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…