Month: March 2017

Ali – Last weekend Zurich finally got around to holding a women’s march.  They are a good three months behind the rest of the world but the Swiss Germans feel that these things require careful planning to make sure they don’t have a women’s march that goes off half-cocked….errrr….so to speak…..

Anyway, the forecast called for rather rainy craptacular weather for the event, and many of our ex-pat friends were less than motivated. Fearing that there would be all of 3 women showing up, I thought I should make an appearance (because 4 protestors is obviously the critical threshold for making a political statement). I was also determined to drag Maya along, as I felt a solemn duty to baptize her in the pool of feminist activism. Her last and only protest march was the Human Rights March in Vienna, Austria when she was around 4 years old and at the time she felt very strongly that access to icecream was a basic human right. Luckily I managed to borrow another kid – Maya’s friend Lil – so I could pass the whole thing off as a play date. Bonus: because it was labeled a play date, Joe tagged along as well, as he could pass his flaming feminism off as parental responsibility. 

So the four of us headed towards the staging area at Heveltiaplatz, apparently a standard place for Zürich residents to demonstrate. We were a wee bit late and I was a bit concerned we would miss the 4 women in Pussy hats who composed the sum total of the march. However , we walked straight into a massive wall of estrogen. We were swallowed by the wave and floated along in a sea of pink hats and umbrellas. Maya and Lil seemed a bit shy about jumping on board at first but then started breathing in the hormones and sped through three Tanner stages of pre-puberty as they settled in. My bag of ‘protest cookies’ also helped. 

The March headed across the Bahnhoff Strasse stopping a number of trams, in a shockingly unSwiss way, and then headed over the Limmat. At that point we got a small glimpse of how big the march was as it stretched along the river. We finally left the march at the Rathaus to head in for hot chocolate. 

The news reported later that there were 17,000 attendees, which was impressive for a rainy day in a country with a lot of reserved, unemotional people. Funny to think that Switzerland didn’t even give women the vote until 1971. Perhaps that is why the march was so well attended: a clear statement that women aren’t giving up any hard won rights and freedoms.

Ali- A couple months ago I was hunting around for ski destinations for Maya’s Sportferien school holiday- the break from school whose soul purpose is to give Swiss kids uninterrupted ski time. I happened upon a notice for a fondue gondola ride in one of my favorite Zurich newbie blogs: New in Zurich. The event was celebrating the 150 year anniversary of some place called Villars, which I had never heard of, and the date happened to coincide with the last weekend of Maya’s break. So, in a moment of spontaneaous budgetary abandon, I coughed up the 250 CHF price for 3 of the coveted slots out of the 60 gondola cabs X 6 person capacity total. 

Only after this impulsive purchase did I begin to contemplate exactly where Villars might be and what the heck else we would do there. Now given that the event was happening in a gondola, the town name sounded French and it is Switzerland after all, its probably not surprising that Villars turned out to be a ski town nestled in the Alps just east and south of Lake Geneva. I guess the only other option would have been a Gondola manufacturing town near Montreal. 

So now we needed ski passes, transportation and a place to stay. Again, being Switzerland, the Swiss rail system offers combined ski and rail passes to most of the ski areas and so I got us all 2 day lift tickets and round trip tickets for the 3.5 hour excursion- train to train to train to bus- to get from Zurich to Villars Sur Ollon.  I also booked us in one of the few remaining hotel options for an ungodly sum for three nights, consoling myself that at least the place boasted a hot tub and close proximity to the gondola. 

So Thursday afternoon departure time arrived and I hurried home from my German conversation course so we could boogie to the train station to head to this magical winter wonderland, packing near-zero French language skills and Joe’s overpriced rented ski gear. After several very rushed transfers and a couple renditions of ‘Je ne parle pas français’ we arrived in Villars and found our hotel, which turned out to be a bit more like a rented lodge in a wellness center. We had a great view of both the mountains and the hot tub, which was housed in a glass fronted building about 20 steps from our door and open for apres- ski soaking. 

Friday morning our breakfast basket arrived and we munched while layering on the ski gear. The day was less than ideal, being almost completely socked in with fog and wintery mix falling out of the sky. After stoping to rent equipment for Maya and me, and being informed that Joe could have paid about 150 CHF less for the season ski rental had he rented in Villars, we headed for the ski train. This super fun train travels between the villages/ski areas of which there are about 4 or so sprinkled across the surrounding mountains. Actually we found out that the easiest way to go between all these areas was on skis, which will play a prominent role in our story in a bit (teaser to keep you reading). We were told to start in Bretaye one town over, as this area provided a nice easy start for our not yet broken-in ski legs. Once off the train and clipped into skis, we discovered how limited the visability was. Despite my deep knee bend, I was surprised numerous times by sudden drops and fell into and subsequently launched out of at least one deep pit, which left me in a tangled giggling heep right next to the pommel lift as exhibit A for the young Swiss children on how not to ski. 

We called it quits fairly early having skied only a limited number of runs that we had memorized enough to not ski off the edge. The best part was the ride back, which was a long narrow trail that led all the way back to Villars. This was our first hint that the main routes between all the towns were ski trails. We finished the day in the hot tub and then found some food and a beer at a local eatery.

Saturday promised to be a glorious day and we decided to head to an area called Glacier 3000, which, as you might guess, is a ski area at 3000 meters on top of a glacier. To get there, one must ski up and over several mountains and then take a short bus ride to two very large gondolas that lift you to the top. 

There is something really really cool about down hill skiing to a destination along mountain trails that literally hang off the side of a mountain. Every 2 minutes a voice in my head said, “oh my gosh! Get your camera out! This is amazing!” , at which point another voice said, “Are you freaking nuts? There’s a cliff three feet to your left and you are thinking of digging for your camera while skiing???” Needless to say voice two won out, though I did get some good pics when we were on the lifts. 

After perhaps an hour of traversing the mountain range and our short bus ride from Les Diableretes to the base of Glacier 3000, we arrived at the gondola and headed up. Reaching the top, we discovered that the advertisement matched the reality. Huge expanse of beautiful glimmering snow fields surrounded by snow capped peaks. The less expected sites were BMW sport utility vehicles being helicoptered in and dog sleds. I think I can say with a high degree of certainty that we spent one of the most memorable afternoons of skiing of our lives on Glacier 3000. 

Maya was in particularly high spirits as she had her first “off piste” experience, skiing across ungroomed terrain and clearly feeling certain she had now entirely mastered the art of skiing with nothing left to accomplish. 
Ok flash forward and it’s nearing the end of the ski day. We need to get back to Villars for our fondue gondola by 6:30 pm and we need to make the last ski lift out of Les Diableretes by 4:15pm. 

At this point I would like to say that we have always tried to tell Maya and ourselves that even misadventure counts as adventure. So to continue the tale we head down the gondolas and proceed to the bus stop, hoping on the first bus that comes our way, only to discover we are headed in the wrong direction. We decide to hop off the bus and find out that there is an hour wait for the next one, which would put us back at Les Diableretes way past 4:15pm. A quick google search tells us that if one cannot ski back to Villars, one is in for a 2 hour bus to train to bus excursion to get there. At this point, all three of us are using various inappropriate language to describe the situation and feeling fairly despondent. We finally opt for a taxi and pay 250 CHF to get back to Villars. After an hour of twisty mountain roads and a stop at the bank to withdrawal cash, we made it back in time for a quick dip in the heated pool. 

We arrive at the bottom of the Roc d’Orsay gondola lift to a scene of high spirits and pumping DJ music. I pretend to understand what the lady taking tickets tells me, catching just enough to know there is wine and we should get some. With glasses in hand we wandered over and checked out the gondola cab, which is decked out with a table and all the fondue accoutrements. We met the folk in cabine 1, who were clearly friends of the Burgermeister (aka mayor), who posed with them for photos as the press seemed to have turned out for the event.About 40 minutes later our number is called and we are joined by a solitary Swiss guy for what turned out to be a 2 hour ride in an unheated gondola eating way way way WAY too much cheese. The first loop up and down was quite fun but the second loop was a freezing slow slog with congealing cheese and a rapid onset cheese-wine hangover. When we emerged from hibernation at the bottom, we chattered and shivered our way back to the hotel, falling asleep as soon as we got home and then medicating and rehydrating at 3am  when the hangover peeked. 

Sunday morning we headed home, feeling rather worn out from skiing and over-cheesing. Word of advice for any future Villars ski fondue gondola adventures: check bus directions and exit after the first loop.