A Day in the Juras: Givrine au Vaud [Part 2]

[Continued from earlier]

I arrived in Nyon by 8:30 and anxiously awaited Aaron while striving to stay warm. La Bise (the cold eastern wind) has been noticeable as of late. Interesting to note, la bise is also the term for the Suisse Romande and French greeting of simulated kisses on the cheek. Here in Suisse Romande, la Bise consists of three “kisses” starting on the left. It’s regarded as the polite and acceptable way to greet and take leave of people. My first opportunity to faire la bise was a major flop, as I was unsure of the rules of this greeting and failed to do it when it was necessary. I have since figured it out…

ANYWAY, back to the story. Aaron drags up around 8:45 and we find our bus to Le Vaud. Aaron spent Friday night in Nyon, as he lives a 30 minute bus ride away and he missed the bus home. He and I are in similar states, though I must admit I think he slept even less than I did. Sadly I had to purchase a bus ticket to Le Vaud (Aaron has one) and I was shocked when the conductor demanded 15chF for my round trip. So much for price efficient public transportation!! Nothing is inexpensive in Switzerland! We arrived in Le Vaud after a pleasant trip, and we walked the few minutes down hill to his house. Aaron’s family is originally Swiss German, so they speak an interesting mix of German, French, and English at home. With us, ils parlent just French unless it’s really important. They offered to take us to the train station where we can catch a train to Givrine, where we were to begin our hike.

The father gave us maps, gave us two pairs of snowshoes, explained everything in French, and at the last moment gave us a compass. We were psyched, totally confident in ourselves and in our understanding of the directions. Ha! The mother drove us to the station and we made small talk with her as we waited for the next train to Givrine. She explained the map again, told us how to pay for the train, and made us feel totally confident in ourselves. Mind you, this has been all in French, and we did our best to understand everything, but I’m sure we missed a lot.

The train arrived and we jumped on for the 20 minute ride to Givrine. We passed through the clouds to our stop at 1200 m (somewhere around 4000 feet). Much to our chagrin, while looking out the window at one of the stations, we saw Jonathon and Katherine, two other SIT students. Of all people, seeing Jonathon seemed appropriately funny and we laughed and exclaimed our surprise at seeing them. The train moved on and so did we. The sun was shining brightly, the sky was an impeccable blue, and the wind was nonexistent as we stepped out of the train to our “alpine paradise.” After map consultation and our ritual “embarrassment while speaking French,” we set off on le chemin pour pietons.

The snowshoes were superfluous at this point, but our excitement to be using them made us continue to wear them. The trail was groomed for the multitudes of walkers and skiers. For a lot of the time, us walkers had our own trail separate from the cross country skiers. The snowshoes remained a novelty until several kilometers later when we discovered the ease of walking on the packed snow sans raquettes.

During this first hour, and for a majority of the day, we experienced a sensory overload. Were we really in Switzerland? Were we really snowshoeing through the Jura Mountains a week and a half after we stepped off the plane? It was almost surreal at times. You have to experience this natural beauty to gain a true understanding of how we felt at the moment. Stupendous, spectacular, picturesque. The first restaurant we encountered was still too early for us to want to eat, even though it was 12:30. We must press on – we have a long walk!

to be continued...

Kiwi, why are you always talking about Switzerland?

I'll come out and say it: I love Switzerland. I fell in love with the country two years ago when I spent a semester living in a small town, Mies, outside of Geneva during a program with the School for International Training (SIT). The program was just shy of four months, but I consider it one of the best few months in my life. Unquestionably I learned more in those four months than I ever would've guessed. Many of the lessons and knowledge I gained still stick with me today.

I would not say that I had the "typical" study-abroad experience that many of my friends had. By typical, I mean being surrounded by Americans, living in an English-speaking country (e.g. U.K), drinking myself silly at pubs and not really integrating into the culture. Now, I will not go so far as to say Switzerland is worlds apart from the US, but there is the (multiple) language barrier to jump, as well as a general European culture to explore. You'd be surprised what changing languages and a few social practices will do to your experience.

I went into my program with the full intention of making the most of it. So cliché but so true. Truly getting to know my host family, meeting local kids my age, using my French, understanding Swiss culture and traveling the country were all at the top of my agenda. Luckily, I fell in with two great friends, Brandon and Aaron, who shared the same ambitions. The three of us had unforgettable experiences, learned a great deal about ourselves (especially how we react to challenges, both linguistically and culturally) and how to view life from outside of the general American vantage.

I do not wish to bore you with all the reasons why I love the country, but I will say that living in Switzerland has made me plan to live abroad again sometime (hopefully soon). Don't get me wrong - I am proud to be an American and appreciate all that we have - but I feel that the world has much to offer.

Now I've just got to figure out a way to make it work. Suggestions?

A Day in the Juras: Givrine au Vaud [Part 1]

[Editor's Note: I wrote this short story after a backwoods trip with my good friend Aaron while living in Switzerland. I've chosen to leave the story in it's original format, despite the rather great length. I plan on breaking it into several parts, and will resist changing my original wording.]

14 Février 2004
Mies, Suisse

An epic tale of snow, gruelish soup, backwoods navigating, and aching feet.

Allow me to set the scene for my writing of this story: I am sitting at home, at the Zainzinger’s house, by myself on Valentine’s. Perhaps that wouldn’t be the case if I hadn’t missed my train home (as you shall soon read). Whatever the case, here I am alone with a great tale to tell. I couldn’t resist writing this because I wish to share and record the past day: it was incredible.

I guess this whole ordeal began on Friday night, le treize vendredi to be exact. I think the Swiss may be somewhat superstitious; they kept reminding me that this was a special Friday. Pas de problème. Nicole and her boyfriend, David, were nice enough to take me out on the town. We rode in David’s new Puegot to Gland, a little town outside of Nyon, to go to the bowling alley. This was an interesting experience. Picture this: bowling, while surrounded by French, with exclamations in English on the score board and MTV playing on every TV. It’s difficult to escape from American influence, as I’ve noticed. I guess this is largely an irrelevant observation for the story, but it strikes me as odd sometimes. After an enjoyable game, we left for Nyon with two new friends in the midst.

In Nyon, we scoped out the local scene: Quai 23, Fisherman’s, and Les Brassaures, eventually ending up at Les Brassaures. Not surprisingly, we encountered my American friends dans la rue. In such a small town, it seems unavoidable to encounter people you know and recognize. That’s OK, but I was actually enjoying being the odd man out – the American whose French is lacking. It was a challenge keeping up with my Swiss friends for the evening, but they were interesting, sincerely nice, and understanding. Luckily, Nicole would bail me out when I had absolutely NO IDEA what was just said…this comes in handy.

Au Brassaures, we sat around the table and for the first time in the evening, had conversations focused on hearing about me. Lucky for me, I play soccer and ride bikes, so I immediately fell into grace with the guys. Plus, my friend Aaron came over and spoke profusely en Français with his Minnesota accent. My Swiss companions found this amusing, as did I (not that my accent is much better!). The night ended with me being dropped off at 1:30 am to an empty house. C’est la vie.

My alarm pierced the morning silence at 7:15 am as I arose to a cacophony of my own grunting and grumbling. I swear I just went to sleep. I hurriedly ate two pieces of bread with cream cheese, slipped into my thermal underwear and donned all the hiking clothes I had. Running out the door, I put my hat over my tussled hair and power walked to the platform down the hill. For a minute, I had a sinking feeling the train wasn’t coming. Weekend train schedules differ from the regular hourly trains that pass through Mies. Just as my mind began to panic and search for a solution, the train rounded the bend. Right on time: 8 hr 9. The Swiss are remarkably on time with their trains. But they don’t wait if you’re late…

A Quick Hello

Starting a personal blog has been playing through my mind during the past couple of weeks. Although I've been a somewhat regular contributor over at Apartment 408, I've begun to feel the need to expand and refine my literary endeavors. This new blog will hopefully serve as a way to stay in touch with family and friends, while at the same time providing a creative and at times academic outlet in my life.

Yes, this all may sound like a bunch of hogwash to some of my previous readers, but I do plan on using Life's a Ride to better articulate my experiences, thoughts and questions. My recent purchase of a journal has something to do with my impulse to start this blog. I bought the journal to provide me with a place to record my more private thoughts off the record. I still intend to write in it, but I feel that starting my own blog will afford me the chance to share some of my past and present experiences that I think either have value, entertainment, or insight (at least to me).

Life's a Ride will also serve me as a kind of retrospective journal on my life. While I've only been around for 23 years, I believe I've been blessed with a lot of opportunities and experiences. My biggest fear is letting these experiences fade from my memory. Writing on Life's a Ride will undoubtedly rekindle many a memory that otherwise would sit in my mind and collect a load metaphorical dust. My biking post is an example of the kind of stories that I, if no one else, would like to remember in the future. Future style will likely combine facets of Mr. Lee, Dr. Cook, and Will's musings and commentaries. Dudes, I dig your styles.

I'd like to take a moment to credit Donna the Buffalo for my blog title. This lesser known band has an eclectic rock/folk/bluegrass sound to it, and I've found that their 2005 album, Life's a Ride has a lot to offer. As many of you know, the title fits well with my love of cycling and my view that life has it's ups and downs, yet it is always interesting.

With any luck, I'll have a posting or two up in the next day. Don't fear, readers, I'll still provide my more racuous and perhaps esoteric commentary for Apartment 408, but starting now I'll be pedaling in a different direction here on Life's a Ride.