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.