Ernest Hemingway lived in Europe for most of his career. Disillusioned with the politics and culture of America, he ran to a place where he could hide from his problems and fears. Luckily for me, I came to Europe not because I was running away from something. Instead, I was looking for an experience that would enrich my understanding, appreciation, and purview of life back home. And that is exactly what I found in Europe.
In many ways, Hemingways famed protagonist, Nick Adams, could not be more different than me. But there comes a point in Hemingways short stories about Adams that his character decides to return home. Skiing with his life long best friend George in an area of Switzerland right next to the area that I skiied, Adams explains to George that he is ready to return to the life that he left, and to the life that still awaits him back in America. In typical Hemingway fashion, his words are dry, sharp, and unstylized. My thoughts on returning are more optimistic, full of excitement and promise. But at the core of these words by Ernest Hemmingway are the same sentiments that I now feel. Though Nick Adams could never verbalize his emotions, the text of this story, when compared to the dialogues in his other stories, shows that the character has experienced things in Europe that will change his life in ways that he cannot even yet understand, yet are ways that will always be positive.
In every way, Nick Adams and I are polar opposites. And my writing is so very different from that of Hemmingway. Yet as we both stand atop a mountain and ski down one final run before returning home, we both understand that we have grown, changed, and been made better, more wholistic, more empathetic, more global, by our experiences. And that is why I close my blog with the story of Nick Adams, told by Ernest Hemingway in his collection of short stories entitled In Our Time.
This is the text of Cross Country Snow. I thank you for reading my blog over these past five months, and I sincerely look forward to seeing you real soon.
CROSS COUNTRY SNOW
The funicular car bucked once more and then stopped. It could not go further, the snow drifted solidly across the track. The gale scour¦ing the exposed surface of the mountain had swept the snow surface into a wind-board crust. Nick, waxing his skis in the baggage car, pushed his boots into the toe irons and shut the clamp tight. He jumped from the car sideways onto the hard wind-board, made a jump turn and crouching and trailing his sticks slipped in a rush down the slope.
On the white below George dipped and rose and dipped out of sight. The rush and the sudden swoop as he dropped down a steep undulation in the mountain side plucked Nick's mind out and left him only the wonderful flying, dropping sensation in his body. He rose to a slight up-run and then the snow seemed to drop out from under him as he went down, down, faster and faster in a rush down the last, long steep slope. Crouching so he was almost sitting back on his skis, trying to keep the center of gravity low, the snow driving like a sand-storm, he knew the pace was too much. But he held it. He would not let go and spill. Then a patch of soft snow, left in a hollow by the wind, spilled him and he went over and over in a clashing of skis, feeling like a shot rabbit, then stuck, his legs crossed, his skis sticking straight up and his nose and ears jammed full of snow.
George stood a little further down the slope, knocking the snow from his wind jacket with big slaps.
"You took a beauty, Mike," he called to Nick. "That's lousy soft snow. It bagged me the same way."
"What's it like over the khud?" Nick kicked his skis around as he lay on his back and stood up.
"You've got to keep to your left. It's a good fast drop with a Christy at the bottom on account of a fence."
"Wait a sec and we'll take it together."
"No, you come on and go first. I like to see you take the khuds."
Nick Adams came up past George, big back and blond head still faintly snowy, then his skis started slipping at the edge and he swooped down, hissing in the crystalline powder snow and seeming to float up and drop down as he went up and down the billowing khuds. He held to his left and at the end, as he rushed toward the fence, keeping his knees locked tight together and turning his body like tightening a screw brought his skis sharply around to the right in a smother of snow and slowed into a loss of speed parallel to the hillside and the wire fence.
He looked up the hill. George was coming down in telemark position, kneeling; one leg forward and bent, the other trailing; his sticks hanging like some insect's thin legs, kicking up puffs of snow as they touched the surface and finally the whole kneeling, trailing figure coming around in a beautiful right curve, crouching, the legs shot forward and back, the body leaning out against the swing, the sticks accenting the curve like points of light, all in a wild cloud of snow.
"I was afraid to Christy," George said, "the snow was too deep. You made a beauty."
"I can't telemark with my leg," Nick said.
Nick held down the top strand of the wire fence with his ski and George slid over. Nick followed him down to the road. They thrust bent-kneed along the road into a pine forest. The road became polished ice, stained orange and a tobacco yellow from the teams hauling logs. The skiers kept to the stretch of snow along the side. The road dipped sharply to a stream and then ran straight uphill. Through the woods they could see a long, low-eaved, weather-beaten building. Through the trees it was a faded yel¦low. Closer the window frames were painted green. The paint was peeling. Nick knocked his clamps loose with one of his ski sticks and kicked off the skis.
"We might as well carry them up here," he said.
He climbed the steep road with the skis on his shoulder, kicking his heel nails into the icy footing. He heard George breathing and kicking in his heels just behind him. They stacked the skis against the side of the inn and slapped the snow off each other's trousers, stamped their boots clean, and went in.
Inside it was quite dark. A big porcelain stove shone in the corner of the room. There was a low ceiling. Smooth benches back of dark, wine-stained tables were along each side of the rooms. Two Swiss sat over their pipes and two decies of cloudy new wine next to the stove. The boys took off their jackets and sat against the wall on the other side of the stove. A voice in the next room stopped singing and a girl in a blue apron came in through the door to see what they wanted to drink.
"A bottle of Sion," Nick said. "Is that all right, Gidge?"
"Sure," said George. "You know more about wine than I do. I like any of it."
The girl went out.
"There's nothing really can touch skiing, is there?" Nick said. "The way it feels when you first drop off on a long run."
"Huh," said George. "It's too swell to talk about."
The girl brought the wine in and they had trouble with the cork. Nick finally opened it. The girl went out and they heard her singing in German in the next room. "Those specks of cork in it don't matter," said Nick. "I wonder if she's got any cake." "Let's find out." The girl came in and Nick noticed that her apron covered swellingly her pregnancy. I wonder
why I didn't see that when she first came in, he thought. "What were you singing?" he asked her. "Opera, German opera." She did not care to discuss the subject. "We have some apple strudel if
you want it." "She isn't so cordial, is she?" said George. "Oh, well. She doesn't know us and she thought we were going to kid her about her singing,
maybe. She's from up where they speak German probably and she's touchy about being here and then she's got that baby coming without being married and she's touchy." "How do you know she isn't married?"
"No ring. Hell, no girls get married around here till they're knocked up." The door came open and a gang of woodcutters from up the road came in, stamping their boots and steaming in the room. The waitress brought in three litres of new wine for the gang and they sat at the two tables, smoking and quiet, with their hats off, leaning back against the wall or forward on the table. Outside the horses on the wood sledges made an occasional sharp jangle of bells as they tossed their heads.
George and Nick were happy. They were fond of each other. They knew they had the run back home ahead of them. "When have you got to go back to school?" Nick asked. "Tonight," George answered. "I've got to get the ten-forty from Montreux."
"I wish you could stick over and we could do the Dent du Lys tomorrow." "I got to get educated," George said. "Gee, Mike, don't you wish we could just bum together? Take our skis and go on the train to where there was good running and then go on and put up at pubs and go right across the Oberland and up the Valais and all through the Engadine and just take repair kit and extra sweaters and pyjamas in our rucksacks and not give a damn about school or anything."
"Yes, and go through the Schwartzwald that way. Gee, the swell places." "That's where you went fishing last summer, isn't it?" "Yes." They ate the strudel and drank the rest of the wine. George leaned back against the wall and shut his eyes.
"Wine always makes me feel this way," he said. "Feel bad?" Nick asked. "No. I feel good, but funny." "I know," Nick said. "Sure," said George. "Should we have another bottle?" Nick asked. "Not for me," George said. They sat there, Nick leaning his elbows on the table, George slumped back against the wall. "Is Helen going to have a baby?" George said, coming down to the table from the wall. "Yes." "When?" "Late next summer." "Are you glad?" "Yes. Now." "Will you go back to the States?" "I guess so." "Do you want to?" "No." "Does Helen?" "No." George sat silent. He looked at the empty bottle and the empty glasses. "It's hell, isn't it?" he said. "No. Not exactly," Nick said. "Why not?" "I don't know," Nick said. "Will you ever go skiing together in the States?" George said. "I don't know," said Nick. "The mountains aren't much," George said. "No," said Nick. "They're too rocky. There's too much timber and they're too far away." "Yes," said George, "that's the way it is in California." "Yes," Nick said, "that's the way it is everywhere I've ever been." "Yes," said George, "that's the way it is."
The Swiss got up and paid and went out. "I wish we were Swiss," George said. "They've all got goiter," said Nick. "I don't believe it," George said. "Neither do I," said Nick. They laughed. "Maybe we'll never go skiing again, Nick," George said. "We've got to," said Nick. "It isn't worth while if you can't." "We'll go, all right," George said. "We've got to," Nick agreed. "I wish we could make a promise about it," George said. Nick stood up. He buckled his wind jacket tight. He leaned over George and picked up the two ski poles from against the wall. He stuck one of the ski poles into the floor. "There isn't any good in promising," he said. They opened the door and went out. It was very cold. The snow had crusted hard. The road ran up the hill into the pine trees.
They took down their skis from where they leaned against the wall in the inn. Nick put on his gloves. George was already started up the road, his skis on his shoulder. Now they would have the run home together.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Where have you been!
Well I have been busy traveling across Europe at lightning speed for the past several weeks. It is difficult to know where to begin this blog post, which I write on my last day in Vienna. On Wednesday, I will be back in the United States, back in Wisconsin, and barring further volcano related delays, back at The Old Fashioned muniching on a cheese burger with curds and a Spotted Cow (SO to being 21 years old and not having finals during UWs finals week!)
The morning after my previous blog post, I boarded a train for Munich with my fellow trombone players Heather and Zach, as well as their friend Rachel. While I was anticipating a quiet train ride conducive to sleeping and reading, I was not disappointed when I did not get what I had wished for. Just before our train pulled away from the Freiburg Hbf, a bachelor party of 15 boarded the train, each of them carrying a large case of beer, all of them dressed in leder hosen, all of them bound for Munich and Fruhlingfest! While noise and constant chatter on a train ride can often be annoying, I found the persistent rounds of traditional German drinking songs to be a cultural experience. The Bavarian stereotypes were only beginning to be affirmed.
Our first stop in Munich was Fruhlingsfest, or Spring Fest. Basically a scaled down, less commercialized Oktoberfest, Fruhlingfest has just one beer tent, though the tent was more of a warehouse capable of holding several thousand people. Instead of hordes of American tourists, the tent was filled with friendly Bavarians, who were actually excited to share a table with American tourists. The liveliness of the conversations varied indirectly with the amount of beer that was left in their liter sized beer steins. Augustiner Beer, shrinking the world one weiss at a time. After three to four hours of revelery at Fruhlingfest, we were growing nauseated by the persistent smoke cloud that hung above every table. We said good bye to the festival as a host of soccer fans stumbled in to celebrate Bayern Munchens championship, won earlier in the afternoon. Between the enormous fresh pretzels, the rotisserie roasted chickens, the tantalizing smoked pork knuckles, the live polka band, and women in Bavarian dresses carrying 10 liters of beer, Bavaria was exactly what I thought it would be as I left the train station in Freiburg earlier that morning.
The rest of the time in Munich was spent appreciating German culture and history, thoguh this was often interspersed with rounds of beer and plenty of wurst and schnitzel. Throughout the rest of the weeekend, we explored the citys museums, churches, memorials, markets, and beer halls. For me, the highlight of Munich was an hour long hike to the monastery town of Andechs, a medieval town that has been brewing their own ale for 1000 years. A favorite site of Rick Steeves, the monastery remains undiscovered by most tourists. It remains a popular spot for aging locals to consume their daily half liter of beer, and a place for motivated hikers to enjoy Bavarian food and drink atop rolling green hills filled with small towns, onion domed churches, and landscapes that could easily be mistaken for northeast Wisconsin.
The following day I made my way to Prague on the Albert Einstein Express, a brutal 7 hour ride through mostly boring landscape. The saving grace of this ride was the layout of the train, which featured six person cabins instead of the standard layout. With few people on the train, I enjoyed my own cabin. This was very conducive to laying down and watching Its Always Sunny (again thanks to Annie for the portable Dvd player!). Prague, with its pointy cathedral spires, its myriad scultures overlooking the river, its medieval piazzas untouched by WWIIs fury, and its distinct neighborhoods that still maintain their own signature feel, was one of my favorite European cities. Despite heavy rain and brutally cold weather, I enjoyed several free tours of the Czech capital, in which I learned several uses of the verb defenestration.
However, a visitor to Prague can only make so many jokes about defenestration before being forced onward to the next town. The next stop was Vienna, the Austrian capital, and Europes classical music mecca. Here I am staying with a couple in their centuries old manor house. They have been wonderful hosts, taking me to a jazz club to here a Vienese jazz fest, to a restaurant for authentic Austrian food, and arranging a 3 and a half hour bike tour throughout the entire city with one of Viennas top tour guides. Throguhout my stay in Vienna, I have also enjoyed the company of my neighbor Paul, who has lived and studied in Vienna for the past year. Thanks to his expertise I was able to more thoroughly enjoy the city and its illustrious past, as well as its great art museums, cafes, and bars. It was truly an unforgetable reunion. I have known Paul since I moved to Appleton at the age of 4. I once chased him around his house with a large wooden stick, because he said he didnt want to be my friend anymore. After this week in Vienna, I am thoroughly convinced that chasing him with the stick was absolutely neccessary. As I have had some of my best memories of Europe in Vienna, I have no regrets about the friendship preserving beat down I would have given him had I ever been able to catch him.
Yesterday in Vienna, having seen many of the tourist sites already, I decided to wait in line for standing room tickets at the Opera. The performance was a special edition of Carmen, featuring the worlds finest opera singers. Tickets ran between 80 and 220 euros. But for anyone willing to stand in line for 8 hours, then stand through the entire opera, it cost a mere four. Though my feet were aching at the end, it was impossible not to be moved by the masterful performance of Carmen. Amidst the swaths of tuxedoes, pearls, expensive champagne, and bow ties, I stood with some of Viennas most passionate plebian opera fans. I met numerous Vienese people at the opera last night, including a couple who have stood in the standing room seats every weekend for the past 40 years. When the performance ended and the 20 minute long ovation ceased, the melody of the Toreador Song and the Harbanera remained on my mind throughout the rest of the night. As I faded off to sleep, I could still see the conductor leaping in the air at every fortzando, at the apex of every crescendo, at the clashing of the cymbals and the power of the low brass. Never before I have I seen such a powerful and spirited performance from an orcehstra or a cast. Clearly, I made the right decision in watiing 8 hours for a ticket.
And now, I conclude this blog post in Vienna. In 3 hours, Iwill be on a night train back to Florence, back to Italy, back to the air port which will carry me back to where I came from. And though the memories from this trip will last me a lifetime, though the experiences have helped me to grow in ways I cannot yet even begin to comprehend, it is time to return. Time to go back. America, here I come.
The morning after my previous blog post, I boarded a train for Munich with my fellow trombone players Heather and Zach, as well as their friend Rachel. While I was anticipating a quiet train ride conducive to sleeping and reading, I was not disappointed when I did not get what I had wished for. Just before our train pulled away from the Freiburg Hbf, a bachelor party of 15 boarded the train, each of them carrying a large case of beer, all of them dressed in leder hosen, all of them bound for Munich and Fruhlingfest! While noise and constant chatter on a train ride can often be annoying, I found the persistent rounds of traditional German drinking songs to be a cultural experience. The Bavarian stereotypes were only beginning to be affirmed.
Our first stop in Munich was Fruhlingsfest, or Spring Fest. Basically a scaled down, less commercialized Oktoberfest, Fruhlingfest has just one beer tent, though the tent was more of a warehouse capable of holding several thousand people. Instead of hordes of American tourists, the tent was filled with friendly Bavarians, who were actually excited to share a table with American tourists. The liveliness of the conversations varied indirectly with the amount of beer that was left in their liter sized beer steins. Augustiner Beer, shrinking the world one weiss at a time. After three to four hours of revelery at Fruhlingfest, we were growing nauseated by the persistent smoke cloud that hung above every table. We said good bye to the festival as a host of soccer fans stumbled in to celebrate Bayern Munchens championship, won earlier in the afternoon. Between the enormous fresh pretzels, the rotisserie roasted chickens, the tantalizing smoked pork knuckles, the live polka band, and women in Bavarian dresses carrying 10 liters of beer, Bavaria was exactly what I thought it would be as I left the train station in Freiburg earlier that morning.
The rest of the time in Munich was spent appreciating German culture and history, thoguh this was often interspersed with rounds of beer and plenty of wurst and schnitzel. Throughout the rest of the weeekend, we explored the citys museums, churches, memorials, markets, and beer halls. For me, the highlight of Munich was an hour long hike to the monastery town of Andechs, a medieval town that has been brewing their own ale for 1000 years. A favorite site of Rick Steeves, the monastery remains undiscovered by most tourists. It remains a popular spot for aging locals to consume their daily half liter of beer, and a place for motivated hikers to enjoy Bavarian food and drink atop rolling green hills filled with small towns, onion domed churches, and landscapes that could easily be mistaken for northeast Wisconsin.
The following day I made my way to Prague on the Albert Einstein Express, a brutal 7 hour ride through mostly boring landscape. The saving grace of this ride was the layout of the train, which featured six person cabins instead of the standard layout. With few people on the train, I enjoyed my own cabin. This was very conducive to laying down and watching Its Always Sunny (again thanks to Annie for the portable Dvd player!). Prague, with its pointy cathedral spires, its myriad scultures overlooking the river, its medieval piazzas untouched by WWIIs fury, and its distinct neighborhoods that still maintain their own signature feel, was one of my favorite European cities. Despite heavy rain and brutally cold weather, I enjoyed several free tours of the Czech capital, in which I learned several uses of the verb defenestration.
However, a visitor to Prague can only make so many jokes about defenestration before being forced onward to the next town. The next stop was Vienna, the Austrian capital, and Europes classical music mecca. Here I am staying with a couple in their centuries old manor house. They have been wonderful hosts, taking me to a jazz club to here a Vienese jazz fest, to a restaurant for authentic Austrian food, and arranging a 3 and a half hour bike tour throughout the entire city with one of Viennas top tour guides. Throguhout my stay in Vienna, I have also enjoyed the company of my neighbor Paul, who has lived and studied in Vienna for the past year. Thanks to his expertise I was able to more thoroughly enjoy the city and its illustrious past, as well as its great art museums, cafes, and bars. It was truly an unforgetable reunion. I have known Paul since I moved to Appleton at the age of 4. I once chased him around his house with a large wooden stick, because he said he didnt want to be my friend anymore. After this week in Vienna, I am thoroughly convinced that chasing him with the stick was absolutely neccessary. As I have had some of my best memories of Europe in Vienna, I have no regrets about the friendship preserving beat down I would have given him had I ever been able to catch him.
Yesterday in Vienna, having seen many of the tourist sites already, I decided to wait in line for standing room tickets at the Opera. The performance was a special edition of Carmen, featuring the worlds finest opera singers. Tickets ran between 80 and 220 euros. But for anyone willing to stand in line for 8 hours, then stand through the entire opera, it cost a mere four. Though my feet were aching at the end, it was impossible not to be moved by the masterful performance of Carmen. Amidst the swaths of tuxedoes, pearls, expensive champagne, and bow ties, I stood with some of Viennas most passionate plebian opera fans. I met numerous Vienese people at the opera last night, including a couple who have stood in the standing room seats every weekend for the past 40 years. When the performance ended and the 20 minute long ovation ceased, the melody of the Toreador Song and the Harbanera remained on my mind throughout the rest of the night. As I faded off to sleep, I could still see the conductor leaping in the air at every fortzando, at the apex of every crescendo, at the clashing of the cymbals and the power of the low brass. Never before I have I seen such a powerful and spirited performance from an orcehstra or a cast. Clearly, I made the right decision in watiing 8 hours for a ticket.
And now, I conclude this blog post in Vienna. In 3 hours, Iwill be on a night train back to Florence, back to Italy, back to the air port which will carry me back to where I came from. And though the memories from this trip will last me a lifetime, though the experiences have helped me to grow in ways I cannot yet even begin to comprehend, it is time to return. Time to go back. America, here I come.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Deutschland a fine land!
After having my plans for Switzerland hampered significantly by a debilitating sinus infection, I was hoping I would feel fresh and ready to enjoy Germany. Yesterday, I woke up in Switzerland at 6 am. I had hoped to visit Bern, the Swiss capital, for a few hours before moving on to Freiburg im Breisgau. But my nose told me to do otherwise. Thanks to the flexibility of traveling with a Eurail pass, I was able to sleep until 10 am before boarding an 11:20 train to Germany. Surely I owe my ability to breath out of my nose to that night of 9 hours of sleep!
Freiburg is the perfect city to start a six day stay in southern Germany. Though it's not the major tourist attraction like a Berlin or Munich, it offers a considerable amount of excitement thanks to its collegiate feel and historical significance. As soon as I arrived, I experienced the city's efficient metro system- a perfect example of German engineering and green living. Everywhere you look in this city, everything is running efficiently- from the daily organic food market in the munsterplatz to the German automobiles that automatically stop emitting pollutants while halted at a red light. I'm staying with my friend Zach- a fellow Wisconsin trombone player and member of Rank 9 (>8). Also here is Heather, another trombone player. Needless to say, the band jokes have been plentiful this weekend.
Last night I began by walking around the city, taking in the colorful buildings, the enormous Gothic cathedral miraculously spared from the WWII bombing raids, the medieval clock towers, and cobble stone lined streets (free of car traffic in the city center). After a brief tour, we headed to a traditional German restaurant, not too different from a Great Dane or Fox River Brewing Company. After sampling their delicious pilsner and eating a plate of bratwurst and sauerkraut, we returned to the apartment and hung out with a group of boisterous yet amusing German college students (first country I've visited where I can't speak the language).
Today, we woke up to a heavy rain downpour. Little match for my New Balance gortex boots and North Face jacket! We decided to climb the Schlossberg, a hill in the Black Forest just on the outside of the city. The trails lead to a giant watch tower, oddly shaped like an hourglass. After a steep hour of climbing, we arrived at the tower in heavy wind. By the time we reached the top of the aluminum structure, it was clearly fluttering with the breeze, providing either a relaxing or a frightful addition to the panoramic view of the city below.
After the hike, we headed back to the munsterplatz to enjoy the farmer's market. I ate a bratwurst mit krauten, served with grilled onions. After the very German lunch, we explored the city's cathedral. In side of the cathedral, amidst the German Renaissance paintings, wood carvings, and stained glassed windows, was a photo of the city of Freiburg at the end of World War II. The entire city is rubble. One can hardly discern where the houses stood, where the markets operated, where life in the city was even remotely possible. The only building that remained standing after the bombings was the Munster. Seen by many in Freiburg as a sign from God that the bombings would soon to come to an end, the resilience of the Cathedral is still an inspiration to many of the city's residents.
With rain coming down, we've been hanging out all afternoon, planning for tomorrow- 10 am train to Munich for Fruhlingfest, in a land where Leiderhosen, freshly baked pretzels, frothy beer mugs, and oom pah polka bands will be everywhere the eye can see!
Freiburg is the perfect city to start a six day stay in southern Germany. Though it's not the major tourist attraction like a Berlin or Munich, it offers a considerable amount of excitement thanks to its collegiate feel and historical significance. As soon as I arrived, I experienced the city's efficient metro system- a perfect example of German engineering and green living. Everywhere you look in this city, everything is running efficiently- from the daily organic food market in the munsterplatz to the German automobiles that automatically stop emitting pollutants while halted at a red light. I'm staying with my friend Zach- a fellow Wisconsin trombone player and member of Rank 9 (>8). Also here is Heather, another trombone player. Needless to say, the band jokes have been plentiful this weekend.
Last night I began by walking around the city, taking in the colorful buildings, the enormous Gothic cathedral miraculously spared from the WWII bombing raids, the medieval clock towers, and cobble stone lined streets (free of car traffic in the city center). After a brief tour, we headed to a traditional German restaurant, not too different from a Great Dane or Fox River Brewing Company. After sampling their delicious pilsner and eating a plate of bratwurst and sauerkraut, we returned to the apartment and hung out with a group of boisterous yet amusing German college students (first country I've visited where I can't speak the language).
Today, we woke up to a heavy rain downpour. Little match for my New Balance gortex boots and North Face jacket! We decided to climb the Schlossberg, a hill in the Black Forest just on the outside of the city. The trails lead to a giant watch tower, oddly shaped like an hourglass. After a steep hour of climbing, we arrived at the tower in heavy wind. By the time we reached the top of the aluminum structure, it was clearly fluttering with the breeze, providing either a relaxing or a frightful addition to the panoramic view of the city below.
After the hike, we headed back to the munsterplatz to enjoy the farmer's market. I ate a bratwurst mit krauten, served with grilled onions. After the very German lunch, we explored the city's cathedral. In side of the cathedral, amidst the German Renaissance paintings, wood carvings, and stained glassed windows, was a photo of the city of Freiburg at the end of World War II. The entire city is rubble. One can hardly discern where the houses stood, where the markets operated, where life in the city was even remotely possible. The only building that remained standing after the bombings was the Munster. Seen by many in Freiburg as a sign from God that the bombings would soon to come to an end, the resilience of the Cathedral is still an inspiration to many of the city's residents.
With rain coming down, we've been hanging out all afternoon, planning for tomorrow- 10 am train to Munich for Fruhlingfest, in a land where Leiderhosen, freshly baked pretzels, frothy beer mugs, and oom pah polka bands will be everywhere the eye can see!
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Ok, I promised I would continue the previous blog post. Here is what I've been up to in Switzerland, besides dealing with a "sinusite"
Saturday morning we all woke up at 7 am to head to Glacier 3000 for Europe's best late spring skiing. As I was told the time we were leaving, I thought of all those high school ski trips where the bus left at 4am- to go skiing in the UP.
I should mention that at the end of the day, my sinuses were about to burst. One's nasal passages don't appreciate being under the "pressure" of a brewing sinus infection and 6,000 meters of altitude change in one day! The day ended with steak and fresh vegetables on the deck overlooking Lac Leman (I know now not to call it Lake Geneva while I'm here, lest I want to offend everyone who is not from the city of Geneva).
Yesterday I was able to sleep in, load some pictures, eat a leisurely breakfast- and set out for the city of Lausanne on my own. I made many stops in the Swiss Riviera's largest city- including the 12th century french Gothic cathedral, the 13th century castle that is now used as the city hall, the beautiful harbor where sailboats leave for dinner excursions beneath the Alpine mountains surrounding the lake, and the shore gardens blooming with flowers excited about the end of one of Europe's harshest winters of all time.
Unfortunately, my relaxing time down at the Ouchy harbor was interrupted by my sinuses, leading to the experience described in the previous blog post.
Today, after a fairly restless night, I boarded the train for the village of Veyteaux and the nearby Chateau Chillon. The castle is situated on a rocky island that has been used for defensive purposes since the time of the Roman Empire. The original castle was built in the 11th century, beginning a period of building that would last until the mid 1500s. By far the most impressive aspect of the castle, besides the latrines that drain right in to the lake (talk about eco-friendly plumbing!) was the defensive structure. Not only is there a natural moat created by the lake, but the castle has several interior walls, ramparts, and hidden keeps that prevented the French from ever taking over the castle. The castle itself maintained a place of immense economic significance because of its location between the northern European kingdoms and the Italian kingdoms- a prime trade border. Like the state of Illinois, the castle set up a series of toll booths along the way to bother traders from the northern states that were better at football and baseball. Eventually, the Savoy kingdom that possessed the castle for centuries got the boot from the city of Bern, who were jealous of the castle's future prospects of tourism revenue from post card and wooden sword sales.
After visiting the castle, I walked along the lake shore from the chateau to Montreux, the city known as the vacation capital of the Swiss Riviera. Though I was a bit annoyed by the vast population density of elderly American tourists lazily hitting tennis balls and entering the Montreux casino to spend their daily supply of quarters, it was hard not to appreciate the gentle breeze off the lake, the crystal clear skies proudly exhibiting the mountain tops, the blooming flowers and the well-crafted "Madagascar" characters made out of old pine needles. In another life I will rent roller blades and go from Lausanne all the way to Sion (on the Italian border). With the vast network of foot paths, it's possible to walk throughout the entire Lake Geneva region, following the same path the entire way.
EDIT: Once again, the powers that are BlogSpot have prevented me from uploading pictures of my beautiful adventures in Switzerland. If my vivid descriptions are not enough for you and your wild imagination, I suggest you visit my facebook profile until I can get these pictures up here.
To reach the Glacier, we drove only one hour. But there was no snow anywhere. In fact, when we reached the Glacier's "parking lot", there was nothing but green grass. It was here I learned that we were only halfway up. The glacier was actually situated another 1,500 meters above us. Immediately, we boarded a cabin chair lift with 50 other skiers for the ski park.
It's difficult to describe a ski resort that rests approximately 500 meters over the tallest peaks of the Swiss Alps. It really does feel like skiing on top of the world. The appearance of the slopes can only be described as a marshmallow desert of wavy snow dunes, sharp rock protrusions, and seemingly impermeable clouds that temporarily pass over the brilliant sunlight causing a momentary suspension of any visibility.
The slopes, though not particularly steep, offered unique challenges because of their narrowness. The family that I was skiing with decided to ski a black diamond run. Uneasy about the prospect of a 3,000 meter drop should I fall off the glacier's edge, my ego automatically lead me to the face of an enormous head wall when I was informed that a 10 year old girl had skied the slope last winter without problems. Why couldn't I remember that I am in Switzerland- and most ten year old girls are skiing double black diamond runs backwards with their eyes closed and arms tied behind their back? I'll blame it on being 21 years old and on a pair of skis. After an exhausting 30 minutes on the longest ski run I've ever experiences, I made it down the bottom of the chair lift, where, extremely relieved to still be alive, I promptly dropped to my knees and confessed all sins, said ten hail Marys, and five our fathers.
The day ended with a 20 minute break on a broken chairlift- a perfect opportunity for my skin to fry like bacon. Though I had applied sunscreen and chap stick liberally, a snow covered glacier on a sunny day is conceptually very similar to an aluminum foil hot dog cooker that elementary school kids make in science class. I'm sure the wolves, bears, vultures, whatever animals may inhabit such an altitude- were disappointed to put the ketchup and mustard away as we were finally rescued from the glacial oven.
I should mention that at the end of the day, my sinuses were about to burst. One's nasal passages don't appreciate being under the "pressure" of a brewing sinus infection and 6,000 meters of altitude change in one day! The day ended with steak and fresh vegetables on the deck overlooking Lac Leman (I know now not to call it Lake Geneva while I'm here, lest I want to offend everyone who is not from the city of Geneva).
Yesterday I was able to sleep in, load some pictures, eat a leisurely breakfast- and set out for the city of Lausanne on my own. I made many stops in the Swiss Riviera's largest city- including the 12th century french Gothic cathedral, the 13th century castle that is now used as the city hall, the beautiful harbor where sailboats leave for dinner excursions beneath the Alpine mountains surrounding the lake, and the shore gardens blooming with flowers excited about the end of one of Europe's harshest winters of all time.
Unfortunately, my relaxing time down at the Ouchy harbor was interrupted by my sinuses, leading to the experience described in the previous blog post.
Today, after a fairly restless night, I boarded the train for the village of Veyteaux and the nearby Chateau Chillon. The castle is situated on a rocky island that has been used for defensive purposes since the time of the Roman Empire. The original castle was built in the 11th century, beginning a period of building that would last until the mid 1500s. By far the most impressive aspect of the castle, besides the latrines that drain right in to the lake (talk about eco-friendly plumbing!) was the defensive structure. Not only is there a natural moat created by the lake, but the castle has several interior walls, ramparts, and hidden keeps that prevented the French from ever taking over the castle. The castle itself maintained a place of immense economic significance because of its location between the northern European kingdoms and the Italian kingdoms- a prime trade border. Like the state of Illinois, the castle set up a series of toll booths along the way to bother traders from the northern states that were better at football and baseball. Eventually, the Savoy kingdom that possessed the castle for centuries got the boot from the city of Bern, who were jealous of the castle's future prospects of tourism revenue from post card and wooden sword sales.
After visiting the castle, I walked along the lake shore from the chateau to Montreux, the city known as the vacation capital of the Swiss Riviera. Though I was a bit annoyed by the vast population density of elderly American tourists lazily hitting tennis balls and entering the Montreux casino to spend their daily supply of quarters, it was hard not to appreciate the gentle breeze off the lake, the crystal clear skies proudly exhibiting the mountain tops, the blooming flowers and the well-crafted "Madagascar" characters made out of old pine needles. In another life I will rent roller blades and go from Lausanne all the way to Sion (on the Italian border). With the vast network of foot paths, it's possible to walk throughout the entire Lake Geneva region, following the same path the entire way.
EDIT: Once again, the powers that are BlogSpot have prevented me from uploading pictures of my beautiful adventures in Switzerland. If my vivid descriptions are not enough for you and your wild imagination, I suggest you visit my facebook profile until I can get these pictures up here.
Monday, April 26, 2010
If every adventure went totally as planned, how could we call them adventures?
Before I launch into an obligatory exaltation of the beauty of Switzerland's mountains and lakes, the purity of its air, the efficiency of its public transport system, the bipartisan perfection of its government, or the refreshing taste of fresh chocolate and cheese, I want to describe my run-in with the swiss healthcare system.
For the last two months, I've experienced a nagging cold. Though it's never been debilitating, I certainly consider it to be quite a nuisance. Until Saturday morning, the cold remained a cold. But when I woke up Saturday morning, completely unable to breathe out of my nostrils and smell the refreshing Swiss air, I knew the cosmic equalizer had given me a sinus infection amidst my wonderful European adventure. Can't complain though- first time in 5 months of travel of becoming somewhat ill is quite the record. Today, Monday, I found that the pain in my face was too much to handle. Graciously, the family I am staying with located an urgent care facility and drove me there, providing me with an English-french dictionary to aid in translation! Within two hours, I had helped a French speaking nurse fill out a stack of paperwork, I had seen a German speaking doctor, I had received my prescription written in a scrawl typical of doctors around the world, and I had my prescription filled by a woman who spoke nothing but rapid Swiss-French dialect. What a system! Virtually no waiting, instant prescription pick-up, low costs for the uninsured, and a comprehensive overview sent overseas for American insurance reimbursement. This is how health care is supposed to work. Take notes, America.
Too tired to continue for now. Will write more tomorrow!
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Bienvenue a la Suisse!
Bon soir de Lausanne! With a 3 pm train to catch from Florence to Milan, arrival in Switzerland was temporarily imperiled yesterday when I tried to catch the 2 pm train from Sesto to Florence, only to find out that the 2 pm train had randomly been cancelled by TrenItalia. Sprinting to the bus stop, I arrived just in time for the local middle school to let out, causing a major traffic jam around the area! This caused a 20 minute delay in the bus' arrival. No big deal, I thought. It's only a thirty minute ride in. And at 2 pm the traffic is light.
Well not yesterday. With the rain, the bus was packed beyond capacity. Like Madonna and Child paintings in the Uffizi, there were just too many people on the bus. This resulted in stops at every stop along the way to drop off 1 or 2 passengers and pick up 10 or 11. By the time we arrived in Florence, it was 2:50 pm. Perfect timing for a traffic jam. A distance that should have taken 2 minutes took 9. So, at 2:59 pm, I got off the bus and plowed a tremendous hole through the hordes of stranded travelers at Santa Maria Novella, just reaching the platform in time. Shout out to my friend David for sprinting alongside me and carrying my other bag!
Thankfully, the remainder of the journey went smoothly. I arrived in Switzerland at 8:40 pm. Arriving just at dusk, I was given a perfect view of Lake Geneva and the surrounding castles with a brilliant orange sun sinking over the Alps, as if to say "Good job on finals. Welcome to summer vacation!"
This morning, the family that I am staying with took me to Gruyere, a small Swiss village with a 13th century castle. As we neared the village, traffic slowed. This was unusual since the village is so small and few cars pass through it. But it wasn't cars that held us up- instead, it was a horde of cows promenading to the mountainous pastures for the summer months. Accompanied by herders in traditional Swiss garb pushing rustic cheese carts, this was a perfect introduction to the Switzerland of everyone's imagination.
The castle (and I promise to upload photos later this week!) was built in the 1270s. For over three hundred years, the region was controlled by bailiffs and counts that hid from pesky French invaders within the castle's walls. In the 1600s, the castle went baroque, abandoning medieval warfare with the French in favor of art and high culture. Wimps.
Today, the castle is a spectacular museum, where you can see exhibits with 800 year old sheets of armor, medieval cannons, baroque paintings, rococco ceilings, a traditional french garden, ramparts that provide spectacular views of the Alps, and a multimedia spectacle clearly not produced during the Middle Ages, but was still very entertaining.
After a visit to the castle, we drove to Bulle, an even smaller village home to the Cailler chocolate factory, one of Switzerland's finest purveyors of coca-related products. When I heard "chocolate factory," I expected we were going to see some machines making chocolate, then wander through a giant gift shop. And while there was certainly a large gift shop, I had no idea we would be going through an interactive, multimedia tour surely designed after the attractions of Universal Studios or Disney World. Spanning the history of chocolate, from Spanish theft of the cocoa plant from South America, to the legalization of chocolate by the Church in the 1500s, the tour wound through mock Aztec temples, Renaissance courts, Baroque studios, and simulated Swiss pastures.
The tour ended in front of the chocolate machines, which turned out fresh chocolates for us to taste. I was a little disappointed that the tour only included one free chocolate.... But, in the next room, there was a table full of hundreds of different Cailler chocolate products- all you can eat, free of charge. I've never walked so slowly around a table before in my life. Let's just say that I left enormously content, but with an equally enormous stomach ache.
The day ended with a relaxing evening on the deck that overlooks Lake Geneva. Watching sail boats, a near by soccer game, listening to Jimmy Buffett and reading a captivating book- needless to say, it felt like vacation.
Tomorrow- off to a glacier (altitude 3,000 meters!) for a morning of skiing!
A tout a l'heure!
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Arrivederci, villa!
Spent my last full day at the villa studying. Took my cinema midterm this morning, studied for art history all afternoon. Took one last run/hike up Monte Morello. While I won't miss the vicious dogs that scare me six feet in the air on every run, I will dearly miss the point where I turn the corner, leaving the main road behind, thus beginning a long, narrow road through olive groves and vineyards, with panoramic views of Sesto and Florence. I will miss the exhilaration of running up a mountain- reaching the end of the trail in 30 minutes and stopping to gaze out at the world's most beautiful country. For all of the chaos and confusion that Italy has dealt with in the past 60 years, none of it has reached the top of my mountain. The top of the mountain is the true Italy, the one uncorrupted by Silvio Berlusconi and the RAI networks, untainted by the ongoing feud between the Fascists and the Communists, untouched by umbrella sellers and miniature models of the David. The top of Monte Morello is perfect. I can't attach any photos of it. In order to maintain the image I have in my mind, I have decided not to take any photos. Actually, it's because I forgot my camera today... Anyway, Appenine Mountains, you will be missed. Bring on Bascom!
Spent the last evening taking one last walk through the villa garden, navigating my way through the hedge maze, eating a pasta dinner, and getting one last gelato- mint and straciatella (chocolate chip). As I watched workers dismantle the Sesto Festival that had enlivened the city throughout last week, the reality that this semester has come to an end finally sank in.
Tomorrow, after my art history final, I leave for a 19 day tour of Europe. I'm not done yet! The itinerary includes 6 days in Switzerland, 6 days in Germany, 2 days in Prague, 4 days in Vienna, and one final day of Michelangelo, ciocolatta calda, chianti classico, and the Duomo. While I'm not sure how often I'll be able to update this blog, I'll do my best to fill you in on life in the rails and hostels of Europe.
I close my last villa blog post with a picture I took during my first week in Italy- a picture which I feel perfectly reflects the beauty of this country and of the place I just called home.
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Villa Corsi Salviati
