The intentional summer

Posted on July 11, 2016 by doubleyewjay under Europe, Intentional summer, Lucerne

The idea, proposed by the New York Times, is simple: make the most of this often too-fleeting season by consciously choosing to change your days, weeknights and weekends to better savour summer. Weekly suggestions of activities are offered; tweaks on daily routines or flashbacks to summers past. The underlying principle is that focusing on how you spend your time and varying your standard routine enriches your experiences and subsequently your life. The planning and anticipation will heighten enthusiasm, carrying the plans through ensures you get out and enjoy the season before the nights start to grow dark and long sleeves are once more reluctantly donned, and the activities themselves are about embracing time with family and friends, frequently in the great outdoors.

Apart from the fact that I love both a list and a challenge, I’ve dearly missed summer, and as our Swiss one is allegedly fleeting I’m keen to make the most of it. I already have the luxury of a fluid schedule with my lass that – amongst the household chores and playgroups – enables daily trips to the lake to splash in the increasingly warm water, build sandcastles and eat iceblocks, but the notion of planning a little more and enjoying things outside our (at times admittedly mind-numbingly dull) schedule was appealing. I signed on immediately.

The first challenge was to pick a place nearby to which you normally drive, and either walk or cycle there instead. Coincidentally, after nine months of deliberations, research, road testing and dilly-dallying (and not a few arguments), we recently bought a bike trailer for Laides and figured there was no better time to take it on its maiden voyage. We hit the road last Saturday to do a loop from Luzern to Horw (a township in the Luzern canton), and then back via Kriens (another wee village just outside Luzern). Admittedly we don’t normally drive this route, but we do frequent the Ufschötti – the local beach – so we decided to make that our final destination for a dip in the lake.

It was a glorious day, and as we cycled through dappled streets we spied people out swimming and sunning themselves along the banks of Lake Luzern. I confess I was happy to be cycling merrily along solo (taking bad and slightly dangerous iPhone snaps) rather than lugging our 12kg monster up the Swiss inclines; her papa did a brilliant job.

There’s a very different approach to cycling here than there is in Australia – in fact, to road occupancy in general. I cycled semi-regularly at home: to work before the lass was born, around the neighbourhood for dinners or to meet friends, to the markets. There was always an underlying current of fear: Sydney drivers notoriously cannot abide cyclists and there is no comprehension of ‘public’ roadways. Here, however, there is a much more relaxed approach in general. Many people cycle, and carry their little ones with them either in trailers or perched on kid seats. While there are many designated bike lanes, there is also a lot of communal traveling space. Cars are patient, and willingly share the road (both with cyclists and with other cars – I’ve found it to be far more relaxed here on the roads in general). It’s a refreshing and relieving change, like I’d been holding my breath but could now finally relax (it also helps that they’re chilled about helmet rules here. While in principle I am pro-helment, and it’s certainly not negotiable for the little one, I confess cycling down the side of a hill with the Alps in the distance and the wind through my hair was a glorious, liberating feeling. And, according to Tim aka Nerdy McHelmetWearer, a bad example for our daughter).

A few hours later, we arrived back at the local beach. Our German teacher told us that its name – Ufschötti – means to pile up, to build. The beach itself is man made, using the sand that was excavated from the Sonnenberg Tunnel. The tunnel, just outside Luzern, was built in the 1970s and was at the time the world’s largest nuclear bunker with capacity to hold 20,000 civilians in the event of disaster. (The tunnel was tested in the 90s and, despite some minor pickles closing its doors due to years of use by cars, it did manage to hold the required number of people. Air circulation and water availability were also fine – but there had been no provision made for plumbing, and as such the experiment was abandoned reasonably quickly. Tours of the tunnel can be done, but sadly our lass is too young to enable us to check it out.)

Regardless of its origins, Ufschötti is gorgeous. We took our first dip in – Addie and I had been wading up to our knees, but after our cycle a full body immersion was warranted. It was surprisingly temperate – cool and refreshing and nowhere near as chill as I was anticipating. I had forgotten, however, how revolting and slimy lake beds are which gave added incentive to dive in quickly.

Our first summer challenge ticked off, and not before time. Already the storms are rolling in – I’ve just run around the house to do some serious battening down of hatches – with the rest of the week projected to be wet and thundery. That won’t stop us working towards the next few challenges though, with fingers crossed that we won’t have to utilise the bike trailer’s rain cover too frequently.

Proud

Posted on July 5, 2016 by doubleyewjay under Europe, Spain

My best mate Phil – also the girl’s Guidefather – and his partner Andrew have been hanging out in the Europes and making us hideously jealous with their social media snaps for the last month. They visited us in Luzern for their first weekend, and we’d been biding our time until meeting them in Madrid to bookend their visit before they went home. We arrived last Friday and were greeted by heat in the high 30s, instantly forcing us to slow down, relax and drink cerveza (which happily this pregnant lady doesn’t actually like, so it wasn’t until the lads hit the gins that I got surly).

When booking the trip it was unusually difficult to find somewhere to stay. The apartment we chose required a minimum four night booking, despite its website claiming otherwise. On querying this we were told this was due to it being one of the biggest events of the year in Madrid: Pride! Apparently the largest festival of its kind in the world, Madrid Pride has over 2 million people celebrating over the weekend. The whole city had its glad rags on.

We spent our Saturday moseying around the city, spending some playing time at the surprisingly lush El Retiro park, where the girl’s father and uncles seemed to have more fun playing than she did.

We lunched with our Spanish friends Paella and its noodly cousin Fidueà, and then embraced that other excellent Spanish tradition: the siesta. We figured we couldn’t be in Madrid for the party of the year without giving it a go, so we got our fiesta on and hit the streets for Pride. As we walked the few blocks to the parade, we could hear music and revelry increasingly escalating, and the girl’s dance moves kicked in.

For a two million people strong party, the city was amazingly relaxed. There was a vibe of good cheer with costumed people, DIY-sangria-sellers, families, and general revellers throughout the city, but no angst or overt drunkenness that I associate with epic street parties (well, those in Australia at any rate). The parade itself was huge, starting at 6pm and continuing well into the early hours. We’re used to the spectacle and flamboyance of Sydney’s fabulous Mardi Gras; this parade, although enormous, was much more low key but in a way was more inclusive. Anyone and everyone was in on the act, with no fencing between the crowds and the parade so bystanders could become part of the act if they so chose (which many of them seemed to do). Rather than being solely focused on the parade, the party is city wide, with stages, DJs and live music set up in squares and greens across town. We strolled the closed off streets, watching the festivities and (in my case not) drinking litre-large beers before hitting a nearby rooftop bar to eagle eye the crowds, lights and spectacular Madrid sunset (and, of course, indulging in late night exceedingly garlicy tapas on the way home).

The following day we’d planned a cycle tour around the city. It was Laidey’s first time on a bike and although the set up was fairly laborious she got into the groove quickly enough (although her ‘smile for the camera’ face needs a bit more work).

It turned out to be just the five of us on the tour, and we scooted around the streets we’d partied on the night previously. We started at Point 0 in the city and made our way outwards, circling palaces and vine covered buildings down towards the river. The main piece of trivia I remember from the tour guide was that Madrid is clearly party central – there is more than one drinking establishment per each person living in the city, and beer is far cheaper than water or soft drinks. Hurrah for Madrid!

The day was again hot – it clocked 38 as we were cycling around – and the heat took it out of a certain little someone. I realise she looks in a bad way here, head lolling as she slept against her father’s back, but rest assured she perked back up as soon as we stopped and got stuck into a plate of olives (still with that ridiculous ‘grin’).

We spent our final night with more tapas, questionable premixed sangria and discussions of the holiday just gone and those to come. Despite their best efforts over the weekend, Uncles Pip and Sunny were not able to get the girl to say their names before she says ‘mama’ (thank goodness. I would be furious…and yet unsurprised). We flew back together to Zurich where they embarked on the long haul home, and we made tracks back to Luzern to play with a circus themed puppet show from the already much missed Uncle Pip. And, of course, work on our smiles.

Walking on Water (or Blistered Feet and Blistering Heat)

Posted on June 27, 2016 by doubleyewjay under Europe, Italy

For six years in a row back in the noughties a handful of girlfriends and I made our way every October to Phillip Island, not far from Melbourne in Australia. The drawcard was the Australian MotoGP – while I am emphatically not a petrol head, several of my friends are bike riders and enthusiasts (one even writing for and eventually editing a nation wide bike magazine) and I like anything that offers drinks and food on a stick. We camped every year, which had its own (admittedly fairly rough) flavour of fun and fireworks, and of course the race itself was always a blast, but in some ways the most exciting part was the drive to the island. To leave the mainland there was a long stretch of highway flanked by MotoGP flags and the closer we got to the island, the more bikes, campervans and GP-headed cars would appear. Horns would blast, radios blare and the enthusiasm was palpable. It felt like an annual pilgrimage and that camaraderie remains one of my favourite parts of the experience.

A similar feeling was awakened when we made the trek on Saturday to Lake Iseo in Northern Italy to see Christo’s Floating Piers installation. We headed down on Friday night to Bergamo and made our way to the Lake the next morning. We knew it was going to be popular, but that is something of an understatement: an estimated 100,000 people rocked up to view it. We got a park about 10 kilometres away from the actual exhibition, and got walking.As Tim pointed out en route, it was a glorious day and there was really nothing awful at all about hiking through the stunning Italian countryside. Summer blossoms scented the air, olive groves shimmered in the hazy light, and we thirstily looked out across lush vineyards as we – and thousands of other people – walked towards Sulzano and the start of the installation (happily with refreshments along the way).

The walk took us through Lake Iseo township and then up along a ridge on the hill, where we were able to view the upcoming attraction. Again, there was a feeling of excitement and camaraderie as folks from all over Europe – indeed the globe – made their way to the Floating Piers.

We were in a battle against time – storms were predicted for the afternoon, and if they loomed the exhibition would be closed. After a 10k walk in inappropriate footwear (poor Tim is still hobbling a little) were were committed and determined not to miss out.

After descending a steep hill, we finally arrived at the bridge – the start of the exhibition. Ads was keen to break free and follow the (well trodden and rather dirty) yellow brick road for a while.To our great disappointment as we arrived we were told that we weren’t able to go on the floating part of the installation as storm warnings were declared and as such kids weren’t allowed on. We were directed away from the three (!) hour (!!) queue (!!!) to get on and instead advised to get a ferry across to the island.

This gave us great views – but also the opportunity to immediately jump on the pier on the other side, where oddly there was no wait and no child related restrictions. We slipped off our shoes and felt the pier lumber beneath us; not as rough as being on a dinghy but certainly not as stable as a wharf. The water gently splashed over the sides of the pier and it did indeed feel like we were walking across the surface of the lake.The exhibition continued for three kilometres, bordering the village and then circling an island. We plodded along for a while, enjoying the sun and the hustle and bustle of our fellow pilgrims. Due to the kid restrictions, our poorly feet and the 34 degree heat we didn’t make it the entire way around, but we figured that some gelato compensated just fine.Given we had a few logistic issues (massive queues to get off the island and back to our car) and a few health ones (turns out being almost four months pregnant and walking for hours in the blistering sun may not be the best idea I have ever had) we called it a day in the late afternoon. As we left, the queues were still enormous (the exhibition is open for 24 hours; apparently night time is magical) but the feeling of general enthusiasm and goodwill remained, even on a sardine-packed bus back to the starting point.We’ll definitely return to Lake Iseo once the exhibition is over – we are keen to sample wine from afore mentioned vineyards, and the area itself was spectacular. However as much as we enjoyed our shared pilgrimage, next time we’d prefer to experience it without the other 99,997 people that were there last Saturday.

On work, again

Posted on June 17, 2016 by doubleyewjay under Personal, Switzerland

Part of our relocation package – now a fairly distant ten months ago – was support for me to find a new gig in Switzerland. As I’ve written previously I’ve felt unsure about what I want to do with myself here (and generally) work-wise, especially since a lot of the time I feel like I’m on an extended holiday (however erroneous that may actually be). The employment consultants cautioned me that it takes an average of nine months to find work here – a figure that includes locals – but I somewhat arrogantly ignored this, assuming they were managing my expectations and that I would likely be considering a bunch of offers within weeks.

The process itself has been useful. It included the usual (I presume, not having needed such a service before) employment support: clueing me up to resume writing in a new country, the types of questions to ask, and how to behave in interviews. There were some really useful aspects: my consultant scoured advertisements and found likely matches for me, something it turns out I am waaaaay too lazy to do thoroughly myself when not desperate for work. It was also reassuring: not much was unexpected and as a result my confidence was boosted, which after eighteen months of ~~long walks, lunches and excessive social media use~~ childrearing was welcome.

Some basic differences – they love a passport photo on a CV here, as well as inclusion of (in my opinion) not entirely relevant information such as my marital status and age. I’m still not committed to ‘international’ spelling (organization in particular kills me). Jobs aren’t advertised with the salary; this is something that is silently benchmarked and only really discussed once the position is offered. I was advised against too much ‘me’ and ‘I’ talk in the interview stage as it can be too showy and self promoting.

As it turns out, a lot of this was irrelevant. I applied for five roles during the time I had the employment support with a net call back of…zero. I don’t wish to sound arrogant, but this has been a decided first for me. I’ve got over 20 years experience in my field, and an undergrad and master’s degree, but said field doesn’t exist in even remotely the same context here making the aforementioned experience and education…redundant, as it were. Admittedly five is not many and I’ve been reviewing positions ever since, but between required travel (not impossible, but difficult with the little one and Tim’s commitments), not speaking any German (unless there’s a role that specialises in talking only about fruit and the various colours of dogs) and no direct connection between the required education and experience and mine – I’m in a bit of a pickle. I’m in the extremely fortunate position that I don’t absolutely have to work (don’t get me wrong, it’d be great for both our finances and my head space) but I’d be lying if I said my ego wasn’t wounded. I had always imagined smugly turning job offers down because I wanted to stay home with my little one, as opposed to having absolutely zero choice in the matter.

So with my pride somewhat battered, I decided to take a breather and reassess my options. After a lot of discussion with Motsy, we agreed I’d keep an eye on jobs and apply for anything that seemed feasible until the end of the year. If I had no luck doing this, I’d consider pitching to companies directly with more specific alignment with my skills. Alternately, I’d consider upgrading my education (which would also solve the head space issue) to something little more relevant and transferrable, perhaps an MBA. Failing all the above I was going to give in and drink chardonnay with lunch every day, because clearly being a stay at home mum is my destiny.

Which, as it turns out, is what I’ll stick at doing for the foreseeable future (sadly sans chardonnay). Because around the time these decisions were occurring another was unwittingly made: our second bub is on the way, due to arrive just in time for Christmas. To say I’m delighted is a complete understatement, and not least because it means a path has effectively been decided for me. Is that an epic copout? Perhaps. I’m surprised how much relief I feel at not actually having to be proactive – something I rarely shy away from. I’m not sure what, if anything, this means.

What I am sure of is that we’re pretty darn excited about the fourth Purler arriving. (I’m slightly concerned that Addie’s current favourite game is throwing the toy baby on the ground from various heights and giggling ‘uh-oh’, knowing full well it was no accident, but we’ve got months to iron that out.) Baby shopping is just about the cutest shopping there is and I intend to fully embrace it (maternity wear shopping…not so much). I’m also perversely pleased it’s another Christmas baby – they can complain together about how crap their birthdays are (or just get on board and embrace the festive time of year wholeheartedly). But mostly, this is – unlike my mythical Swiss job – something that we didn’t assume would come our way, and as such we feel like the luckiest family in the world.

Genova

Posted on June 9, 2016 by doubleyewjay under Europe, Italy

Less than 48 hours after returning to Switzerland, our bags were repacked and we’d hit the road for Genova in northern Italy. Frankly I was hesitant, but Hotel’s arguments were convincing: it would be warm, and Luzern was chilly and wet; he had a rare four days off in a row which he wanted to maximise; and the icing on the cake – he promised to be on full baby jet lag duty. That (and the thought of more pizza) totally sold me and we rolled into the sun drenched coastal town early Thursday afternoon.

Genova is the sixth largest city in Italy, a working harbour town with a fairly industrial vibe. It had the steep hills and narrow streets we (and our large-ish car’s turning circle) are getting used to, and a fairly rough-and-ready feel to the old town. We stayed high in an old marble-halled apartment on a leafy street up a hill outside town. An easy stroll took us straight down into town, and a funicular took us back up the hill when we were done touristing.

Back in the 1500s, the then Republic of Genova established the Palazzi dei Rolli, a list of the town’s most salubrious private buildings. The buildings were classified by their prestige – size, look, cost, location – and ranked on the list accordingly. The list was used to find accommodation for visiting dignitaries and businessmen, often resulting in personal deals being brokered along the way. According to our charming host, it could almost be considered an early incarnation of AirBNB. As luck would have it, the Rolli List buildings were open to the public the weekend we were there, so despite not being particularly classy we were able to check out the various lodgings that used to be on offer.

Naturally a trip to Italy is nothing without the eats, and Genova is no exception. We dined in fine style, sampling pesto from the region in which it originated and only causing minimal green damage to assorted linens.

Being a port side city, Motsy had hoped for some beach time but sadly there was no sand or wave action, only a Renzo Piano peppered harbour which we explored.

And took breaks on the play equipment slash Van de Graff generator. Genova 0060 - 20160602 Genova is home to one of Europe’s largest aquariums, and although our little lass has the attention span of a goldfish we gave it a go nonetheless. It made Tim’s water lust even worse, but was a refreshing break from the almost too warm afternoon sun.

The rest of the weekend was spent wandering, soaking in the city, possibly purchasing meat and smallgoods for our return to der Schweiz, and of course eating all the eats. Happily our uphill walk home almost justified the amount of Italian deliciousness all of us – including our little pizza monster – ate.

Home (?)

Posted on May 25, 2016 by doubleyewjay under Uncategorized

This morning, after nearly 24 hours in transit which I am working on blocking from my memory, Tim asked me how it felt to be back in Luzern after three weeks in Australia. More specifically, he asked if it now feels like home. During my holiday, as well as on the drive back to our apartment from Zürich Flughafen, I asked myself the same thing.

The bad stuff about the trip out of the way first: the flights, of course (even though manageable, and we always had at least one spare seat next to us, they were never going to be pleasant), the molars my little girl cut while visiting her new cousin, the jet lag and subsequent sleepless nights that won’t likely let up for a while yet, the ear infection I didn’t realise she had (mama of the year) which resulted in a (now understandably) grumpy bub for well over a week. I wasn’t well myself during the trip, and that coupled with a sense of constant rushing, the feeling of needing to maximise my short time there, and still not seeing nearly everyone I’d hoped to, made it more stressful than is usually associated with a holiday.

The good stuff, as always, outweighs everything else significantly. The girl and her cousins. The girl and her grandparents. Cuddling that brand new boy and his giggling, adorable older brother who has finally learned my name. My dear friends, who I’d missed exactly as much as I knew I would. Sydney, that old heartbreaker, with her spectacular coast and laid back vibe and ridiculously friendly and helpful people (on my first day back, jet lagged and armed with a rickety stroller I had to take two large suitcases to be repaired. This included a walk, a ferry ride and another walk, during which no less than eight people stopped me to offer help. I had forgotten how goddamn nice Australians can be and in my fragile post-traumatic flight state, I nearly burst into tears each time). After eight months, good coffee, which also nearly had me in tears of joy particularly while managing said jet lag. And the eats. Of course, the eats. There was not an Asian restaurant within a five kilometre radius of me that was safe.

But the question of home lingers. It definitely felt like a return to home when I arrived in Sydney, however the longer we remained the more this feeling dissipated. She’ll always be my city, but Motsy’s absence was keenly felt by both the lass and I, as was the slower life we’ve carved out over here. Things have changed there, too. People have switched jobs and addresses, lost and found partners, welcomed little ones; moved along as life should and inevitably will. Such things never matter with old friends but they emphasise the distance, and reminded me that we’re not locals anymore.

Arriving back yesterday afternoon was tough. I’d barely slept (my tall, wriggly girl doesn’t fit in the bassinet and therefore all sleeping was on me, punctuated by tosses and turns every half an hour that ensured at best only patchy snoozes), felt decidedly unwell, and was covered in 24 hours worth of Baby Muck which made me smell and look exactly as fabulous as it sounds. Ads and I were well and truly over each other, and I’m fairly sure she had her grizzle button flicked to ‘low yet constant’ for the last ten hours of transit. Naturally our bags were late during which that switch got turned to ‘high and tantrummy’. Hotel’s arrival was the best thing that happened to either of us that day, and her little face lit the already Swiss-shiny airport even brighter when she saw her dad. The two of them haven’t stopped giggling since we got back (I have been working on sleeping, and pleased to report I am doing quite well at it).

It’s greener since we left; warmer too (and as I found out today, in a gasp-worthy surprise while looking out at the Alps, we have a nude sunbathing neighbour in the garden apartment below us who obviously likes to take advantage of the sunny weather). The lake is as lovely as ever although definitely more boat-filled, and we’ve already trotted down twice today to look at the ducks (her), be scared of the swans (me) and eat a cheese, pickle and random one-slice-of-egg sandwich (shared in the sun). There are too many wonderful people and things in Australia for it to fully feel like home proper here, but it does have the colossal advantage of having Tim and our simple, peaceful day to day life. Both of which can be anywhere, of course, but for now I guess they’re – we’re – in Luzern. So in answer to his question: it was a fabulous holiday, and it’s wonderful to be back. I am just never, ever doing those flights again. We’re getting the boat next time.

Family bread

Posted on May 2, 2016 by doubleyewjay under Uncategorized

In the early days of our courtship (which I hope makes it sound significantly classier than it actually was), Tim earned the moniker Bread Boy amongst my friends. The first night I went for dinner at his house (a strictly platonic affair, with several other friends present, although we each had one eyebrow raised in the direction of the other) he pulled out of the oven a freshly baked loaf on my arrival. On subsequent dinners, and later breakfasts, the home baked bread continued to make an appearance (as did extra inches around our waists but by then we were locked in, so delicious carbs for all!). Making bread remains a treat, a small tradition we continue on lazy mornings or if we know a toasty breakfast will be in order (so, um, a lot).

As I’ve mentioned, Swiss bread is delicious. Swiss Sunday bread, or as our German teacher calls it, ‘family bread’, even more so. A dough enriched with butter and milk, Zopfmehl is a plaited bread brushed with egg until it is glistening, slightly sweet and irresistible. It’s traditionally eaten here by families on Sunday, a day where the pace slows down and time is spent together around the table and outdoors in nature. It’s a lovely tradition, and one our carb-loving crew has embraced. I only recently learned (again from my font of all knowledge, Irene the German Teacher) that Zopfmehl is plaited from four, not three, ropes of dough, requiring more work to perfect my loaf (and, of course, eat the spoils).

Our little family will be in separate hemispheres for a few weeks. Adelaide and I head to Australia tomorrow, while Tim will kick around Germany and the States for work. Our trip is motivated by the best reason of all: the newest family member, my sister’s boy, arrived a few days ago and this aunty’s arms are already flexing their teeny-tiny-Rupert cuddle muscles.

We’re packed (so many more toys this time! so many more snacks!), strategies have been strategised (I’m not letting her walk in the aisle so she doesn’t realise it’s an option and therefore want to do it all. the. time)(we’ll see how long that actually holds out for an ants-in-her-pants baby), and now it’s just a matter of deep breathing before the solo 23.5 hour flight. As everyone tells me, it comes to an end. Eventually.

The payoffs just over the horizon are huge, though. That nephew, for starters, as well as the three others kicking around the traps. Family, friends, food (dumplings! noodles! yum cha!) and Sydney sun all rank pretty highly. Seeing my girl with her grandparents again will be wonderful (by ‘seeing’ I mean laughing all the way to the beer garden as I leave her in their hands for babysitting duties). It’s been eight months since we’ve been back – Adelaide has now spent equal amounts of her little life in both countries – and I’m excited about her rediscovering, however briefly, the home both her folks love (and the beach. Her two favourite books are beach centred and for a lass that’s only ever been to one, she’s pretty obsessed).

After eight months, there are a few things I’ll be taking back with me. A toddler, who can whisper ‘dad’ and can swing all by herself (with only a few face plants). Some rudimentary phrases of Deutsch, and sadly yet predictably several additional kilos. A sense that our team has become tighter since we started our adventure over here (partly, no doubt, from sheer necessity but also there’s a cameraderie we’ve built as we’ve explored and built a new home). Also, nestled in my bag, next to the almost-export-level of Swiss chocolate, several packages of Zopfmehl, ready to be made into family loaves for Sunday eating. In Bread Boy’s absence, his little doppelgänger (see? totes across the Deutsch) may have to assume the baking honours.

Family Bread 0024 - 20160501

Besançon, between showers

Posted on April 18, 2016 by doubleyewjay under Europe, France

There are a bunch of places on our ‘must-get-to-while-we-live-in-The-Europes’ list, including Rome, a hiking holiday in Portugal and hopefully a glimpse of the northern lights. There are also places on our ‘easy-drive-from-Luzern’ list: enter Besançon.

Located on a bend in the Doubs River, and the capital of the Franche-Comté region, Besançon has been kicking around since Roman times. Due to its proximity to the Alps, it held military significance over the years but is most famous today for its watch industry and delicious comté cheese. You might guess which of these two had our focus (hint: we’re still running late for everything).

Still trying to perfect our weekend away game, we opted to leave on Friday night rather than first thing Saturday. We hit the road as Hotel finished work, driving across Switzerland, briefly through Germany and then into France, springtime light lingering despite the rain predicted to continue falling all weekend. We pulled into town quite late (late only by my rigid baby-routine standards, and reasonably early for every other person on the planet) and caught dinner in town, while our girl worked on catching kisses from her father.

Saturday started, happily, with pastries and a break the rain. We seized the opportunity to walk through the Besançon’s old town up to the Citadel, about half an hour’s stroll. The town itself is delightful: winding streets and garden filled squares, wrapped up by a richly flowing river.

And Roman ruins, of course. These Corinthian columns flank an ancient aqueduct, an area that was later used as a Roman theatre (which we mistook for Besançon’s amphitheatre, completely incorrectly as it turns out).

We walked up through the medieval Black Gate…

Besançon 0073 - 20160416 …past the astronomical clock of Saint Jean (located inside this cathedral, the clock has over 70 dials which indicate times, tides, sunrise and set, orbits of the planets and much more over the span of 10,000 years. Given my loathing of the regular chiming of bells in Rotkreuz, I am terrified to imagine the havoc such a beast could wreak)…

Besançon 0080 - 20160416 …and through the outskirts of town to the Citadel.

An old fortress perched atop the hill, the Citadel now houses gardens, several museums, an aquarium, an insectarium, and a zoo.

It seemed slightly troubling that out little Australian had her first roo sighting in rural France, but it didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest.

Besançon 0112 - 20160416 Like many people I generally find zoos inhumane and depressing, and even though I want to encourage Ads to continue roaring like an adorable little lion when she sees them, such creatures aren’t supposed to be in cement enclosures in cold, rainy France. We didn’t last long, preferring to wander the site and climb the wall to get a view out across the town and river.

Shortly after this, the spring rain started again. Hotel and I were a sorry sight, running back into town with brollies in various stages of explosion, soaking ‘waterproof’ jackets and a rogue plastic covered pram in which our oblivious baby slept happily away.

One of the (many) errors we’ve made on our weekends away is not to have planned meals, preferring instead to chance upon cute eateries or being happy to wait for a table at places we’d like to visit. For some reason we seem to think we are still travelling like it’s 2014 (i.e. pre baby). This time, happily, we researched and booked ahead which made all the difference. This restaurant was reviewed as having excellent food, as long as one could stomach the decor. Knocking back local specialities such as morels and chicken cooked in yellow wine and a local take on quenelles, we barely noticed the stuccoed walls adored with varying sizes of bells.

Sadly our little mademoiselle must have, as she was not at all interested in delicious French dining, insisting that we take it in turns to walk her around the block in the rain, learning how to splash in puddles.

The rain subsequently set in for the weekend, and although we did our best to make the most of our time in town, it was hard to get out and about in a permanent state of dampness. Coupled with the fact that our princess has apparently discovered a pea on the bottom of her travel cot, resulting in two wretched nights of sleep (for us – the little terror owned the bed while we lived in fear of waking her with the slightest of movements) we cut our losses the next morning and headed back to Luzern, happily in time to catch the end of the street food festival happening at the end of our street.

Sprung

Posted on April 11, 2016 by doubleyewjay under Lucerne, Switzerland

I readily admit I overreact about minutiae and nuance (which is bizarre for someone as sledgehammery unsubtle as I am), particularly where seasons are concerned. The second the leaves turned in Autumn was nothing short of the best ever, and reading my impressions on even the slightest dusting of snow would make you think nobody had ever seen the substance before. I am delighted to confirm that spring is no different, and of course amazing. God help us all come the first hint of summer.

To be fair, I spend a lot of my time walking around our neighbourhood, along the lake and through the woods (and to a certain slippery-dip that a certain someone is obsessed with sliding down) and as such the smallest changes are noticeable, interesting. The daffodils and freesias have come and gone, more gloriously and swiftly than I had thought possible. For weeks now the buds on the trees have been swollen, almost pulsating, about to burst. On these walks, out of the corner of my eye, I see a new and surprising flash of colour almost at every turn.

The changes in the landscape are echoed by changes in our habits. The city is coming alive. People are out and about everywhere: walking, picnicking, rowing, playing Viking Chess (a Scandinavian game with wooden pegs that involves underarm throwing and a King, the rules of which we are yet to comprehend), cycling and playing frisbee (which I pretended to love when Hotel and I first got together, to win him over you understand. I’ve not played it since…well, roughly since we moved in together. Game set and match, Motsy). Luckily our little Laides is happy to indulge her dad’s best park sport.

The last few weekends we’ve spent at home, hanging out by the ‘beach’ (as much as I try I simply cannot remove those inverted commas. It’s beautiful – stunning, actually – but it just ain’t a beach) and embracing the warmer weather, the little miss working on her stepping technique while I gushed about spring springing.

Parallel to this – or more accurately in concert – it feels as if we’re springing roots of our own. The last few weeks have held drinks and lunches with new friends, casual run-ins with acquaintances that have merged into long afternoons sprawled on picnic rugs, and many games of ‘do you like my hat?’ (the answer is yes, Juergen, of course we do).

Our sometimes seemingly endless walks have shown us many things: new friends, new blooms and – as much as I don’t like to encourage evil birds from multiplying – new life.

We live around the corner from the Wagner Museum – it’s a short steep walk up a nearby hill to the Villa Tribschen, where Wagner lived for a spell and completed several significant works. His life was allegedly characterised by turbulent love affairs, political exile, poverty and repeated flight from his creditors, some of which was spent in Luzern (ah, neutral Switzerland). Although there are many dubious Nazi associations, I’ve not actually been to the museum and I’m not sure how mutual they were (Hitler used a lot of Wagner’s music for his campaigns, but given Wagner’s financial situation there is some speculation as to his motives and intentions), and as such I’m unqualified to speculate.

I am, however, qualified to be completely jealous of Wagner’s digs and view. Rumour has it that his summer terrace becomes a cafe in…uh…summer. I eagerly, and most likely over-enthusastically, await the rosé I intend to sip there while my little one frolics on his lawns.

Titlis

Posted on March 29, 2016 by doubleyewjay under Alps, Switzerland

Apologies in advance. This post is pretty much just mountain porn. Titlis @ Easter 0249 - 20160328 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 ~~hiking~~ slipping on ice and tobogganing for the Purlers). As previously mentioned, the girl was not allowed to remove her Easter headband. Titlis @ Easter 0205 - 20160328 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. Titlis @ Easter 0249 - 20160328 Titlis @ Easter 0254 - 20160328 Titlis @ Easter 0283 - 20160328 Titlis @ Easter 0289 - 20160328 All the while wearing Easter headwear, naturally. Titlis @ Easter 0336 - 20160328 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.

We skidded over the ice, played on the slippery dip for a looooong time, and nowhere near burned off all the chocolate we continued to eat throughout the day. But it was tops. And, as always, the mountains were gobsmacking. Titlis @ Easter 0324 - 20160328 Titlis @ Easter 0330 - 20160328 And that’s really all there is to say about that.