s going on in that wee noggin of hers. She lives for slippery dips and cake (all flavours, but caramel slice cake – a mythical yet delicious sounding delicacy – is apparently her favourite) (I’m not so interested in the carrot stew cake, thanks all the same Ads). She is obsessed with the mild earthquake she completely slept through the other night, recounting where I was, the fact that her father saw his water ripple Jurassic-park style, and that she and Teddy were tucked up ‘niiiiiiice and tight’. She’s terribly bossy to her dolls, telling them she’s ‘too old’ to do certain tasks, and that ‘there are rules’ about others, clearly mimicking…um…some other unidentified bossy person. She continues to be a stellar older sister, joining in the clapping when the lad rolled for the first time, enthusiastically offering him toys, (unsuccessfully) soothing him and proudly saying ‘Addie and Teddy are best friends’ (which is equal parts adorable and loser-y). She thinks his full name is Teddy Bear and got two-year-old cranky – which is to say all hell broke loose – when I advised her otherwise.

These vignettes of daily life – my here and now – are simple and sweet (and at times horrendously dull, but the idea of caramel slice cake generally keeps me going). What’s harder is the reflection on the passage of time since we were those twelve? thirteen? year old selves, and maybe more pertinently those years in our twenties when everything was heady and full of promise (and, erm, beer). Mel and I spent a glorious spring day sans kids in a mineral spa on a nearby Alp – which I can assure you was every bit as heavenly as it sounds – mulling over all the things. A lot of it was reflective of where we’re both at respectively now, and where we’d like to be heading, but the easy nourishing nature of that conversation was only possible due to our patchwork of shared history. We know each others’ people, backstories, interests and (most fun of all) dislikes; we have also shared conversations like this more often than I could possibly recall, each one a building block. There’s a familiarity, a security, to this that allows for all manner of exploration and it is without question the thing I miss most about living away from her and my other ‘longer than I haven’t’ people.

There was nothing revolutionary discussed; in fact, a variation of the exact conversation was probably held in 1996. Still, days later – even with my return to the doldrums of screeching children, daily chores and no Mel – I feel refreshed and rejuvenated. Such is the power of a (horrifyingly close to thirty year strong) friendship, which seems to have flown just as quickly as the life of the wee lad of mine.

(Freaky but fun) Fasnacht

Posted on by under Europe, Lucerne, Switzerland

This is Tim’s story, really. I’ve been a ([largely] supportive, amused, bemused and frequently jealous) bystander throughout the experience. It started after last year’s Fasnacht, when an always-enthusiastic Tim got chatting to colleagues at his office about the festival. It turned out one of them plays trumpet in a local Guggenmusik band. Tim is also a trumpeter, and it was suggested that he might be able to play along in the festival the following year.

Firstly, the band had to agree he could join. Although some members come from slightly further afield, the majority are Luzerners and certainly there were no other foreigners. He then had to audition, something which inspired more than a few nerves as it had been many years since he had picked up his horn. He left, trumpet strapped to his back as he cycled to the bunker where the band rehearsed, while I waited at home nervously on his behalf. The hours passed and eventually I went to sleep. He rolled in well after 2am reeking of beer and cigars and declared the audition a success despite having not played a note. Turns out as long as he could booze with them, the band were down with the foreigner joining.

Rehearsals started in earnest last September, held weekly. The first few sessions had Tim feeling a little glum: there was no music as everyone played by ear, the names of the traditional tunes were long forgotten, and the conversing and instruction was all in Swiss German. However as the weeks went by it started falling into place and he would come home from practice with increasing enthusiasm as his skills grew (other than the Swiss German. Still haven’t even remotely nailed that). My nerves increased in line with my due date – there was no mobile reception in that bunker – but little Teddy didn’t interrupt his father’s hobby and was rewarded with the band filming a tri-language rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ to welcome him, and celebrate his sister’s birthday.

The costume was the next hurdle. The band had a Venetian theme and he needed both a coherent outfit as well as the traditional style of Fasnacht mask. The costume was sourced at a local Fasnacht speciality store, the staff happily knowing Tim’s band’s theme and being able to ensure he wasn’t out of place. The band’s conductor makes masks, and Tim had several fittings of the sculpted fibreglass headpiece, choosing eye colour, final touches and hair style (which I somewhat cruelly mocked, given his current choice is ‘bald’). The finished mask arrived about two weeks before the festival and sat in pride of place in our living room, prompting Addie to wander around declaring ‘Daddy’s mask’s scary‘ on a regular basis. To be honest, I couldn’t argue.

Finally, the week prior to lent arrived and with it, the festival. The schedule for Fasnacht is gruelling. Starting on Dirty Thursday, Tim played from the official cannon shot at 5am through till one the following morning, with similar shifts again on Saturday, Monday and Tuesday. His group follows the tradition of the early Fasnacht bands, marching the catacombe-like streets of the Luzern Altstadt playing, and popping into local restaurants to serenade diners with their tunes.

Marching the cobbled, bustling streets of the city while trumpeting in an oversized mask is, apparently, tricky business.

Luckily, the rest of the band were old hands and made sure Tim was well-fuelled for the task.

Let’s drop the euphemism:  by well-fuelled of course I mean drunk. In between playing sessions they hung out at the band’s stand which converted into a bar. The day started with beers, progressed through wine to gin and tonics, and then when someone needed a pick-me-up, espresso grappa shots. It was little wonder their audition process was so exacting.

Tim’s dad had travelled from Australia for the festival, having been here last year and falling for its bawdy charm. Himself a trumpet player (it’s genetic, clearly) Mike became the band’s groupie at first and then joined them on the final few days as an honorary ring-in, making his trip quite the experience. I confess that as much as I love my two littles, I also love festivals and day drinking, and holding the fort while the lads had a ball was at times hard. Luckily, the kids and I made it down a few times to experience the hullaballoo.

Fasnacht was weird and wild and the streets were pumping throughout the day and night (and provided me with some good ‘here’s what happens if you don’t eat your vegetables’ material).

And of course, I did my best to make up for lost party time.dsc_8952In a country where we’d been warned the locals were not particularly welcoming, and that it would be hard to make meaningful Swiss connections, Tim feels so fortunate to have shared this crazy experience with a bunch of people who he now calls friends (or at the very least, epic drinking buddies). The hospitality was extended to me and the kids as well as Tim’s dad, making a week that will be remembered for years to come (even if said memory is sightly beer and grappa hazy).

(Also, that’s our baby’s rattle Tim’s a-shaking there. Nothing but the best instruments for our family.)

A forest fling

Posted on by under Europe, Switzerland

The last weeks have been hectic yet dull as I’ve been learning to juggle a not-so-tired-anymore ten week old and his increasingly tempestuous (cough terrible) two year old sister. There are differences to when she was young – he smiles so much! eats so easily! who’d have thought the two might be related! – but there are also similarities. The primary one: walking. When Adelaide was teeny I walked everywhere with her as it was a surefire way to get her to sleep (bus roulette, anyone?). With the Tedster there’s little choice; toddler sisters demand movement. We traipse the streets (well, the streets that lead to slippery dips) of Luzern until one out of the three of us are exhausted. The upside of this is that when Tim’s dad – the kids’ Grumps – who is visiting expressed interest in checking out the local bush, we were happy to oblige.

We made our way to Adligenswil – about 20 minutes away – for a hike through the no-longer-snow-covered forest. I’m not so bold as to call it spring quite yet, but there’s something going on.

Hiking in Switzerland is a very common pastime and we ‘grüezi mitenand’-ed people constantly (not least because we were somewhat map deficient and may have circled back on ourselves a few times). Tracks are well marked, and hobbies well catered for: we came across bird-watching towers (enthusiastically investigated by Grumps) and exercise circuits as we walked.

As always with hikes – here and anywhere – it’s the intimacy of the landscape that makes it worthwhile. Tim fell for bedraggled trees, Grumps found himself lost amid towering trunks and, every now and then, corners were turned to spectacular vistas, reminding us of where we were.

 

The first month

Posted on by under Lucerne, Personal, Switzerland

We’ve survived the first month. The little guy is currently snoozing in the weak snow-flickering light, although you wouldn’t know it from the sounds erupting from him. I’d forgotten how disproportionate to their size is the noise a baby makes (and how amusing. So much gas is never not funny). I’ve done a day and a half sans Tim – he went back to work yesterday – and thus far the casualty count is limited to burp cloths. There’s still another half day before he gets home, though, so please don’t consider me cocky.

As many people advised before our Teddly’s arrival, it’s easier the second time around. I’m not as nervous, edgy, scared I’ll break or ruin him (or if I do, he can moan about it with his sister on family holidays to come). Practically, things are working better: feeding, anti-Houdini swaddling techniques, knowing to tag team. We’re more confident as parents, and our nightly game plan sessions are much tighter and have been far more successful than the surreal, exhausting early weeks with Addie. It ain’t perfect (surely it’s not asking too much for a four week old to sleep for, say, twelve hours straight?), but it’s working.

We’re all dancing the newborn dance, of course. Ads has been wonderful. She chooses his clothes (she had them both adorably wearing owl-themed outfits yesterday), laughs hysterically at any and all of his bodily functions, and says ‘hey miiiiiiister’ in manner soothing when he cries. Naturally it’s not all easy sailing – her terrible twoness has escalated and her long suffering father is in her bad books far more than deserved, but generally it’s been lovely to watch her become the title of her second favourite book: a Big Sister (her first favourite? Everybody Poos. Fine literature is another joy I shall forever associate with parenthood).

Motsy’s holidays – four heavenly weeks! – were slow and cosy, but we managed to wander around snow covered Luzern nonetheless: to play in frosted-over parks, choose his baroque-themed Fasnacht costume, toboggan at the lake and, one glorious night, cycle to the Neustadt for a decadent dinner sans bambinis (with much thanks to their visiting Gra). For a moment, jumping on our bikes, dressed up and filled with anticipation for the evening ahead, felt like a return to the early days of our relationship where we’d cycle off to dinner or a drink, carefree and jubilant. (It then started snowing in time for the cycle home, and we started looking at our watches and counting the hours of precious sleep we’d get if we left immediately, and thus the spell was broken).

And I’m learning, clumsily, how to juggle our wee family of four. There was a fairly botched walk to kita this morning – when will I learn to check the weather, and thus avoid striding out into heavy snow thoroughly unprepared? – and a rather manic grocery store outing yesterday, but otherwise the feeding and sleeping and tea cup drawing routine is slowly becoming my new normal. That, and trying to keep our offspring alive and (largely) unharmed for five more hours until their father’s return.

And then, we were four

Posted on by under Europe, Lucerne, Personal, Switzerland

I write this on a foggy winter’s afternoon at my kitchen table. I’m not entirely sure, even when I stop to think, what day it is. I am wearing  – still, sadly – maternity jeans and shirt, not because I remain pregnant but because disappointingly I have not instantly lost the twenty odd kilos I gained over the last nine months. I am also, bizarrely and humiliatingly (and admittedly amusingly), wearing a pair of hospital issue stretchy white underpants with the crotch cut out of them, my arms thrust through the leg holes, as a crop top of sorts. Into this I’ve shoved two ice packs that are regularly swapped out – at my midwife’s instance – with cabbage leaves and this weird tigerbalm-scented paste called Pasta Boli (not the kind you eat, she helpfully advised). Birth itself is of course undignified, but it feels like it’s nothing on these early weeks of motherhood.

However! Our boy is here! Little Theodore Winton arrived precisely on his due date, endearing him forever to his prompt mother’s heart. His birth was almost the opposite of my experience with his sister; gory details aside, this time was far easier and much less traumatic. The most surprising aspect of the birthing procedure was the mingling of alternative medical practices with the more standard delivery process. At various times I was fed different homeopathic concoctions, assorted aromatherapy treatment was pumped through the room depending on my current state, and I was given acupuncture towards the end of labour itself. I’m finding the same with my midwife – there’s a surprising focus on alternate options and traditional practices; and to be fair, they appear to have worked. I had assumed that the seemingly clinical, straight-and-narrow Swiss would not be so into alternate treatment options, but on reflection maybe it makes more sense that a comprehensive and thorough approach to healthcare is taken rather than the more linear one we have at home.

We left the hospital six hours after little Teddy was born. I’d not even contemplated doing this prior, but in the absence of a family room and due to the smoothness of the birth we decided we’d be happier heading home. We were back in time for a patchy night’s sleep and to wake our little miss on her birthday, the highlight of which was hearing her say ‘niiiiiiice’ when she saw her new brother.

We hosted Swissmas again this year, with the life savers that are my bestie and Tim’s sister and bro-in-law, who kept us not only alive but alarmingly well fed and watered during our first week as parents of two. I’d thoroughly recommend recruiting them if you ever wish to extend your family and still feel like a human being. There was raclette, a life-threatening glühwein maker, a ridiculous amount of gifts (Ads went from not knowing what a present was to demanding to open all of them in about two minutes flat), lots of champagne, many tasty treats from home, and a few not-so-silent nights.

Now, we’re in that no-man’s-land between Christmas and New Year, which is only compounded with the haziness of a newborn (and the sick resident two year old, just to keep us on our toes). We’ve a week or so before Tim’s mum arrives, during which we’re tentatively feeling our way as a family of four (or eight, if you include Peppa Pig and her fambam, who I confess are making fairly regular visits to the Purler household), capitalising on the frozen meals I feverishly prepared prior to his arrival, and enjoying being wrapped in the newborn cocoon. Right now, though, both bambinis are asleep, so we’re indulging in a cheeky wine and leftover Christmas cheese platter (possibly with a mint slice chaser). And cabbage leaves.

Festive

Posted on by under Europe, Personal, Switzerland

It’s beginning, as they say, to feel a lot like Christmas. I’ve always loved this time of year – even more so now it’s special for my little Christmas kinder – and it’s definitely magical over in this neck of the woods. My wanderings / waddlings through the glittering streets of Luzern are currently limited, but happily neighbouring windows are filled with Advent candles, sparkling lights (or stars, as the little miss calls them) and an increasing number of Christmas trees. We’ve gotten in on the action as well, counting down the days of the season.

(Incidentally, I am not sure how I parented prior to Advent calendar related bribes; the girl lives for the crappy promotional calendar her father received from work, and our lives are far simpler when she stops to think of chocolate consequences. Advent year round, anyone?)

Every year, my mother-in-law’s close friend hosts ‘Pudding Day’, an event much anticipated during the festive season. Family and friends gather at her house, usually around a month prior to Christmas, to do exactly what the name implies: make puddings. I have never attended but have happily been on the eating side of the equation many times. Although Christmas Pudding is not a Swiss tradition, it’s definitely a Purler one (I think Tim is still slightly disappointed there was none at our table last year), and so this year – fortunately armed with the Official Pudding Day Recipe – the inaugural Swiss Pudding Day was implemented. Naturally, my wee helper was in the festive (gingerbread batter stealing) spirit.

A few friends swung by with their little ones to measure, mix and assemble the puddings (and imbibe festive prosecco, of course). I’m fairly sure the wish Addie made while stirring the pudding was to eat only icing and sprinkles for lunch which, happily for her, came true.

To carry on with the cheer – and in contradiction to the advice of the hospital to stay within about twenty minutes of Luzern until the bubba arrives – we rebelliously hit the road to visit the Christmas markets in Einsiedeln (a whole forty minutes away. Living on the edge, me). Touted as the best markets in our vicinity, we weren’t disappointed as we pulled in to the bustling town.

Centred around a Benedictine Abbey, the town also boasted the ‘largest nativity scene’ in the world. I was imagining a giant-sized cradle filled with a terrifyingly large Baby Jesus, but they meant largest in terms of scope. A panoramic scene, complete with models, the nativity took over six years to create and is a geographically accurate representation of the holy land; all figurine’s joints were fully moveable and all animals were carved from single pieces of wood. It was impressive, but having promised Adelaide enormous cows (with matching enormous ‘mooooooooos’) I am afraid I under delivered slightly.

The markets themselves were fab, though, and filled with exactly the right amount of Christmas fun times (by which I mean every third stand sold glühwein).

Like the enormous Baby Jesus, there was happily no sign of our own baby, and other than meat-on-stick sword fights the afternoon passed merrily. Tonight, we’re preparing for yet another Swiss Christmas tradition: Samiclaus is due to pay us a visit. He leaves good (cough heavily bribed) children peanuts, clementines, chocolate and gingerbread in their boots, which are left outside the door the night prior. Addie has nodded off to sleep saying ‘shoes, cake, shoes, cake’ so I rather think said bribes might have worked their magic.

Ballenberg

Posted on by under Europe, Switzerland

The combination of the change in seasons and my pregnancy (slash cheese) related girth has meant a significant decrease in activity in the Purler household. A four day long weekend came and went with no travel plans; I confess I got my teenage surlies on as I thought of all the European exploring we could be doing. It didn’t help that three of the four days were sodden, making our indoor Luzern exile seem even more challenging. We attempted a hike in a nearby national park rumoured to have spectacular leaf coverage, but our arrival coincided with a massive, freezing downpour resulting in a car picnic, the only redeeming feature of which was our Aussie addition of cheese and vegemite scrolls.

On our one not-so-miserable day, we decided to hit the road for a day trip to anywhere that the googles advised was not raining and as such we found ourselves en route to Brienz. Tim was hoping for some Autumnal vistas, I was hoping for some relief from cabin fever, and Addie was hoping – as always – for Kuchen.happy-herbst-0021-20161106Brienz is a lovely wee town which showcases a lake and the Alps bordering Interlaken, but it was the Ballenberg museum that held our fancy. A large, open air museum, Ballenberg has collected over 110 buildings from over Switzerland to preserve them and give insight into traditional Swiss life over the years.happy-herbst-0232-20161106Because all our research was done through mother’s group hearsay and last minute car googling, we only realised once we arrived that we’d rocked up on the last open day of the year, as the site closes for winter. Thanking our fortunes, we chose a small section to explore; the site is huge and given my current waddling situation seeing it all was not possible. We opted for a loop that covered Central Swiss buildings and had a range of demonstrations (such as cheese making, bread baking and weaving) as well as houses in which we were allowed to interact with the collection.

On our wanderings around the countryside we’ve seen many older style Swiss dwellings, some likely occupied and some not. It was fascinating to explore the interiors: low roofs, dark pre-electicity multifunctional rooms, and frequently the living space held close proximity to where the livestock was kept. The section we explored was laid out like a village: apothecary, village gardens, townhouses and then, on the outskirts, farmhouses.

Due to our lack of planning, my dream of cooking sausages in one of the numerous fire pits around the country this summer was not realised; instead we picnicked under the Autumn leaves (and at least one of our dreams came true – our little miss knocked into her cake like a champ).

We wandered around for the afternoon, noseying through houses, playing with toys and making ridiculous animal noises to keep our girl entertained (bunnies totally say ‘hop hop’, no?).

happy-herbst-0138-20161106

Our curiosity on old-school Swiss living sated, we called it a day and made our way home, intending to return in better climes (and with Swiss snags to cook up…and possibly more research into rabbit noises).

There’s only a month to go – I hope – until the little guy arrives, and three more business trips away for Motsy during which I sincerely hope there is no baby related action. Until then it’s code go-slow here: more nesting (poor Tim was forced to clean and reorganise all our storage over the weekend because of course newborns require a neat hallway cupboard), trashy novel reading, and enjoying the changing view from our apartment as winter takes hold.

Pregnancy, Swiss-style

Posted on by under Europe, Personal, Switzerland

Summer is well and truly over. When visible through the fog the Alps have gone from being craggy black rocks to icing-sugar-dusted peaks, to one of those Pinterest style cakes that has the icing faux-casually half schmeared on it, to the full blown thickly and lusciously covered wedding cake affair. The leaves are at their most stunning, the afternoons golden and crisp, and Magenbrot is back at the markets (a spicy Autumn cookie that I love the most). Herbst is, no question, my best. This year I’ve paradoxically both slowed down and been super productive due to the phenomenon that’s only occurred for me once before: nesting.

In preparation for the Baby Apocalypse, meals have been prepped and frozen (in the Australian freezer we initially kicked ourselves for bringing, but for which we are now grateful), the pantry audited, culled and restocked. Prams, baby seats, cots, toys and ridiculous teeny tiny winter wear covered in dinosaurs are taking over our cellar. Shelves have been assembled and organised prettily but terribly impractically, most definitely not in a child friendly manner. Our weird indoor balcony area has become a sunroom (although fogroom may be a more accurate description on days such as today), with a day bed purchased and set up to maximise winter rays and mountain views. All that’s missing is a newborn with whom to snuggle (the resident toddler refuses to sit still long enough for anything better than a stolen one-armed-hug). A hospital has finally been chosen; by default, really, as it was the one that got back to me with an English speaking tour guide. The Christmas shopping, if not actually completed, is pretty much taken care of and that in itself is something of a seasonal miracle. I’ve also spent a lot of time on the afore mentioned daybed, napping and drinking lovely warm drinks (cough eating Magenbrot) and oscillating between feeling sorry for myself (I have been asked now many times if I am expecting twins due to how large I am. While this is good for my German conversation skills, it is absolutely wretched for my ego) and getting excited for the times ahead.

This pregnancy has been a very different experience from the last – physically, emotionally and practically. Physically, I had no issues whatsoever the first time. I was tottering around in high heels at work at eight months, for heaven’s sakes. This time….hoo boy. I’m enormous and sore and still queasy and doesn’t everyone know all about it (I confess I am not the most pleasant of people to be around, what with all the moaning and groaning. You’d think I was the first person to have a baby). Emotionally, the pregnancy with Addie was tough as we weren’t sure how her health would pan out, and it was a terribly stressful time as we tried to prepare for the unknown and the worst at the same time. This round has been a dream. The lad is growing perfectly, and even if he wasn’t our experience from last time has shown us that it will be alright – that we’ll manage, and love our kid, and do our best for him whatever happens. As a result I’ve been far more relaxed about the whole experience, feeling excited as opposed to nervous about the upcoming months.

Practically there have been quite a few differences being pregnant here rather than in Australia. System wise, I’ve found both to be excellent although they couldn’t be more different in structure. No public health care exists in Switzerland; it’s a private insurance model and, like everyone, we pay monthly premiums as well as the gap on any treatments (although this is waived after the 13th week of pregnancy). Monthly visits and scans with an obstetrician is par for the course, as opposed to the two major scans received at home (we had more because of potential pickles, but that is generally what the public system allows). All my medications – prenatal vitamins, iron tablets and the like – are provided by the obstetrician at the appointment, which suits a lazy person like myself admirably. Conversely and not so conveniently, I have to find my own midwife to do home visits following the birth which naturally I left a little late for a Festive Season Bub (curse all the professionals who want Christmas holidays). There are also apparently different naming conventions here – I’m not sure how accurate this is, but word on the street is that the baby’s name needs to be submitted prior to birth and the Swiss generally don’t allow hyphenation of last names. Given that we’re foreigners, there’s apparently flexibility with this for us. This is a relief because although agreed on his first two names, neither of us will let the last one go so we have another poor double-barrelled baby on the way.

My favourite difference – and more than likely a direct correlation with my increased enjoyment of pregnancy – is the Swiss approach to pregnancy food safety. In Australia, there were many restrictions recommended which I generally followed throughout my first pregnancy. To make sure I had it covered here, during one of my first appointments I asked the obstetrician about the Swiss guidelines and she looked at me as if I had two heads. I was told firmly that smoking was out (which, other than in our German lesson ‘fantasie’ conversations I don’t do, so no arguments here) but other than that, what did I mean? I mumbled about soft cheese and salami and booze and pre-packaged salad and she actually laughed at me. I was told that some drinking is alright – up to* two drinks per day is fine (!) – and everything else…is no problem at all. Happiest of days. (For the record, I was super cautious the first trimester and I still refrain from things like sushi in a land-locked country, but I do that sans baby bump anyway as a matter of principle. After that, though, I’ve lightened up and it’s been great. It could also explain the twins-related comments I have been receiving, sigh.)

So, insofar as one can be prepared for the onslaught that is an additional human into one’s life, I guess we are. There’s about seven weeks to go if he takes after me, and who knows how long if he takes after his far less reliable father. As long as he’s evicted before Christmas Day, this mama will be happy – although with the Swiss rules it’s not as if I’d have to miss out on my Christmas fizz anyway.

* Obviously the ‘up to’ here is key. From what I’ve observed, and excluding all-out party times like Fasnacht, the Swiss have nothing like the drinking culture we’re used to (slash fond of). It’s a very moderated and much healthier society and while people definitely drink it’s not the excessive binge mentality that is frequently the cultural and social norm in Australia (which is not by any stretch of the imagination a bad thing, particularly given the associated public ugliness that frequently ensues at home). So for most Swiss mamas-to-be, to carry on with normal drinking practices – one every now and then – is grand. For me, a couple here and there and plenty of nights off is definitely a reduction but obviously one I’ve been more than happy to make. Because one or two here and there is loads better than none!

 

Twelve months later…

Posted on by under Europe, Intentional summer, Lucerne, Switzerland

My summer to-do list wasn’t particularly ambitious this year, which is just as well as only about a third of it has been ticked off. While I’m not entirely giving up on the season I have a feeling we’ve seen the back of it for the year, and I’m prepared to let the rest of the list slide until next year. Happily, a few weekends ago the weather was lovely and we were kicking around at home, so we were able to tick off ‘walk the Luzern wall’.

Open only during the summer months the wall skirts the Alt Stadt of Luzern, providing lookout and protection for citizens back in the day. Now, it provides (fairly scary for a clumsy six months pregnant lady) steep stairs and chiming bells.

And, of course, stunning views across the city.

It was a lazy kind of day, enjoying the tourist buzz that late summer in Luzern brings. There was undoubtedly ice cream (not anything unusual; although beautiful, Luzern is also fairly culinarily conservative so pistachio is about as avant-garde as it gets), a stumbled-across farm cafe on the outskirts of town and some sprint training, in honour of the Olympics.

Last Saturday marked our one year annualversary of arriving in Switzerland. I remember, when I was quite small, visiting one of my great-grandmothers in her nursing home. She was sitting on her bed, crocheting small squares for a blanket, and offering us the large, chalky peppermints that I always associate with her. Being young and rude I asked her if she was bored all the time, just sitting around and knitting. She replied that every year of her life had gone faster and faster, and sitting around and knitting was about all she could manage to fit in any more. I couldn’t comprehend it at the time, but she was right – every year has flown by increasingly quickly, and this was no exception.

We’ve had a ball. We’ve met – exceeded, actually – our ‘go-away-once-a-month’ goal which has given us some amazing travel (cough eating) experiences. We’ve managed to settle here better than we’d expected – Tim at work and me as a Hausfrau, something I never thought I’d be doing (and much less enjoying…most of the time). There have been some pickles, sure (adjusting to the expense of Switzerland living has been a bit of a shock, my German remains horrific, and I’ve still not really mastered my recycling game), but overall it’s been a wonderful experience for our wee crew. Prior to coming, we’d mentally signed up to a minimum of two years here. If Nanna Graetz continues to be correct, that’ll be done and dusted before we know it. Guess I’d best dust off my knitting needles.

Rigi Tell Trail

Posted on by under Alps, Intentional summer, Lucerne, Switzerland

After our week of cabin-fever-inducing summer downpours, the ol’ sun reappeared in spectacular fashion this weekend. Which was fortunate, as we’d planned our next installation of the Intentional Summer Challenge: to go on a quest. While the rest of the world seemed to be chasing Pokemon we were significantly less cool and opted instead to follow the historic path of William Tell, the great folk hero of central Switzerland.

My knowledge of Willhelm / Guillaume / Guglielmo / Guglielm Tell (depending on which of the four Swiss languages you favour) was limited. Of course I’d heard about the infamous ‘arrow through the apple’ tale, and the sort-of-related William Tell Overture, but that was my total background on the guy. As we’d chosen to hike a route that reflected the man’s own path, we figured it was time to brush up on a bit of Swisstory.

A legendary strong man, Alp-hiker and expert marksman, William Tell led the Swiss resistance to attempted Austrian domination in the 1300s. Arrested by the Austrians with his son, he was offered a challenge: to shoot an apple from his son’s head in a single attempt, or for them both to face execution. Tell pulled out two arrows and successfully shot the apple. His son was released but when asked why he drew two arrows, Tell replied that had he shot his son he intended to use the second arrow to kill Gessler, the leader of the Austrians. With this he was imprisoned, however en route to Küssnacht dungeon Tell escaped capture and ran cross country through the Alps. His captors followed, and Tell famously assassinated Gessler with the second arrow through a narrow stretch of road cut through large rocks. His act sparked a revolution which eventually led to the formation of the Swiss confederation.

Our hike commenced close to the top of the mountain at Rigi Kaltbad, and followed some of the path that Mr Tell ran as well as marking the point where the famous fatal arrow was shot. The walk itself covered about 12km, and apart from a few straight stretches was primarily downhill all the way to Küssnacht. There was definitely no running from our team, lumbered up with one bambini apiece, but there was plenty of Alp gazing from the top of Rigi across Lake Luzern out to Mount Pilatus on the crystal clear day.

We had teamed up with some friends to do the hike, and we slowly made our way down the sometimes precarious mountain path. We frequently passed people walking the opposite direction and admired their gumption, but after a few hours our knees were telling us that upwards may have been a better game plan. Happily, there were ample scenic distractions as well as the melodious bell ringing of the Swiss cows grazing on Alpine grass.

We stopped for a very Swiss lunch (würst! älpermagronen! anything else on the menu with an umlaut!) in a seemingly middle-of-nowhere farm restaurant. The kids played on swings and trampolines and looked at the ponies, no doubt much like William Tell must have done while he was on the run.

The final descent into Küssnacht town was tough; we’d been walking steadily downhill for about 4 hours and our joints were telling us all about it. So loudly, in fact, that we forgot to note the site of the final showdown between Tell and Gessler, instead fantasising about icy beers and cool lake swims.

Our quest completed, although perhaps not observed as formally as warranted, we hobbled into town and called it a day. A spectacular day, with beautiful views and better yet glorious sunshine throughout the entire walk. For me the trip will be marked by the achievement of another quest of sorts: my lass, after months of pestering on my behalf, finally spat out her first proper ‘Mama’. I have some concerns that it came right after she played with the afore mentioned ponies, but she’ll have to learn full sentences before I’ll acknowledge that particular request.