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Yes it is.
The photos for the entire trip have been updated and posted, links to hotels and some attractions added, and the corrections made to the blog posts. Look back by choosing the country from the CATEGORIES list ----------------------> or simply click the button below to start back at the beginning. Thanks for reading along. Next trip: ?
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3 and 4 August 2013 Six o'clock, I have been up for two hours, mostly watching the day arrive. The sky is a cloudy grey-brown and the light a flat, muted gold as a storm starts to build over the Alps. The golden light on the old wooden bridge and stone buildings makes them glow; it is not the sharp-edged light of the past four days. Soon enough I will wake Gail, we will go find pastries and sit for coffee one last time. For now I am happy to just sit and listen to the church bell toll. Breakfast at the cafe around the corner, drinking coffee, a croissant and watching life. It is Saturday, market day in Luzern, so after breakfast we walked the market, drooling over all the food we cannot bring home, lusting for the fresh flowers that would be thrown out at security. I still had $7.40CHF burning a hole in my pocket... what to do? So we hatched a plan: we had a mini bottle of French wine stored away. I set aside $3 for a second bottle, and we went to the cheese merchant. Gail got a fresh, apricot yogurt for $1, and I plunked down the remaining $3.40 and requested that much cheese. He cut me a generous slice, I picked up the wine at Co-op, and we were set for lunch on the train. Alles ist güt! It's 11:30 now. As we entered the train station the last view of the outside was the bright red and white flag waving us goodbye. It is a one hour direct train to Zurich airport, then our flight to Iceland leaves at 14:00. Iceland to Seattle, a two hour break for dinner (we hope) Seattle to Oakland, then crash in a hotel before driving home. We are crossing eight time zones, so we leave Zurich at 14:00 and arrive in Oakland at 22:00 the same day, only eight hours later but sixteen hours of flying time. The train left and arrived on time, we blew through security (no passport control), and were airborne. A sad thought, I'll have to retire my passport after this trip and get a new one, as mine expires in seven months now. I often wish that I could bring home some of the good habits and ideas from our trips, like eating long, slow, healthy meals. But work and life does not lend itself to that. One idea I picked up in Mürren that I really like, and am going to think of how to incorporate it into real life is the way they deal with trash. We, the guests, were responsible for any trash we generated; required to bag up our trash, separate out the glass, plastic and cans, then carry the trash bag down to the end of the path to the trash can, and carry the recyclables uphill into town to the central collection area. Everyone does it, and it makes you acutely aware of exactly how much daily trash you generate. Another great Swiss idea: direct airport trains. There are direct trains, hourly, from every major city in Switzerland to the Zurich airport. If you are in a smaller town you just connect to the nearest city and zoom, you are there. It took us one hour to go from Luzern to the airport this morning, about $20 each. Wish I could get to SFO that cheap and easy. Last, we are vowing once again to slow down our meals, eat better food, al fresco, and have more friends over. This last one usually works well until we are immersed in work once again, but hey, we have the good intentions. Zurich to Reykjavik I listened to episodes of NPR's This American Life, Gail watched movies. We had one hour to change flights; thank goodness for a small airport and carry-on luggage. We got our passports stamped out of Iceland with no wait, and we didn't have to go through security again. I am impressed with their efficiency. Flying over Greenland was very interesting, the icebergs, rocky shores, and huge snow fields, glaciers with just the black tips of mountains sticking out. Lots of lakes of meltwater on the glaciers, at the edges of the snowfields; the snow is melting fast, and you can see the aqua-brown water reaching miles out from the glacier before it turns to that pure, deep blue color against the grey mud flats. Even from an airplane at a mere 30,000 feet, the evidence of unusual heating is right there. Of course, I have the friend who STILL, somehow, is a Global Warming Denier. He, of course, has his Doctorate in Climatology (not) so he is eminently qualified to listen to AM radio and disagree with 99% of the world's scientists. Whatever. He should get out of the house and take one flight over the Arctic. Somewhere over north-east Canada I fell asleep, when I woke up an hour from Seattle I was really confused what day it is. After checking my iPod (1:30 on Sunday the 4th of August) I had to think a lot about whether it was really Sunday, or is it still Saturday? Ugh. Good think I filled out the customs form back when I was awake and alert. These long flights are a surreal mixture of days and time zones, the days blur. So here is a weird thing: we got emails from a couple friends telling about a big terror alert for travelers this weekend, some high alert, imminent attack kind of thing, shutting down embassies and so on. I caught the news before we left, sure enough... Yet today we just zoomed through the airport in Zurich, and in Reykjavik we were barely looked at. I usually gripe about the fifty questions coming into the US, but today it was the easiest, fastest trip through passport and customs ever. Huh. I think it just does not pay to worry about these travel alerts, or to even watch the news at all. Maybe ignorance is bliss, or maybe it is just a needed dose of reality, and perhaps it is not so good to be constantly manipulated by the press and government fear mongers. We had time to catch "dinner" at Bigfoot in SeaTac airport, which was really more of a desperation meal (in real life I would never eat here), and used the free WiFi to catch up before our final flight to Oakland. Flying into the Bay Area is always a treat, but it has a surreal beauty on a foggy night, when the city lights add a glow to the fog; where the cloud banks end the bridges and highways sparkle like golden necklaces, and you descend into the glowing fog bank, down, down until HELLO! you are in that hundred foot space between the cloud and ground. It was past midnight when we crashed at our cheapo airport hotel. I figured I gave been mostly awake for about twenty-seven hours. Today (Sunday for real now) we pick up a rental car, meet Amber and Andrew for breakfast, and head the three hours home. I am plotting out where to go next summer... a mix of warm beaches and fantastic mountains perhaps? This was our second trip to Switzerland. The first, to Zurich, was great, this trip was greater. The one and only downside to Switzerland is that it is an expensive place; food, trains and hotels are very pricey here. But, that can be overcome through discount train cards (longer trip) eating in your room or picnics with food from the Co-op stores (they are everywhere) and staying in smaller guesthouses, hostels or couch surfing. I would probably plan a day to just sit on the deck at the apartment, make my own fondue, drink a bottle of wine and watch the grass being cut, the shadows lengthen and shift, and listen to the alpenhorn in the distance. The plusses of Switzerland are many. First is the beauty of it, from the sublime play of light on the buildings and rivers in the cities, to the whimsical art and quirky history (you will soon die) to the stunning mega-pixel, over-heated camera burnout of the Alps. Good food, clean air and water, easy connections, good mix of city, country, town and village, friendly people, your choice of languages... Switzerland is a great place, a good first trip if you think you might want to get hooked on Europe. I could live here. As sure as the cathedral bells toll, we'll be back. 2 August 2013 Depressing sort of a day, this is our last full day in country, of our trip. Tomorrow we fly out of Zurich, ending another summer in Europe. But, there is still today! At six aye-emm, I walk across the old wooden mill bridge to stare at the paintings and remind myself that I will die soon anyway, and determine to just relax and enjoy the day. Gail is sleeping in, so I am sitting alone at a café drinking coffee as the church bells start to toll, precisely at 8:46. The Ruess runs loud beside me, the shadows change slowly over the buildings and mountains beyond. A couple city workers in their neon-green safety pants sit, drink a coffee, smoke and flirt with the waitress before tiredly moving on. The city, up so late celebrating, seems slow to rise this morning. But there are the occasional signs of life: a store owner slowly opens the door, cranks out the awning and arranges goods. The produce and fish market sets up in the porticos lining the river, on Unter Den Egg Strasse. Two guys opposite me sip cappuccinos and read the paper, another guy helps his dog into the fountain in the square; while the owner smokes, dog happily paddles around before jumping out and shaking off. The breeze is cool an my arms, but the sun is already hot so I stay in the shade of the umbrella. An old guy pushing his bike, I nod and smile and he returns the smile. A cute young girl in heels and dress races by on her bike, heading to work? The Japanese tourists start to come out in groups of six and ten, the young women in heels and flowery, flowing skirts, many with parasols, most always in groups, the men with expensive, big Nikon cameras. You can tell who has one of the strongest world economies right now: last night we were walking up a street of closed watch shops when three tour busses pulled up at the square. On cue, as the tour guides disembarked and stood, pointing up the street, the store lights went on, doors flew open, and the entire three loads of Japanese tourists filled the streets, then almost as suddenly the crowded street was empty as everyone disappeared into one of the stores. It was pretty interesting to watch. Gail and I had breakfast at Bäckerei Hug, on the river bank near the old mill bridge, in a square next to a fountain. We can spy out not only the action in our square, but the square across the river as well. Later, Gail found a dress she likes, it is pink and says Madame K. on it. I am thinking she should get five of them, wear them to work every day and insist the kids address her properly. "Teacher, I gotta potty!" She could look down her nose, Harrumph! at them. "Madam K, the WC, s'il vous plaît." Walking around town, you gotta look up past the obvious, or you miss the art work, the whimsical gargoyle tucked here, the historical note over there. Goethe stayed here in 1779, a stone elephant plays his nose like a trumpet, and a painted wizard on a wall looks through a telescope at...? Babies among the stars painted under a patio. Walking with walking sticks is huge in Switzerland, and not just on the trails. Everybody, old people with bad knees and youngsters with presumably fresh joints all use this collapsible hiking poles, helping to negotiate the perils of rock-strewn trails, cobblestone streets and the interior of H&M. It just strikes me funny to see people power walking with the poles among all the arm-in-arm lovers strolling the lakeside walks. That being said, there sure seems to be a lot of people on crutches. There are very few street performers in Switzerland, and what few acts there are tend to be higher class, like the guy with a full size, upright piano, or the string quartet playing Mozart. OK, so there is a girl playing accordion, but I'm sure she's in training for something better. Like Iceland, there are a lot of bookstores here, even a Buchcafé. People sitting on benches, on the steps, in a café, all reading. On a back street we find a cool hotel, built into the old jail. No river view, but the rooms look cool, might be worth a Google if you are coming over: Jailhotel Löwengraben. If you are concerned that, once locked in your room you cannot get out, have no fear: The jail was in use from 1862 to 1998, and is famous for all the prisoners who escaped during the years! www.jailhotel.ch Continuing our lazy day of wandering and people watching, we stopped back at the Rathaus Brauerei for beer and a sausage and salad plate. We sat over an hour just listening and watching; cheap entertainment. We are drinking a beer; me the large manly mug, Gail the petite girly glass. The orange-vested polizei just walked by, the sun is hot but we are cool tucked back into an archway, and the river flows by with the crowds. Gail is smoking, she is down to her last two cigs for the summer, until next year's trip. Occasionally people wander by dragging their suitcases to the train station; the click click sound of the wheels across the cobblestones is a sad, sad song. Now it is 15:00... so relaxed sitting here reading and writing. Still on the same beer. Maybe we'll head over to the Rosengart Museum to beat the heat? They have a great, intimate look at Picasso's life, and a good exhibit of Klee, I hear. Renoir, Cezanne, Seurat, Pissaro, Monet, Matisse, Miro and others, pretty impressive for someone's private collection. So, we went, and I was most impressed by the photos of Picasso's life: who knew he had a mini daschund, like our little Harley? And to stare into Picasso's eyes; so that is what genius looks like. Afterwards we stopped for gelato, sitting in the shade of a store window along the Ruess, watching life stroll by. We took our books and walked along the lake, stopping to sit on a bench and read for an hour or so. There are bocce courts? pitches? sand traps? Anyway, there are bocce games going on, and are they good. From my vast experience playing one time, I can tell you that when there are three balls, all touching, within two inches of the target ball, and the next guy throws it through the air so it perfectly knocks away the one, middle opponent's ball but leaves his own two in place, well, that is pretty good. At 18:25 the bells all rang in the cathedrals. I am back to the theory that it is just totally random, the bell times. For our last meal we ate at La Terrazza, an Italian restaurant occupying the bottom of a building on the river. But we bucked the trend, and instead of eating along the river crammed in with everyone (which we don't mind) we opted to eat out on the backside of the restaurant, which bordered a square full of tables surrounding a fountain. Since everyone was clamoring for the riverside tables, we had the little three umbrella, six table section to ourselves, complete with our own waitress. The other cafés in the square were busy, so we had the nice background hum of the crowd noise, and great people watching on the main thoroughfare through the square. It was just a comfortable, quiet place. Soon our idea caught on and the tables filled. It was a nice meal until... Sadly, it turns out I spoke too soon about the good street acts. First along was "Mr. Flute-o-Phone," who played off tune to a totally random soundtrack, which included My Way, Oh When The Saints Go Marching In, followed by Fiddler On The Roof? I mean, come on. What is the playlist theme here, "Desperation?" Then he had the nerve, the NERVE! to bother us all for a tip. Next up were the traveling "jump and flip to bongo music" guys, who take their shirts off and, you guessed it, jumped and flipped to a bongo drum beat. Then THEY wanted tips. I wanted to say, "Hey! How about you pay us for ruining our quiet little square?" They, too, left without a franc. I mean, come on. When we are in Mexico we kind of expect this; this and oh so much more. (If you have been, you are nodding in agreement right now.) But here? Really. Next up we ran into the popular group, "Two Guys With Guitars and Great Attitudes" who could not sing, but at least they had heart. They drew a crowd, singing along to Creedence Clearwater tunes. Next up: "Flamenco Dancer on Plywood" girl, accompanied by Spanish Guitar Man. Last act: "I Sing Loud, Bad Opera" man. So I hereby stand corrected on the "upper class" street act comment made earlier. All we need now is Silver Not-Moving Statue Guy. Oh wait... who is that getting into costume in the alley behind our hotel? Ironically, oh so ironically, as I write this now, two hours later in our room, on the patio looking out over the bridge, river and cafés, who strikes it up right below our patio? "Mr. Flute-o-Phone," leading off with My Way. He still totally sucks, and the absence of clapping is deafening. Luzern. Switzerland. Europe. God, I'm gonna miss it here. 1 August 2013 It's a heartbreak to leave Mürren on such a razor sharp day; the tips of the peaks glow white against the impossibly blue sky. I think I could spend months here, walking, sitting, drinking it all in. With a sigh I turn my back on the Jungfrau, and take my last breaths of the crisp air as I trudge to the little train station. Even the chamois came out to bid me adieu. You could write a song about traveling here: we took a little train, cable car, slightly larger regional train to the regular train to Luzern. The little green and yellow regional running from Interlaken to Lauterbrunnen is such a throwback. Walking back through the cars to the only WC, you can just picture train travel in the old days. Red velvet seats in each car, and to move car to car you actually open a door, hang on and step on a platform, then to the other car's platform and in that door. The WC has a hole open put the bottom of the train, you can see the ties rushing by. A sign advises you, in four languages, to not use the WC while the train is stopped at the station. Ahhhh! The luxury of the good old days. We ate lunch between Meiringen and Brünig-Hasliberg, on the way to Luzern; bread, cheese, wine, apricot, chocolate and a Swiss and German favorite, wasabi peanuts. The train strained to pull over a pass, then dropped into Lungern, with a beautiful turquoise lake: I decided right then that we will stop here on our next trip to Switzerland. Three young American girls boarded, cranked up their iPhone and sang along, first entertaining, then annoying the other passengers. We got to Luzern and found a beautiful little city by the lake waiting for us. I guess the most famous landmark here is the Kapellbrücke, a wooden bridge across the Ruess River, built with an angle at each end and connected to an old stone water tower. It's beautiful, flowers line the sides. Our hotel is right on the river walk, looking down on the bridge; we have a room on the top floor with a balcony so we can see the lake as well. There is another, older mill bridge as well, these are two of Europe's oldest surviving bridges. Inside the bridges, in the rafters, are old paintings telling the history of Luzern, filled with skeletons to remind us that we will all die soon. Oh, those fun loving, wild and wacky Swiss! Well, happily I have lived just long enough to make it here. Luzern is another one of those clean, beautiful cities in Switzerland, more compact than Zurich (the train station is right there, across the bridge), surprisingly traffic free like Bern, lots of paintings on the buildings, a tree lined promenade walk along the shores of the Waldstättersee (Lake Luzern) and a fun section of little crooked cobblestoned streets with fountains and squares. There is a great little beer brewery two doors down from the hotel, the Rathaus Brauerei, brewing two wheat beers that you can only get here. We stop in for a sample of each (Gail gets a lady-like 2dl size, while I get the manly 5dl, or half litre, mug) and a warm pretzel. Sitting under the arched stone porticos looking out at the people going by... This, this is living. Maybe I need another stroll through the bridge to remind me I will die soon. Everything is closed, except the cafés and train station, for the national holiday. So we just walk and look, take the time to take in each painted building and admire the snow capped alps ringing the lake, standing tall over the city. Eventually hunger finds us and we stop back by the brewery where I get Munich style crispy roasted suckling pig (pork roast with crispy skin) and Gail plants the Swiss flag on Mount Salad. It's an early dinner and we are done right before eight, which is fortunate, because right as we walk over to the lake shore all hell breaks loose: church bells start their thunderous tolling, train whistles toot and steamboat horns blast out low, mournful sighs that echo through the valley. It goes on and on, six steamers circling the harbour, the cathedral bells; we just sit on the lake shore and take it all in. Back in town behind us we can hear alpenhorns, in their resonant harmonies, playing songs that now remind us of our friends in Mürren under the clear blue alpen skies. The red and white flags provide the perfect contrast, and then the first fireworks start to explode. Like the Fourth of July, this is a holiday big on explosions, and the fireworks continued well on past midnight when we finally fell into bed. From our window we could see at least four major displays going on, and on the most prominent peak a big red cross is outlined with lights; it soon disappears in the gunpowder smoke. |
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