Switzerland Through a Conch Shell

I stand half-under the awning at the Dublin Bus stop, the weak rain failing to penetrate my backpack.  I am anxious because I am about to embark on my first trip onto the mainland of Europe!  Adding to my anxiety is the lateness of the 16A bus, which hasn’t passed for the nearly 45 minutes that I’ve been waiting at the stop.

Finally, it arrives, and I eagerly board, relieved that I will catch my flight on time.  An hour later, I am going through airport security for the first time since my flight to Dublin at the end of August.

I had heard horror stories of flying RyanAir—and I had four RyanAir flights in my near future (a connection at Stansted Airport outside of London).  However, the boarding went quite smoothly, despite what I thought might be complete chaos because of the absence of assigned seating.  Once on board, I quickly scoped out a seat, and only struggled a little to shove my backpack into the carry-on compartment.  Almost as soon as I sat down, the plane’s speakers starting playing Mozart’s “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik,” the intensity of the opening unison arpeggios gradually dissipating into the pleasantly familiar melody, a soundtrack to the comical scene of the other passengers getting situated—small children scuffling around amidst a throng of knees, couples shouting at each other over which seats to take, stewardesses in their constrictive uniforms attempting to wade through passengers.

Per usual, I am knocked out within five minutes, and sleep until we arrived in London at 11:30pm.

Here begins an adventure I maybe shouldn’t blog ablout—my 12-hour lay-over in Stansted Airport.  My flight to Basel, Switzerland (my final destination) does not leave until 11am on Saturday, so I have a bit of time to kill.  As I walk out into the front area of the airport, I am relieved to see I am not the only one with this idea.  In fact, most have come more prepared than I, spread out in sleeping bags and curled up with blankets across three or four airport chairs.  Most of these chairs have been claimed, and I observe that the next best thing is curling up under the two foot canopy of a giant advertisement marquee.  I set my backpack down and prepare for the night.  I sleep for about two hours with my track jacket as a pillow—the stone floor is cold and hard (but definitely clean since the zamboni-like machine that sprays and squeegees the floor has passed by about three times now).  I brought a long book, and that occupies me for another couple hours, by which time passengers with early flights are starting to arrive, and the vendors are starting to lift the metal gates on their stands and begin the day’s sales.

I pack up my bag, and walk outside into the brisk and immensely foggy England air.  After a few fresh breaths, I decide to head through security early, and spend the rest of my time bumming around the travel books section in the duty free bookshop.

Finally, I am boarding my next flight, and before I know it, Mozart is playing again.  This kind of diminishes the sudden novelty it produced before, but I still chuckle to myself as I think how perfectly the music fits the situation.

The flight comes and goes, and before I know it, I have landed in Basel, Switzerland!

When I de-board, the first of my five senses that gets to experience “der Schweiz” is touch, as my feet step foot onto the European Mainland for the first time in my life.  Even the bland, asphalt ground of the plane parking lot sends waves of excitement through my exhausted body.

In fact, as I enjoy this weekend, all of my senses are percolated save one—my hearing.  Having flown with a light head cold, my ears are clogged the entire weekend.  (They are actually even clogged now, as I write this 2 days later).  Everything is muffled, especially my own voice, and it is difficult to discern how loudly I am speaking.  It is like hearing out of a conch shell, the ones you are supposed to put up against your ear to hear the ocean.  But of course, I did not let it affect my weekend, whatsoever.

Dear Frühs,
I cannot thank you enough for the fantastic weekend I had with you all, starting from the very beginning with the Tour de Basel.  Herbstmesse (the fall festival in Basel) was such an exciting atmosphere, and the Bratwurst and steamed chestnuts were delicious.  My taste buds were most captured by the sweet Magenbrot, its combinations of cinnamon, chocolate, and ginger flavours making it hard to stop eating!
 
I really enjoyed seeing the town—the paper mill, the Rathaus (town hall), the Cathedral with its fantastic view of the Rhine—and how could I forget the tranquil ferry ride on the motor-less boat, powered only by the gentle, natural flow of the river.  Thanks also for humouring my attempts to read the German signage (this one basically means "Christmas Tree Decorations Specialty Shop"), and explaining the fascinating Swiss German language that has no written grammatical rules!

Anina, many thanks to you for recommending Bar Rouge!  Bar Rouge is the highest bar/club in Basel, sitting on the 31st floor of a big glass building.  It was a spectacular view with the dark slowly encroaching and the lights brightening up the city.

The Raclette might have been my favourite part of the trip.  My grandmother knew I would love it!  It was so fun to “cook at the table”—sticking the cheese into the heat and impatiently waiting for it to melt, before scraping it in one gooey slide onto the potatoes, and then garnishing it with the different toppings—the hot red sauce was my favourite.  Once again, my taste buds were getting treated!

We made such a good day trip out of our one full day together, and saw the heart of Switzerland from the top of Mount Pilatus, the highest mountain on the border between the flatter lake-filled lands and the impressive Swiss Alps!  Most fun was the ride up on the world’s steepest cog-wheel train—at points a 48% incline which is equivalent to almost a 30 degree angle!

The view from the top was stunning, and the smell of the crisp, fresh air, cooled by the recent snow was invigorating.  I also decided that if skydiving doesn’t work out, perhaps hang-gliding will suffice!

Our short evening in Luzern was also brilliant.  The city was so nicely lit up on the lake—humble lighting, not too glamorous.  The Chapel Bridge was quite interesting to see as well, spanning nearly 100 metres across the lake.  It is hard to think that only 15 years ago a fire destroyed this medieval bridge, singeing the wood as well as a vast collection of paintings on the trusses.  I’m glad the city decided to rebuild this historic bridge, since it is now quite charming with the rows of pink flowers and the blackened wood as a reminder of the devastating effects fire can rapidly inflict on historic landmarks.


Our dinner at the Rathaus Brauerei (“Townhall Brewery”) was so delicious. Älpermargonen—a combination of everything I love!  Pasta, potatoes, cheese, and apples (well, applesauce, but it was good applesauce…not Mott’s).  It’s hard to describe the day as anything less than perfect.

Seraina—thank you for the great tour of Magden!  The village is exactly what I think of when I envision a picturesque, European community, the backdrop of the vineyards and the rolling hills summoning a warmth about the place despite the rain.  It was so nice to see where you went to school, where you go to church, and where you pick up the bus—really, these little details make you feel at home!

It was wonderful to step over the Rheinfelden border between Switzerland and Germany as well!  OK, maybe not exactly the border, since the precise line seems to have vanished…however, crossing the river into Deutschland was good enough!

Finally, thank you for the warm hospitality and conversations.  It was so great to see you all and to catch up with you, and give you the scoop on what the Thomas clan has been up to.  Your friendship with our family is very precious and valued by all of us, and I hope that you keep in touch and that we can meet again soon!

Love,
Victor