Hands down

Posted on November 30, 2015 by doubleyewjay under Alps, Lucerne, Switzerland

Things got pretty ridiculous pretty quickly this week, winter wise. Engelberg 0037 - 20151129 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.

I also had my first spousal work support meeting. Part of our relocation agreement included a ‘find a new gig in Switzerland’ package, through which I have been allocated an agency to manage my transition back to the workforce. We’d teleconferenced prior to leaving Australia and I’d sent my CV to them; since arriving I’ve had several conversations about my prospects. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not sure what I want to do with myself (which, other than drinking all the wine and eating all the cheese, is nothing new) but my previous employment isn’t likely to be able to transfer over here. I knew this and am pleased about it – I’m ready for something new – but it turns out the most transferrable skill I have is quality management and assurance, which is second in dullness only to occupational health and safety. I was also told the average amount of time it takes to find a new job (for the Swiss and expats alike) is 9 months; I’m not sure how much of this was expectations management and how much was slack agency. I’m also not sure if I’m fussed – I’m still not sick of staying at home with my girl. Even though it can be terribly tedious some days (OK, every day, especially around meal time when my ancient body is bent over cleaning squooshed broccoli and berries off the floor yet again), I still love it. I feel like I shouldn’t, like I’m less of a professional or possibly even a person, because so many people I know have become listless or bored or itching to return to work (nobody says it or means it – or even thinks of it – that way as it’s an intensely personal thing) but nonetheless I know Pre Baby Wendy would judge Post Baby Wendy, and there we are. This Tiny Offspring Experience is nothing if not unexpected.

In between discussing CV styles (they like personal pictures here, and lists of hobbies) and potential employers (international companies primarily; I really need to take those German lessons) the best thing, hands down, to come out of the meeting was a recommendation to travel to Engelberg. About 40 minutes away without snow tyres, it was a winter wonderland. Engelberg 0056 - 20151129 Engelberg 0036 - 20151129 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. Engelberg 0063 - 20151129

Engelberg 0035 - 20151129 Engelberg 0050 - 20151129 Engelberg 0054 - 20151129 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.

Engelberg is also home to a range of baby (and more advanced, but irrelevant to us) ski slopes. Irrelevant not because we have a small child, but because we’re not skiers (or indeed, in my case, even remotely coordinated). We wandered around, gingerly treading through the ankle deep snow, agreeing to return to try the uber-beginner-friendly slopes some time in the future.

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Snow days

Posted on November 26, 2015 by doubleyewjay under Lucerne, Switzerland

We arrived in Switzerland during Autumn, and have been enjoying what is apparently an unusually warm season. Not being from a wintry country, we’re excited by the prospect of a snowy season, although I suspect – based on the looks I get from people in my mothers’ group when I express said excitement – we don’t know what we’re in for.

The forecast last weekend was for -9 and, excitingly, snow. The first flurry arrived on Saturday, although we initially thought it was fat, white rain. Which I suppose, in a way, it is.

First Snow Fall 0011 - 20151122 We all watched, agape, as the flakes grew and whirled, and the mountains became increasingly white throughout the day. Some right on the horizon looked as though they had been covered thickly in icing sugar. First Snow Fall 0004 - 20151122 The adults in the house would have preferred to lie on the couch and soak in the view however our wee boss had other ideas. After a day indoors on Saturday there was an epic case of cabin fever, so even though the snow hit Lucerne again on Sunday – this time a heavier shower that coloured all the nearby rooftops white – we decided to suck it up and get outside. A fortifying breakfast was in order (yeah, our little Swans bruiser is knocking back egg, bacon and beans. And looking to pick a fight while she’s at it. It was Sunday morning, right?!) First Snow Fall 0024 - 20151122 We rugged up in pretty much all our clothing. Laidey appears to have no feet here, or to have sunk into an uber plush rug, but in fact her pants are just embarrassingly large. First Snow Fall 0084 - 20151122 First Snow Fall 0092 - 20151122 We made our way to the park at the end of our street. By the time we arrived most of the snow on the ground had melted, but the mountains around held it proudly (and allegedly will now until April). First Snow Fall 0107 - 20151122 First Snow Fall 0094 - 20151122 During Loz’s visit, she and I took a tour of Lucerne city, hearing about its medieval and dark ages history, as well as more recent information on voting (all the time and on all manner of matters, like whether to hang original art on the bridge or not). Of course the tour took us to one of the city’s most famous sites: the Löwendenkmal (Lion Monument). I decided to play tour guide for Tim and we made our way across town, huddling into our jackets against the snow (but still peering out of them enthusiastically to ooh and aah as we walked).

The monument is carved into a natural stone wall. It is dedicated to the loyalty and bravery of the Swiss, commemorating mercenaries who died protecting the French monarchy (our tour guide told the story that the French King was quite the coward, and fled the palace leaving the Swiss guard to certainly be slain behind him. He also said that Cowardly King did not make it, and was busted on the streets of Paris and beheaded). Mark Twain famously said of the lion that it is the ‘most mournful and moving piece of stone in the world’ (Adelaide certainly though so, if the tears were anything to go by. She clearly has an appreciation for history and sculpture as opposed to, say, being bored and cold and possibly hungry). First Snow Fall 0125 - 20151122 The monument was paid for by many monarchies of Europe, all of which used Swiss mercenaries for their bodyguards. The pay, however, was not satisfactory and the sculptor was displeased. Rather than deface the monument itself, he instead carved a (definitely unrequested) pig in which the lion is dying. First Snow Fall 0129 - 20151122 The snow started to fall again, so we legged it home to drink fortifying red wine. First Snow Fall 0136 - 20151122 It has continued softly falling all week – and if you come back in April I suspect I shall be moaning about how tedious and miserable it all is, but for now every morning’s fresh touch of white is exciting. Apparently the Swiss buy their little ones skis for their first birthdays, so that they can learn to navigate the slopes as they start to navigate walking. It seems fitting, then, that our first snow has fallen the week our little Addie took her first bumbling, drunken-old-man steps, not too far from her first birthday (for which she will not be receiving skis. Sorry, Adelaide, no future winter olympics career for you)(frankly, the chances were slim anyway with her heritage).

Driving Tim to work this morning was magical: sloping white rooftops, pine trees with snow mounds on the branches, every tree and twig turned from the warm glow of Autumn a few short weeks ago to cold, shimmering crystal. The light is now grey but the white of the snow on the fields makes it brilliant, crisp, other-worldly. It feels as though we have stepped inside a fairy tale.

Our new digs

Posted on November 23, 2015 by doubleyewjay under Lucerne, Switzerland

So, now that we’re in our new home, we’d love to have you over for a drink. For the majority of you that’s not likely to happen in the real world for the near future (although visitors are always, always welcome) so for now, let’s make it virtual.

Our apartment complex is named (the google tells me) after a prominent Swiss social worker, one of the first the country had. (For those that don’t know, this is my previous trade, so it seemed fitting.) We’re on the fifth storey (there are six all up) of a (not exactly garish but definitely not tasteful) yellow building. Sadly, our lift-into-apartment experience appears to have been a one off and we now schmuck it into a common area with everyone else on the floor. One set of neighbours is an older Swiss couple (they were delighted with our girl’s name, and have taken to calling her Heidi, an abbreviation of the German version of her name, Adelheid) and the other is, we think, a younger Italian couple (based on nothing other than their names and a glimpse of one of them in the lift). But enough neighbour stalking – come on in!

First Snow Fall 0146 - 20151122 Ordinarily, we’d usher you into the kitchen and shove Tim’s cocktail of the moment (usually gin, usually too strong) into your hand. But as this is Switzerland, you need to derobe first. Just to the right of the entry way is the ‘shell cupboard’ (Tim’s words) – a wardrobe that holds shoes, scarves, beanies, coats, gloves; all the outerwear. It’s usually a world of fluster as I’m running late for somewhere or other and, as usual, underestimating the weather and my child’s patience.

Walk down the short corridor and you’ve got our open plan kitchen/dining (to the left) and living room (to the right). Please feel free to grab some virtual salumi and olives from the virtual table on your way through. First Snow Fall 0015 - 20151122 Tucked in the door in the far left above is our laundry slash general dumping zone. It includes all our recycling, which currently consists of a disgraceful number of wine bottles. From the windows here, you can see the twin spires of the St Leodgedar (built in the 1600s, it’s one of Switerland’s most significant churches apparently), some reflections on the lake if you squint, and of course a bunch of neighbouring apartments. First Snow Fall 0012 - 20151122 To the right of the living room we have an indoor balcony, a type of sunroom (in a wintery, wintery land). We’ve got views of the Alps (as well as a bunch of miscellaneous rooftops and a bus depot) from those windows as long as the day is clear, which it appears is rare this time of year. First Snow Fall 0013 - 20151122 First Snow Fall 0014 - 20151122 It’s been fun moving our existing possessions into a new space. The bookshelves, as I’ve mentioned, have been the only real fail as they are 15cm short for the new ceiling and are subsequently reclining sideways (I like to imagine them doing so sleazily, with one arm supporting their heads). It makes no difference – the girl’s current fave activity is to pull all the books out and throw them on the floor (repeating as quickly as I can reshelve them) (Sisyphus much?).

Moving onward, there’s another corridor that branches off: to the left, the guest room (currently known as Lauren’s room, due to our recent visitor), straight ahead the baby’s bathroom and then to the right, our girl’s room. There are no snaps of Lauren’s room primarily because we rarely go in there, and it is a haphazard mess of power tools and miscellany. Also, you should really come, stay, and see it for yourself.

As always, my Ademalaidey’s room is my favourite. Which is a good thing, given the number of grumpy hours we spend there.

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First Snow Fall 0138 - 20151122 If we head back now towards the entry and turn left – let’s top our glasses up on the way through the kitchen, shall we? – we’ll hit our room. I once went on a tour of a friend’s new house and she described her boudoir as the room ‘where the magic happens’. If ‘magic’ is going to bed before double figures, reading trashy detective fiction and being woken in the fives (if we’re lucky) by the baby, then the description also stands for me. First Snow Fall 0150 - 20151122 The door you can see there leads out to sunroom balcony, and subsequently we also have views of the Alps slash bus depot from our room. Which makes for a scenic, and occasionally noisy, experience.

The number one thing about our apartment, in a land where storage is not common and for people who don’t come with cupboards, is the walk-in-wardrobe just off our room. It’s large enough to hold (messily, because I’m a pretty lazy housewife) everything we own and it will also fit Adelaide’s travel cot for when we have a full house (say, this coming Christmas). I sort of feel bad that it’ll be her bedroom, but console myself with the fact that we could be putting her in the storage room downstairs.

First Snow Fall 0154 - 20151122 Our dirty laundry aired, let’s make our way back to the living room for the afore mentioned olives and drinks. Do your best to make sure it’s in real life soon, yeah? Lauren’s room is waiting for you!

Old friends and turnips

Posted on November 16, 2015 by doubleyewjay under Switzerland

We’ve moved! Tuesday was the day of action, and we were up bright and early to see our final sunrise over the illustrious Rotkreuz train station.

Auntie Loz's Visit 0002 - 20151116 We had an early handover at the new apartment, followed by the unloading of the container that had made its way from Australia, registering in the new Canton, moving our possessions from the temporary apartment to our new home, and of course cracking into celebratory champagne. Once again the relocation people were fantastic and there were only a few hiccups (a delayed customs clearance due to our apparently suspicious sofa, a few breakages, bookshelves too large for our new home which are now stylishly placed on their sides as opposed to their upright position, and I’d bought only one bottle of bubbles). We’ve spent the week settling in and getting familiar with both our new space and the local neighbourhood. Thus far, we’re delighted.

Tuesday also marked the arrival of my friend Lauren, en route from living in the States back to Australia by way of a four month holiday. I’d not seen her since the baby was tiny, and I didn’t stop talking for approximately three days.
Auntie Loz's Visit 0030 - 20151116 Her help was indispensable with the move: there was assistance with crappy Buykea trips, assembly of furniture, recycling runs and distracting of baby. Most importantly, though, she was able to mediate between Motsy and I in furniture and art placement debates and therefore circumvent an early divorce. I’ve missed her. Auntie Loz's Visit 0031 - 20151116 Due to the move, we’ve mainly hung out in Lucerne, but we made a trip out sans baby last weekend. My hometown, Wagga Wagga, used to hold an annual festival called the Gumi. The Pidgin word for ‘inner tube’, the Gumi race featured a bunch of homemade crafts – made not only from inner tubes but also plastic milk bottles and the like – floating down the Murrumbidgee River. Half the town would build a craft and sail, the other half would line the banks of the river and cheer (and throw water bombs, flour bombs and – I am sure I remember school mates doing this – pig poo bombs). Unsurprisingly perhaps, the Gumi was cancelled due to insurance, environmental and health and safety reasons some years ago. It is remembered fondly by Wagga people of my vintage, and has always seemed to me to be one of the perks of small town life: quirky low budget festivals that unite the townsfolk long after the event itself has ended.

Thus, when we heard about the Räbechilbi Richterswil, it was hard to resist attending (although the day beers at the brewery happily situated around the corner from our new home nearly put a stop to it). Based in the town of Richterswil on the banks of Lake Zurich, the festival held every November is an ode to…the turnip. Featuring 26 tonnes of the vegetable, school children spend weeks carving prior to them being turned into lanterns for one night of turnip-illuminated fun. There are turnip lamps dotted throughout the town, and a turnip parade. We hardly knew what to expect, but Loz and I headed there to check out the action. Once embarking from the train, we made our way into the tiny town which was indeed alight with the humble root vegetable. Auntie Loz's Visit 0035 - 20151116

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Auntie Loz's Visit 0037 - 20151116 Root vegetables, and cauldrons of Glühwein. We did our civic duty and indulged in a few glasses. Auntie Loz's Visit 0043 - 20151116

Auntie Loz's Visit 0047 - 20151116 It was, indeed, so fein. Auntie Loz's Visit 0156 - 20151116 The parade was a trifle confusing. It featured large billboards with turnips fixed to them in a variety of images. There didn’t appear to be a particular theme and we watched disney characters, local monuments and a variety of creatures – including an octopus with an unlikely pair of lips – go past. I also suck at taking snaps and we were vying for a good position with a ten year old boy, so you’ll excuse the blurry images. Auntie Loz's Visit 0170 - 20151116

Auntie Loz's Visit 0174 - 20151116 We had no idea who this guy was. The local sans-beard Santa? The father of twin Ponnochios? Auntie Loz's Visit 0177 - 20151116 The kissable Octopus, followed by Caspar. Auntie Loz's Visit 0183 - 20151116

Auntie Loz's Visit 0191 - 20151116 This turnip-embossed monument had an operating fountain dispensing water (sadly, not Glühwein).
Auntie Loz's Visit 0202 - 20151116 Darth Vader made a (somewhat lacklustre) appearance. Auntie Loz's Visit 0211 - 20151116 We argued about this guy – Loz thought it was Hugh Jackman in his Wolverine days. I asked a local and he confirmed it was an actor but the language barrier prohibited us finding out exactly who it was. Either way, the parade was paused for a turnip to be replaced (or a blackhead to be picked, if you’ll excuse our Glühwein fuelled humour). Auntie Loz's Visit 0221 - 20151116 We didn’t stick around for the grand finale (which looked like the ‘What, Me Worry?’ Mad Magazine guy) which may have been a good thing if the pig poo bombs from the Gumi were anything to go by. Instead we lumbered back to the new apartment, where we’ve spent the rest of the week carving a new home for ourselves.

Auntie Loz's Visit 0230 - 20151116

On history

Posted on November 9, 2015 by doubleyewjay under Europe, Germany

I studied modern history for my higher school certificate, and was taught for several years by Miss Stroud. Her name somehow suited her: she was short, sturdy, brusque. She had harshly bobbed dark hair and was rumoured only to have one ear as nobody had ever seen both of them. She was also one of the best teachers I ever had, and made history – a subject I didn’t really wish to take, but I was even less attracted to geography and it was a case of one or the other – a thing of intrigue and fascination. Through her enthusiastic and critical tutelage I learned about China’s Cultural Revolution, the throb of USA and Soviet relations, a serial killer course popular with students (which I suspect she loathed to teach), and both World Wars. Miss Stroud was the first person I’d ever come across that took holidays to see places she had a historical interest in – the idea of taking a vacation to learn was incomprehensible to me at that time. She also, despite her brusqueness, telephoned every one of her class on the day that our HSC results were announced and congratulated us individually on our efforts.

The World War classes included, of course, the role of Germany both through the Weimar and the Nazi years. While not initially as fascinating as – say – Jack the Ripper, the rich detail espoused by Miss Stroud converted a room full of teenagers. I remember many heated discussions throughout the semester, not only about the actual occurrences but causation, society and legacy. Impassioned as teenage debate can be, it remained theoretical and abstract, hard to align with mid 90s rural Australia.

I’ve been to Germany a few times, a solid decade ago now, and these trips were memorable (or not, as the case may be) only for their intake of beer. Thus, when given the chance to head there this weekend to meet up with Tim’s sister and her partner who are currently living in Berlin, we jumped at the opportunity. We decided to meet in Nuremberg, about halfway between our two surrogate homes. A prominent city in the middle ages and Roman times, Nuremberg also has significant history for Nazi Germany, being the site of Nazi party annual rallies, then a battlefield, and later where the post war trials were held. Word on the street was that there were three main things to experience: the rally grounds, the medieval castle and Nürnburger Bratwurst. We rolled into town on Friday (some later than others, due to an erroneous train connection) and bright and early the next morning, thanks as always to our daughter, we made our way to the rally grounds.

Located slightly out of town, the incomplete Kongresshalle reminded us (on its exterior) of the Colosseum. Intended to host 500,000 people, the structure was never completed but is now a museum capturing the history of the site and explaining the rallies that were held for over a decade nearby. As I have previously mentioned, our girl does not care for The Cultures, and as such she commenced wailing right about the same time I started viewing the introductory video. She and I legged it through the vast building and wandered outside while Tim, Dom and Ro took it all in.

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Apart from the impressive venue, and intricate explanation of history, Tim found that the exhibition made comprehensible the transition from a somewhat-out-there right wing state to extreme facism. Tucked away in our high school classrooms, the horrific outcomes of the Nazi state are incomprehensible, almost a caricature. It’s so hard to understand how not only a country but a considerable part of a continent can transform in this way; yet this exhibition explained the social and cultural changes that both led and allowed this to occur. It did not undermine or deny the wretched outcomes but it allowed an insight into how they occurred, making it no longer an abstract notion but something of which, under the right circumstances, any society could perhaps find itself. The other intriguing aspect of the rallies was their purpose. They were not used for education as such, but rather for the experience, a propaganda fuelled hedonistic mob, implying other parallels with the Colosseum.

Following the reasonably heavy morning’s excursion, there was nothing for it but a beverage. Happily, we had lunch planned – a belated birthday celebration for Dom – which we backed up with Delicious Gin (and Nürnbergers, which when covered with mustard and curry ketchup were delicious).
Nuremberg 0149 - 20151108 This morning we arose – happily not as painfully bright and early – and decided to tick off number three: the castle. Our wee tour guide rallied us together. Nuremberg 0168 - 20151108

It had rained overnight, but the morning was clean and clear, and the sun shimmered off the streets as we made our way into the old walled city.

Nuremberg 0180 - 20151108 Nuremberg 0181 - 20151108 Nuremberg 0184 - 20151108 Nuremberg 0186 - 20151108 The castle, although unclear as to exact time, dates circa 1105. Guarded by a wide moat and solid walls, it sits atop the city and boasts a beautiful view.
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The castle is apparently considered to be one of Europe’s most formidable medieval fortifications. Frankly, anything boasting a double-headed bird would keep me at bay.
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We spent the morning strolling around its grounds, and wandered home through the Old Town.

Nuremberg 0204 - 20151108 Nuremberg 0206 - 20151108 A starkly different experience from the rally ground the day previously, it emphasised the richness of German – and indeed all – history, the same richness and complexity enthusiastically shown to me in a classroom some twenty years ago. Not for the first time, I wished that when Miss Stroud called me to wish me well for my future I had thanked her. Not simply for teaching me about Jack the Ripper (because I was totally the student that loved it the most) but showing me a love for history, for places and people and events and motives, that continues to influence me – and, it turns out, my holiday destinations.

Our three Nuremberg must-dos complete, and a hearty German breakfast consumed, we went our separate ways. Hotel, Laidey and I returned to Rotkreuz – where we only have two more sleeps until we move to our new home – via Rheinfalls in northern Switzerland, where we watched the water flow.
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To Autumn

Posted on November 5, 2015 by doubleyewjay under Switzerland

While our ‘relocate to Switzerland’ conversations were still in progress, my parents wasted no time whatsoever in planning their visit. I suspect we were largely an excuse to see a few other countries they’ve always wanted to explore, but much to our amusement they had their flights booked well before we had confirmed ours. They arrived almost exactly one month after we did, and after acclimatising here they travelled through France, Spain and Portugal before spending their final week with us.

I’ve racked my brains, and I’ve not spent as much concentrated time with my folks since they visited me in Ireland; prior to that, when I lived at home (and we don’t want to consider how long ago that was). Given this, and the fact that we had only just moved ourselves and were settling in to our new home, I wasn’t sure how it’d go. The answer: it went fine and grandparents are awesome.

Our days were simple. Early coffee (sometimes plural, depending on her wake up time) and breakfast, after which I’d get to do whatever I liked (which was usually stare into space) while my parents played with the girl. They’d then head off for the day, or we’d mosey out together, after which we’d reconvene for more space staring slash playing. Motsy would get home, we’d do her night routine (bath, book, bed) followed by our night routine (dinner, wine, chocolate). We also had the luxury of a few nights out sans baby which of course we spent talking pretty much exclusively about her and her latest tricks (saying ‘uh-oh!’ is the current highlight).

For their final weekend we spent Saturday in Zurich, lunching and wandering the streets. We hit a shamelessly tourismo yet delicious beer hall, where Tim and I ate meat on a sword. There was also pork knuckle and rosti and everyone was happy.

For Sunday lunch we visited a restaurant perched on the hills above Zurich, between a vineyard and a forest. The foliage, while thinning (like someone’s hair), remains stunning.

Zurich 0031 - 20151102 I knocked back a cheeky prosecco while Adelaide tried her hand at stealing post-halloween pumpkins.

During my first stint at uni (literature and philosophy. Useful. Hence subsequent degrees) I took many poetry classes, one of which included ‘To Autumn‘, by Keats. A work that describes beautifully the rich fullness of the season, it also has undertones of melancholy: the inevitability of the passage of time, the fleeting nature of life as season is overtaken by season, and ultimately of our own mortality. I’ve always loved Autumn, and I love how this poem describes it. This year, it feels much more poignant than it has previously. Partly because of the assault on our senses that we’ve not experienced before, but also because we’re acutely aware how much is changing in our little lives, and how quickly. It wasn’t a melancholy car ride home from leaving my parents in Zurich, but it was somewhat sombre as we contemplated that the next time my folks will see our girl, she’ll be walking and talking (hopefully more than misplaced uh-ohs). There’s a new niece or nephew arriving across the other side of the world early next year, bringing newborn cuddles we’ll miss. We’ve not spoken to dear friends in some months and when we do, it’s the headline events that make the conversations, not the minutiae of the day to day which although simple and ostensibly dull makes life broader, fuller, familiar, more meaningful. While we didn’t exactly get our Keats on – we’re not lamenting the (literal or metaphysical) winter ahead – we did pause, heartstrings pulled a little, as we watched the leaves float down.

This morning we had to go to the Zug authorities to advise them we’re moving to Canton Luzern. Our lovely Swiss relocation consultant met me bright and early, and we were discussing the glorious colours and the misty mornings. Although English is not her first language, and neither of us are even remotely in the Keats ballpark, I thought her simple words summed up the sentiment perfectly: ‘the mountains just now are so beautiful, I want to cry’.

Nutritious lunch #6 (soundtrack by Deep Purple)

Posted on October 28, 2015 by doubleyewjay under Uncategorized

When I was in high school, circa year nine, my music class consisted of every student rocking up, grabbing their instrument and playing ‘Smoke On The Water’. This happened several times a week for about six months and probably would have been awesome except that I played the flute. It feels like I have had the song stuck in my head ever since.

So when we all went down to Montreux on the Lake Geneva shoreline, we weren’t making records with the mobile but rather eating all the cheese. There was raclette (this time a selfie rather than communal effort), fondue and rosti (which had cheese on top). They, unlike my rock-n-roll flute, were awesome.

A bit of a fail

Posted on October 28, 2015 by doubleyewjay under Europe, France

After dinner and drinks out on the town, Hotel and I had dreams of a lovely relaxed Lyon morning. A little lie in (nothing too ambitious – say, seven?), coffee, french pastries and cuddles with our sweet girl. The same sweet girl who woke up in the threes and ruined all our plans (to be fair, daylight savings kicked in and so as far as her body was concerned, it was in the fours, but that’s still completely ludicrous). After trying our best to reclaim precious zzzs, we reverted to Plan B (which stands for bloody hell, are you kidding me?) and made our way to catch the sunrise over the Roman amphitheatre. Except when we arrived at some ungodly dark hour of course it was closed, the attendants probably luxuriating in their warm beds with their coffee on standby and pastries at the ready, sniggering at us in their dreams. Plan C (you can use your imagination): we made our way to Saint Jean-Baptiste Cathedral, and typically she fell asleep just as the sun came up.

The church bells tolled and she awoke – you think she’d be used to them after Rotkreuz. You’d also think I might have been able to manage my hair and wear clean jeans. You would be mistaken on all counts.

Not quite ready to give up on the pastry dream, we made our way back into town to find the Sunday markets. They were delicious. There is a law in France that prohibits taking photos of people without their permission, hence Tim’s odd law-skirting camera angle. Rest assured, we’ve not included any dirty jean shots.

We had to head to Geneva as Tim had to get his passport renewed (the Kiwis can apparently submit everything electronically and have the passports delivered within days; not so for us. In person, with an appointment, at the embassy, thankyouverymuch). As Geneva was only a few hours away we decided to detour via Beaujolais.

If, when driving through wine territory, we are instructed to get out and drink wine, then fine. We will do so.

The only problem with that plan was that it was Sunday, and all the things were shut. We had a lovely drive through the autumnal vines, mentally making ‘what we would do better next time’ lists (call first / have a game plan / pack a picnic / remember things shut on Sunday / have a daughter that sleeps past three am). We grabbed baguettes at the only place we could find that was open, and Adelaide promptly ate her grandfather’s.

We made it to Geneva that afternoon. Tim and I did a brief UN, Botanic Gardens and Lake Geneva circuit before calling it a night (night = wine and whispers in our hotel room, hoping that things would fare better the following morning). (Spoiler: they did not.) However the lake was beautiful and the UN doesn’t support any kind of warfare, let alone that with your child, so we cut our losses and enjoyed the evening.

Trabouling

Posted on October 26, 2015 by doubleyewjay under Europe, France

After a week of friends visiting from Australia (which means more wines than one should have with an early waking baby), we had plans to meet up with my parents following their travels in Spain and Portugal. We were to liaise in Lyon, and as Tim had a work function Adelaide and I hit the road alone on Friday. We made our way to Lausanne, not too far from the border of Switzerland and France, and stopped for lunch. Adelaide had a wriggle in the gardens and I had a rose and we were both rather pleased with ourselves.

It’s still novel – and will be for some time, I suspect – to drive a few hours and cross into another country. Luckily the baby slept, because every time I saw ‘FRANCE’ on signposts I embarrassingly screeched in excitement (quietly though, so as not to disturb her).

World heritage listed, Lyon is the third largest city in France, and is lauded as its gastronomic capital. We didn’t have long in town, so we set out early to check out its sights (and squeeze in as many pastries as our arteries could handle). The old town is nestled between two rivers and looming above it, visible from almost everywhere, is the cathedral.

Only visible if you can be bothered looking up, that is.

We strolled around the town in the morning, checking out architecture and finding our bearings (but mostly trying to work up an appetite for lunch).

We moseyed through museums, cruised through courtyards and ogled ornate churches.

And Tim and the girl viewed vinyl at the markets along the Rhone.

Lyon has the largest number of Michelin starred restaurants in the world, and an uber famous octogenarian chef. It has oodles of delicious markets with astounding ranges of charcuterie, cheese, meats, chocolates, pastries, fruit and vegetables. It also has bouchons, home-style restaurants that used to provide a resting place for horses and give a simple meal, usually based around cheaper ingredients, to weary travellers. Given the choices of food in Lyon, we’d deliberated for some time as to how we’d fill our stomachs and had decided to lunch at one such establishment. A low ceilinged, checkered tableclothed affair, it did not disappoint. We were served a standard menu: salami and pickles, rilettes, lentils and a cabbage salad to start, and a choice of mains. They ranged from the local specialty of quenelle (a pike dumpling in crayfish sauce), andouillette sausages and pork cheek stew, to blood pudding with roast apples, and pigs head. We sampled bravely and were well rewarded (also, there was praline pie afterwards for the win). Our bellies full – for the time being – we embarked on a walking tour.

Lyon’s old town consists mainly of streets parallel to the rivers. In order to carry originally water, and later silk, and still later move army troops quickly between the streets a series of traboules (meaning ‘to cross’) were developed. Secret passages through the city, they are located behind closed doors, and lead you through private courtyards and alleys to the next bustling thoroughfare. In the old town there are over 300 such passages, and unless shown where they where I would have walked on past, foolishly taking the long route. Happily for my lazy legs, we were shown many entrances which led us to common courtyards, usually with the communal well still intact.

These were joined by passages: some straight and some meandering, some with stairs and some flat, illuminated to guide the way.

Some of the traboules are signposted, like the one below, but the vast majority of them are private and hidden to the unknowing eye.

Many were filled with tourismos like us, admiring the view (and for some, the greenery).
Unlike today, the cheapest rooms were located on the top floors as they were the furthest from the well and didn’t have the luxury of elevators. The owner of the building would often have a single room at the top to maximise access to the sun as the courtyards were frequently dark and damp.

All the talk of hauling water (or more accurately Tim’s work function) tired out some of the tourists.

Even after being shown many of the entrances to the traboules, it was still a surprise when one popped open in an unassuming place.

I had hoped that this was the nexus of Lyon’s gastronomy and traboules but sadly I was mistaken. It wasn’t all about hidden passageways, of course – we also relished the imposing views from above.

Tim and I hit the town that night sans baby (thanks, grandparents!) and marvelled at the difference of the city. By night, the buildings are lit from below and are covered in a golden glow. The city had a buzz to it – while fairly frantic during the day, it mellowed out at night and the hum of well fed and watered patrons murmered through the streets. We drank champagne in a dark, spacious and ornate bar, and despite learning the hard way that we really should make reservations in a gastronomic wonderland, we had a dreamy night out.

Rainy old Sunday

Posted on October 19, 2015 by doubleyewjay under Uncategorized

Our dinner went smashingly, to the point where when we woke this morning and heard the rain outside we were relieved we could skip our planned hike and nurse our sorry heads inside on the couch, finishing the series we’re currently watching and potentially ordering a cheeky recovery pizza later in the day. However, our resident ten month old apparently doesn’t like Bosch and made it clear that staying indoors all day quietly was not on the cards.

It’s mushroom season here and I’ve heard of people hitting the forests to forage for delicious wild treats. Obviously, there’s a concern about eating poisonous mushies and to assist with this the Naturmuseum Luzern – the museum of natural history – offers an identification service. You take your loot in and they advise which goodies can be risottoed and which must be turfed. Given our sad state, foraging in the wet woods was out of the question but we cut to the end game and decided to head into the museum for the morning.

Lucerne was misty, grey and wet, and it was beautiful. The cobblestoned streets had a shimmer to them, and gorgeous silvery light danced around the lake. It still wasn’t as nice as our couch in our warm house, but the cold bite to the air helped brush the cobwebs away. That, and nearly being taken out by the Lucerne tourist train as we turned a tight corner in the Old Town.

We traipsed around until we found the museum. Adelaide appears less than impressed with her call to leave the comforts of home (or maybe she’s embarrassed about being rugged up in pink baby ugg boots. But how could I not?).

I’ve always loved natural history museums, and they’re usually my first port of call in any given city in inclement weather. I spent a lot of time in the one in Dublin, mostly in the thin narrow room that felt completely stuffed with…well, stuffed things. I’ve spent rainy holidays in the states and the UK lazily perusing the musty wares. Sydney’s is great – they do night time openings with a full bar as well as having an awesome kid’s area by day that I’ve taken the girl to, so she could crawl around and discover. I was excited to see what Lucerne’s held.

Wild boar, is what.

We realised fairly early on that not being able to read German hinders our ability to learn about the installations (we will be starting lessons soon, but we had to wait until we knew where we’d live. Even once they do kick off, I suspect we won’t go from zero to understanding the Swiss ecosystem as explained by the museum immediately). Tim attempted some google translate (we tested it on our bills: his name comes up as Lord Timothy Tumble and mine is Woman Wendy Noble) and although that gave us laughs, it wasn’t so great for learning. Adelaide didn’t seem to mind though and crawled happily through the trees, fossils and stuffed birds.

The museum is known for its insect collection, apparently one of the most significant in Europe. Surprisingly, given my irrational fear of nearly everything else, I’m not actually that freaked out by bugs (don’t get me wrong, I think they’re kinda gross and all but birds are definitely, unquestionably worse), and these were presented quite prettily. They’d added a surprise element by putting them behind panels you had to access with pass cards – it was like a big bug lucky dip. Some panels hid pretty butterflies, some freakily large cockroaches, and others spindly stick insects.

Adelaide’s apparent interest has me concerned she’ll wind up like those weird insect guys in Silence of the Lambs.

We wandered around for most of the morning, taking it in turns to view the collection and spot our girl climbing the stairs (up is fine and embraced enthusiastically. Down, not so much). Disappointingly, I didn’t see anyone saved in the nick of time from eating their potentially lethal mushroom haul, but we were happy with the characters we did meet.

We had lunch in a cosy restaurant overlooking the lake. It would have been delightful except that Adelaide had decided she didn’t care for our choice of venue and Lord Tumble and I had to individually scoff our meals while the other managed Captain Screamalot outside in the rain. We made our way home through the local hills, thick with forest. We rose above the fog at one point, the town below barely visible due to cloud cover.

We made it home in time to settle the baby and, finally, get our couch time (with a heavenly recovery gin). The pizza didn’t get a look in, but we did give these a go.

Yeah, they’re little dancing people. They were like man-shaped flakes of polystyrene with some colour on them, but given our state we happily knocked them back. Also, I have to stop buying snacks simply because I think their names are amusing.