Swiss Family Abraham

Ali – Switzerland has a number of tourist rail routes that are part transportation and part experience. On Saturday, we took a ride in Rhaetian Railways Bernina Express, which crosses the Bernina Pass and travels through the Swiss Alps, close enough to places like Saint Moritz that you can smell the rich people (they smell like laundered money and camembert cheese in case you were wondering). Parts of the railway have been designated a UNESCO world heritage site, I think both for the scenery as for the engineering feat of building it. 

Now the tracks are the same whether you are just looking to get from A (a being the Swiss town of Chur) to B (b being the Italian town Tirano) or whether you are looking for the scenic experience. The difference is that the tourist train has cars with huge panoramic windows, a tri-lingual service person happy to sell you souvenirs, and tri-lingual audio announcements about the views to  either side of the train. The tourism train also makes a 15 minute get-out-and-snap-your-tourist-photos stop at the highest point- Alp Glüm.

But I’m jumping a bit ahead. Let’s go back to the 7 am Saturday departure out of Zurich HB that got us to our 8:30 Bernina Express train out of Chur. I had sprung for first class tickets, which got us slightly roomier seats. We were all pretty psyched about seeing the Alpian splendor and thought a weekend spent riding trains would be a relaxing change of pace from our usual active and  frenetic weekends. Maya had downloaded several audio books for entertainment to accompany the view. 

With hot beverages in hand, we spent the next 4 hours winding through the Alps past glaciers, frozen lakes, and ridiculously picturesque snow-capped mountains. 

We went over large aqueducts and through tunnels dug right into cliff faces.The description of these engineering marvels always sounded way more impressive in German, probably due to the fact that numbers take 1.5 times longer to say in German making everything sound bigger and taller. Near the 2000 meter top, we went past two frozen lakes creatively named green lake and black lake. On one of them (which looked neither geeen nor black) we found out what kite surfers do in winter time. Answer: test the durability of frozen lake surfaces.  

At the top we all disembarked for a tourist photo moment and a brief leg stretch, almost face planting several times falling into knee deep snow holes made by the ghosts of tourists past.

Back on the road….errr…rail, we headed down out of the Alps ending up a mere 400 meters above sea level just across the Italian border in Tirano. The plan was to hop a bus back to Poschiavo, a small Alpian town back in Switzerland that was a third of the price of Saint Moritz. So we had just enough time to grab some lunch and discover just how screwed we were on a daily basis by the exorbitant Swiss cost of living. Not 10 minutes into Italy we got Sambuca, ice cream and coffees for 9 Euros. I’ve heard the high cost of living in Switzerland is the result of both protectionist policies and an infestation of rich people, but I haven’t read any detailed economic analysis that thoroughly explains why a 3 Euro Sambuca magically becomes a 9 CHF Sambuca just by crossing a border.

We caught our bus, which was right on time because it was run by a Swiss company, and managed to reach Poschiavo 30 minutes later just before we all vomited on the seats from motion sickness. Joe had booked us in the inspirationally named Hotel Suisse. After checking in we wandered the cute and very sleepy town until we worked up a thirst and then claimed our free drinks that were secured by flashing our Bernina Express tickets. We ate an interesting Swiss-Italian Frankenstein cuisine that night at the hotel restaurant and then turned in early.

The next day we were back on the train for the 5hour trip home. In total we had spent about 11 hours on trains and 30 minutes on a bus in the span of 48 hours. We all agreed that that much butt-sitting and panorama viewing was not our cup of 9 CHF tea. Glad we can check that one off the bucket list. Next time we’ll get out and hike. 

Ali- We are now over a week out from the American Presidential election and I would like to offer a reflection from abroad, giving  you a small glimpse into the perspective of the Swiss (based on, admittedly, a small sample). In contrast to Joe’s early morning anguished post that demonstrated his political affiliation, emotional state and level of sleep deprivation, I’m going to try to remain fairly neutral on the topic out of sensitivity to the random conservative who accidentally happens on our blog while trying to get to www.swissfantasyabraham.com, the Swiss Jewish erotica site (ok I made that up but I bet you just googled it). 

My first Swiss contact on the day after the election was with one of my 4 regular officemates, Marco. Marco is an epidemiology doctoral student at the Institute for Epidemiology, Biostatistics and Prevention at the University of Zurich. After the usual morning greetings he said he felt very bad for me and our other American officemate, Sarah. I didn’t ask him to expand on his sympathetic impulses towards his American coworkers but this was my first sense of what became the main theme of my Swiss encounters that week: pity. Next was another doctoral student who asked me, “How are you doing?” in the same way one would ask a person after a death in the family. Next was Milo, my colleague and boss here in Zurich, the director of the Institute and a guy who spent 5 or so years in Baltimore at Hopkins. He was both sympathetic and sanguine, assuring me that the president-elect really has very little ability to make major changes and will most certainly moderate. 

Later in the week, I went out to lunch with one of the academic staff, Evelyn, who has lived her whole life in Switzerland. She expressed pity combined with utter disbelief. I found myself explaining the “working man’s plight”, basically regurgitating all the post election analysis about the angry masses who have seen their lot in life decline while watching the rising yachts of the American elite. The fact that this was all a fairly novel insight for her speaks a bit to the unimaginable reality of America for Europeans, who are citizens of countries with strong social safety nets, free or subsizided college, and high standards of living. The fact that we have a bit of a third world country nestled within America – the citizens of which are poorly educated, unemployed, uninsured and have zero access to opportunity – is foreign in all senses of the word to your average Swiss citizen. Remember this is the country that recently voted on a country wide unconditional minimum income of around $30,000!! Ok it failed but still the fact that this idea was main stream enough to get a vote tells you something about how the Swiss feel about the social safety net and government’s role in taking care of vulnerable citizens. 

My most recent Swiss encounter over the election came when our administrator, Maja, returned from vacation in Egypt. She told me the Egyptian people were surprised and worried over the American election, which I found striking as the Egyptian leadership isn’t exactly the pinnacle of individual liberty and benevolence. So the fact that Egyptians were saying, “wow, what have those Americans done with their government?” was slightly disconcerting. You’ll never guess what sentiment Maja expressed. Yea….pity. 

Now I should maybe also give you the expat take. There are boatloads of english speaking expats here: Australians, Brits and Americans. I got a nice text on Wednesday after the election from a British friend asking if I was in need of a girls night. The American expats  – and bear in mind that an American living abroad is probably someone highly educated and well off – were generally devastated. There were tears and frustration, lots of anger and some defiance, e.g. the American who told me she will donate whatever large sums of money she needs to to avoid paying a dime in US tax because there was no way she was supporting the US government now. 

Now given that pity was the main sentiment with sprinklings of surprise, mild superiority and classic Swiss emotional reserve (admittedly in a small probably non-representative sample), I would also like to enlighten folk as to how the Swiss do government. The extent of American knowledge and regard for how other countries do things is generally summed up by, “There’s the American way and then there’s the ….errrrr…. America’s the best!”, which affirms our abiding pride in our intentional ignorance. So feel free to skip the rest and go to our post about leprechauns in Ireland if you would like to comfortably maintain your certainty in American exceptionalism. 

Unlike the US, which is a representative democracy, Switzerland is a direct democracy, which means all of the 5.3 million eligible citizens directly vote on members of Parliament as well as any referendums, which are held up to 4 times a year when laws are disputed. Parliament is composed of two bodies: the National Council, which represents the population and the Council of States, which represents the Cantons (i.e. States and there are 26 of them).  Parliment then elects  members of the Executive branch, the Judiciary branch and the Attorney General. The Executive Branch, which is in charge of implementing laws that are passed by Parliment, is composed of 7 Federal Councillors and one Federal Chancellor. The Chancellorship rotates between the Councillors and Councillors serve 4 year terms but can be re-elected by Parliment. Now the Swiss informational brochure on their government brags that, “the people have more say on how their country is run than in almost any other country in the world.” My American ignorance prevents me from commenting on that but indeed Switzerland is a lot like California in allowing the general population to have a say on laws. This can be a great thing, like recent approval of Proposition 63, which implemented background checks on ammunition purchases, or a terrible thing like Proposition 8, where the California populace rolled back rights for a minority subset. 

There are a couple other details that do a lot to shape the governmental bodies of Switzerland. First, there are 12 political parties and seats in the National Council are dolled out proportionately according to the percentage of the vote. So this means that even small parties are likely to gain a seat or two and be represented. Also Parliment is semi-professional, meaning that members also hold down regular jobs, which keeps them tied into the community and assures that no one gets too invested in their political office. 

So depending upon how that all sounds to you, it may or may not explain the pity and slight air of political smugness. Now it’s not all sunshine and chocolate fondue here. Switzerland refuses to join the European Union, instead trying to get all the benefit without taking any of the pain. In 2014, the Swiss voted to restrict immigration in an echo of global nationalistic impulses. And even in Switzerland, political cartoonists thrive, pointing out the absurdities. Here’s a couple of my favorites:May 2012. The crisis in southern Europe viewed from Switzerland. Newspaper headline: “Spanish banking crisis”. “First Greece, and now Spain!” “Our next holidays are a real worry,” So this is a dig at the Swiss people, who are only affected by the crisis as it impacts their holiday plans. September 29, 2013. Canton Ticino, where SwissMiniatur model park is located, bans burkas. And this is a dig at the nativist anti-immigrant tendencies that have arisen particularly in the countryside…. Sound familiar?

Ok I’ll end with a Chinese parable that I read in one of Maya’s books and I’ve always found it quite comforting when things don’t go the way I’d hoped.

One day in late summer, an old farmer was working in his field with his old sick horse. The farmer felt compassion for the horse and desired to lift its burden. So he left his horse loose to go the mountains and live out the rest of its life.

Soon after, neighbors from the nearby village visited, offering their condolences and said, “What a shame. Now your only horse is gone. How unfortunate you are! You must be very sad. How will you live, work the land, and prosper?” The farmer replied: “Who knows? We shall see”.

Two days later the old horse came back now rejuvenated after meandering in the mountainsides while eating the wild grasses. He came back with twelve new younger and healthy horses which followed the old horse into the corral. 

Word got out in the village of the old farmer’s good fortune and it wasn’t long before people stopped by to congratulate the farmer on his good luck. “How fortunate you are!” they exclaimed. You must be very happy!” Again, the farmer softly said, “Who knows? We shall see.”

At daybreak on the next morning, the farmer’s only son set off to attempt to train the new wild horses, but the farmer’s son was thrown to the ground and broke his leg. One by one villagers arrived during the day to bemoan the farmer’s latest misfortune. “Oh, what a tragedy! Your son won’t be able to help you farm with a broken leg. You’ll have to do all the work yourself, How will you survive? You must be very sad”. they said. Calmly going about his usual business the farmer answered, “Who knows? We shall see”

Several days later a war broke out. The Emperor’s men arrived in the village demanding that young men come with them to be conscripted into the Emperor’s army. As it happened the farmer’s son was deemed unfit because of his broken leg. “What very good fortune you have!!” the villagers exclaimed as their own young sons were marched away. “You must be very happy.” “Who knows? We shall see!”, replied the old farmer as he headed off to work his field alone.

As time went on the broken leg healed but the son was left with a slight limp. Again the neighbors came to pay their condolences. “Oh what bad luck. Too bad for you”! But the old farmer simply replied; “Who knows? We shall see.”

As it turned out the other young village boys had died in the war and the old farmer and his son were the only able bodied men capable of working the village lands. The old farmer became wealthy and was very generous to the villagers. They said: “Oh how fortunate we are, you must be very happy”, to which the old farmer replied, “Who knows? We shall see!” 

Joe: I am sad. Profoundly, heartacheingly, headache-inducingly sad. I am also shocked, embarrassed, scared, and frustrated. 

Because of the 6-hour time difference, I stayed up all night in order to get a taste of this history-making election. As the hours passed, I welled with anticipation and pride imagining this historic advance. Freely and fairly, we were about to elect our first female president and repudiate fear-mongering, ethnocentrism, and bullshitting. 

But now, at 6am, I am faced with having to wake my daughter and give her the news. Bad news. For reasons she could never fully understand, profoundly bad news. This is her loss, mostly. Hers, and that of her generation. They will grow up knowing what might have been, and wasn’t. And what was instead. Apparently, we have made a mistake. 

Whatever our motivations, we have made a big mistake. We chose selfishness over compassion. We chose apparitions of short-term gains at others’ expense over the opportunity to grow together as a nation, both spiritually  and economically.

Despite the pit in my stomach, this may be a win for me, personally. I will more likely than not come out even, if not ahead, for the policies and practices that are to come. I am a white man, employed, with a solid, albeit expensive, employer-provided health insurance plan. I’m an educated Jew, and a scientist, so I have to hedge a bit here, but things should work out. For me. But the consequences of our mistake will impact many Others for many years. Though I am living in Switzerland, know this:

I stand with American women.

I stand with African Americans, Native Americans, Mexican Americans, and Muslim Americans.

I stand with aspiring Americans of all types.

I stand with American gay men and lesbian women.

America has a deeply flawed but nevertheless great political system. Though pendulums will swing, I trust that the safeguards inherent in our system will prevent the worst of my fears. That said, I apologize to Europe and to the World for our mistake. I am embarrassed and ashamed. Though it will come with a cost, we will learn from our mistake. Hopefully. 
The sun is up in Switzerland. It will soon dawn on you, America.

Ali – In my first week working at the University of Zurich in August 2016, two different colleagues told me about their trips on the night train to Berlin. When you hear ‘night train’ you may either think of the critically acclaimed 1959 thriller by Polish director Kawalerowicz or the 1989 Guns N Roses song, depending upon your era.  My colleagues mentioned neither murders nor cheap fortified wine in their descriptions of the trip but did use phrases like ‘little sleep’ and ‘exhausting’, which were about a similar level of buzz kill in selling the adventure. But then one mentioned that the night train was going the way of the Do Do bird, due to low cost airlines cutting down on ridership. The German train company – DBahn – was calling it quits in December 2016 and it was unclear whether anyone else would pick up the service.  That changed everything! I think you would agree that there was only one thing to do: immediately book tickets on the night train to Berlin. Thanks to a train obsessed traveler who runs the Seat61 website, I was able to navigate the booking. How much would you pay to be on one of the last night train runs to Berlin??? If your answer is 239.80 Euros then ME TOO! That price got us a one-way trip in a 3 bunk economy sleeper cabin, breakfast included. 

Flash forward and it’s Friday November 3, 2016 – the day of our departure. We are all pretty excited and set off to the Hauptbahnhof around 6:30pm for our 7:42 pm City Night Line train. Joe and I were feeling pretty smug, having packed a dime bag of legal downers (Benedryl and melatonin) to help ease our way into sleep (and possibly sell to other riders). We stopped off at the COOP to buy a picnic dinner complete with alcoholic supplement (legal downer #3). One thing was for sure: we would be sleeping or comatose on the night train, and either state was acceptable. 

So I’m not sure what we were expecting, but when our night train pulled into Zurich HB it was indeed a bit like seeing a Do Do. We were awed by this rare specimen but it sure was a bit of an ugly old bird. We hunted down car 287, borded and were met by the conductor who took us to our….errrr….cabin? Cell? Body-stacking conpartment?

Well whatever you call it Maya was immediately enthralled. She loved her top bunk and all the compartments (e.g. tiny sink in corner). Now there’s no internet on the Night DoDo so after dinner we just tucked in and prepared for a well-medicated geschlaft. About 20 minutes after we turned the lights out, a booming voice on the intercom woke us up to tell us there would be no more announcements until morning. Joe and I then lay awake for the remainder of the night listening to the orchestra of train sounds and feeling every track switch and stop. Maya – the only unmedicated one in our party – slept well. 

We disembarked in Berlin and made our way to our AirBnB, where we had rented a room in an occupied apartment. This was our first “private room” rental and our Brazillian hosts, Joao and Mayrna, were about as friendly and extroverted as one would need to be to continually have strangers sharing your only bathroom. Joao gave us tips for what to do for the day and sent us out into Berlin. It was now about 9am and nothing was open. We hopped on the ‘hop-on-hop-off’ tour bus and headed to Brandenberg Gate, our first Berlin site of the day. Joe remembered seeing the gate with a chain-link fence around it in about 1987. Now it was all spiffy and ready for tourists. Maya was far more interested in the neighboring Dunkin Donuts. 

Next we hit the Jewish Memorial, which is composed of 2700 concrete blocks and is both depressing and incredibly fun at the same time. We tried to remain respectfully cognizant of the tragedy that provided us with the BEST hide-and-go-seek game EVER.  We failed. Instead we tried to go down to the more depressing and less fun visitor center below the memorial but it was recommended only for ages 14 and up due to the graphic nature of the displays. 

So onward to Check-point Charlie!  On the way we made first contact with the former Wall. We also got to have one of Berlin’s famous delicacies: the Currywurst. I know about this from a German book I read about an Italian guy in Berlin trying to learn German. He says in the book:

Eine Berliner Spezialität ist die Currywurst. Die Currywurst hat eine interessante Geschichte. Im Jahr 1949 hatte eine Berliner Frau von britischen Soldaten Worcestershiresauce und indisches Curry bekommen. Sie hat die beiden Zutaten mit amerikanischem Ketchup vermischt und auf eine deutsche Wurst gegeben. Man sagt, die Currywurst ist typisch deutsch. Ist multikulti typisch deutsch?

Got that? Well I can now report that indeed this is a big bratwurst soaked in Ketchup and Worcestershiresauce and then coated in curry powder. 

Bellies full we went to CheckPoint Charlie, which is now a photo tourist trap, and then hopped back on the tour bus for a very interesting ride through former East Berlin. We capped it off with a visit to the DDR museum where you can ‘experience’ life in the DDR. The museum had a representative apartment in a typical East Berlin Plattenbau, including a movie of a typical scene out the window. 

I also learned that East German’s were big nudists, probably a protest against DDR product scarcity taken in a light-hearted and satirical direction. 

The last thing of note during our 16 hours was thePergamon Museum, which is probably the most famous Berlin museum and well worth the trip. It was built to house restored and rebuilt architectural wonders from the ancient world. Definitely get the audio guide and stand in awe of the most challenging jigsaw puzzles ever completed.

Ali –  I know what you are thinking. Do the Swiss celebrate Halloween? Absolutely not! That goes against every orderly Swiss fiber in their bodies. However when you are a country infested with ex-pats, Halloween parties happen despite your best efforts to maintain decorum. 

So Maya was invited to join the British girls at a Halloween party on the 30th. Usually she would be in a state of frenetic excitement over this invite but instead she entered into a Halloween costume manic depression – listed in the Diagnostic  and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders as a state of  cycling angst and demoralization over a lack of an appropriately awesome Halloween costume. So off we went to Bahnhoff Strasse to Claire’s, where for only 62 CHF we purchased a blue wig, makeup and some accessories. We found a sparkly top at H&M for only 40 CHF. Thus for a mere 100 CHF Maya was transformed into…..errrr…..well we still aren’t sure but she looks pretty cool.

Joe and I are just waiting for November 1 so we can try to return everything. Well everything but the blue wig, which I may have to borrow. 

Joe: Happy Halloween! Maya actually went trick-or-treating this evening. This is not so easy to do, since children are more likely to be greeted by a befuddled Swiss Großvater as a cheery expat. There is strength in numbers, so Maya met up with some friends,  and their  friends for a costumed night on the town. And they had some success to boot. The offerings of dried figs were offset by whole chocolate bar winners (the Swiss were digging deep in their cupboards, apparently), and after a couple of hours on the streets, Maya has a Tasche of sugary loot that should last at least the week.

Although Maya wins the too-cool-for-school prize, my favorite costume was a Swiss Army Knife. Brilliant.

Happy Halloween, and Happy Birthday to Cousin Jake! 14! Holy cow.

Ali – Many folk describe Ireland as their favorite trip. So we were pretty excited to see what was so darn great about it, outside of the famous beer and whiskey, delightful accents and verdant green hills. Unlike Switzerland, you really can’t get anywhere without a car. My carefully crafted itinerary had us meandering down the western coast but I admit I didn’t pay a lot of attention to the exact travel time or road conditions that we would face. I did make several frantic pleas to Joe to make sure his parents got a big enough car…and when they told us we would have to limit our luggage, the reality of a long Irish car trip did start to press on my brain. But I remained optimistic and trusted to frequent whisky distillery stops to -shall we say- lubricate the situation. 

So Wednesday afternoon found the 5 of us headed out of Dublin in a BMW 319D hatchback, with Maya, Judy and me all pressed together in the back like conjoined triplets. I should also mention that two out  of the set get carsick. 

But I tried to maintain my optimism and sense of adventure, while doling out the chewable Dramamine like candy. About 4 hours later we arrived in Connemara just in time to prevent the decubitus ulcers from forming on my hips. We were staying at a lovely B&B that overlooked the picturesque Connemara National Park. Out on a much needed walk we saw a rare hornless Connemara unicorn, proving that Ireland is magical. 

The next day, after a delightful Irish breakfast, we went to visit Kylemore Abbey, a famous castle with Victorian gardens and a big stone middle finger greeting guests in what I assume is a traditional Irish salute.  

We hiked the Connemara National Park next, which is a bit like the desolate beauty of California’s southern dessert sections. Note that clothing is recommended but not required in Connemara. 

Other top hits here were the Sky Road and the ubiquitous horseback riding tours, which was great until my ‘automatic drive’ horse, Tom, drove me right into a briar bush. 

Back in the car, we headed southeast to Kilcolgan, where I had booked us one night in a castle (because clearly that had to be done and they are actually bookable on AirBnB). Except for the castle and a famous eatery called Moran’s Oyster Cottage on the Wyre, there is nothing to do in Kilcolgan, which gave us more time to wander the castle saying things like I’ll be in the armory polishing my shield if anyone needs me. Maya spent a good amount of time in the Drawing Room…. guess what she was doing? 

The next morning we headed towards County Clare, stopping along the way to do some Falconry, as it is the sport of kings and queens. We sprang for the Hawk Walk, which was a nice hike through the woods with a Harris’s Hawk. Maya was our designated hawk holder.

We also did the falconry show and had a couple other feathery companions briefly lured to us with raw meat.

Next onto County Clare of Cliffs of Moher fame. You might better know these as the Cliffs of Insanity from The Princess Bride, one of my all-time favorite movies. Rich mentioned these were a near miss for making the Natural Wonders List.  

Our AirBnB was about a 30 minute walk from the cliffs, but I found out the exact definition of an Irish wetland trying to get there one morning. 

The famous Doolin Caves are also here, which boast the largest stalactite in Europe and third largest in the world. Apparently it was discovered by two students who thought it would be a good idea to follow a disappearing stream for two hours on their bellies through pitch black. I suspect they were looking for the legendary Spring of Guinness. 

Also of note: 1) we picked up our key to the house at a bar, which has to be the essence of Irish AirBnB; 2) the incredibly small town, Liscannor, where we picked up said key also had an amazing restaurant called Vaughan’s Anchor Inn and an artisan bakery called Sea Salt. In general, the food in Ireland was shockingly good and flavorful. 

Back in the car, we headed to Bunratty Castle, which is exactly what one thinks of when they think Irish castle. It was restored by a passionate aristocrat to prime midevil condition, complete with small dungeon pit off the dining hall and hole-in-the-castle toilet that unloaded over the moat. The authentic village scene around the castle was equally fun and this is a full day of activities if you don’t have miles of Irish road yet ahead before reaching the next AirBnB stop. 

The next stop was the Dingle Peninsula, which was probably the most scenic of the trip. Miles of beaches and cliffs. 

We also toured the Celtic History Museum, which had an intact mammoth skull, cave bear skeleton, ancient gender-specific Celtic bathroom symbols, and the best description ever of what Celtic warriors looked like going into battle

In the area, one can also visit 5000 year-old beehive stone huts. Turns out stone houses offer few amenities but they are very durable. As you can read below, the style of building is called corbelling and shows that all you really need is an endless supply of stone to build a structure. These structures also confirmed my growing suspicion that the early Irish were actually Dwarves. As we all know from the historically accurate Lord of the Rings tale, Dwarves are stone crafters, which would explain all the random stone walls throughout the country as well as these stone huts.  

 The Glarius Oratory is another example of fine Dwarvish craftery. However note the slightly judgemental tone on the visitor ticket, which was shocking to hear coming from Dwarves. I’ll have them know that I felt very close to God on every cliffside road and called to him frequently from my corner of the back seat. 

Finally my trip was made complete by a glimpse of the elusive Dingle Berry

Our last stop of Irish CarSquish 2016 was the Ring of Kerry. We had our final AirBnB in Castlecove, a stone’s throw from the beach. The Ring is another scenic road tour, which Maya and I couldn’t stomach (literally) . So we saw local sites instead, including the Staigue Fort and the home of Daniel O’Conner, the liberator and emancipator of Ireland. We actually met the great great great great great grandson of Daniel in a pub called the Blind Piper near Castlecove. He likened Daniel to Fredrick Douglas when asked for an American historical equivalent but many would probably name Abraham Lincoln. 

Well that about wrapped it up. I don’t think I need to give you the blow by blow on the 5 hour road trip back to Dublin, which was about as uncomfortable and squished as I imagine birth is for a baby, and I’m hoping to forget it similarly. I would like to end with providing a useful bit of Gaelic vocabulary I picked up in Kilarney:

Ali – We arrived in Paris after 2.5 hours on a high speed train from Colmar. For those who love stats, our top speed clocked in at 314 km/hour, which is somewhere north of 190 miles per hour. According to Wikipedia, the US, which was the first country to get high speed rail, is now lame. 

The switch from German to French has been interesting. My high school French continues to trickle to the surface of my brain, with translations of signs and phrases coming out of the blue like I’m a psychic channeling the ghost of a Rick Steves’ French phrase book. Joe on the other hand is suddenly completely language incapable; he learned Bon soir on our first evening and then proceeded to use it the next morning, until I broke it to him that he was wishing everyone a good evening at 10 am. It’s given him new found sympathy for Maya getting plopped in the middle of a foreign country with no language skills. 

We have been staying at an airBnB on the edge of the Jardin du Luxenbourg, which is pretty ideal for seeing the sights. We got the place fairly cheaply because of the totally spooky 4 story walk-up that’s under renovation. .

Knowing we were only here for 2 full days, I made the smart move to just book us some tours. Paris is overwhelming and filled with tourists so trying to figure out what to see and then standing in a line to see it seemed less fun than getting kicked in the shin. So Monday morning I booked us on a chocolate and pastry tasting tour.  This was my first ever food tasting tour and it could have been lame. But Maya was way on board with tasting chocolate and a blind Parisian could manage to find chocolate and pastries for us to taste in Paris so seemed like a safe bet. Well I’m happy to report it was a complete success. We had a young French professional sommelier and self-professed food junkie as a tour guide- she runs a one woman tour company that I found on Get Your Guide. Lots of fun history about French food (e.g. Did you know the croissant is crescent shape because it celebrates the defeat of an Islamic horde of some sort by some group of Europeans?? – legends vary so details are a bit murky) and lots of great tasting. Another couple with us from Oklahoma said they always do food tours whenever they go anywhere because it’s such a great way to get to know the place and history.  

Maya proclaimed, ‘best tour ever!’ so we chalked that up as a win. 

Monday evening we headed to our Fat Tire night ride through Paris. Fat Tire tours get pretty good reviews in general as a kid friendly activity and great way to see a city. This was a 4 hour tour starting at  6:30pm and Maya was understandably concerned about the level of difficulty of the bike riding.  I can now report the pace is quite leisurely but the Paris street riding at night is a bit of an exhilarating adrenaline rush. Now I don’t mean to say it compares in any way to putting on a wingsuit and jumping off a mountain. But one does feel a bit more alive in the middle of Paris putting out a policemen stop hand to an oncoming bus as the tour guide yells insults in French at a taxi driver blocking the road. Maya navigated all this at Defcon 5 alert, hurtling a steady stream of panicked acusations of parental incompetence at us but was like the young zebra in the pack and thus actually quite protected. Plus doing Paris at night is really the best way to see it. Nothing can compare to careening around the plaza of the Louvre with all of that monstrosity lit up or riding triumphantly through the Arc de Triomph. All my pictures are dark and crappy but trust me, it was awesome.

Tuesday morning we headed to the catecombs. I had purchased the ‘skip the line’ tickets with included audio guide. Now this is one solid piece of advice for Paris: if there is something you really want to see, pay the extra and book a skip the line tour or pass. We arrived to a line wrapped around the block. The directions were to head to a neighboring tobacco shop and pick up our tickets, which seemed a bit scamish and shady but ended up working out as we were ushered in past the line upon our return with tickets in hand. I tried not to look at the pist-off faces. We got our audio guides and headed down to what is the largest ossuarium (a.k.a charnel house) in the world. 

The brief history goes like this: the catecombs started out as limestone quarries to build all the huge building in Paris. But they built the huge buildings on top of the land that they were hollowing out. Land begins to sink into hollow ground. King takes note. King orders repairs. Meanwhile dead start pilling up in the city. Someone has the bright idea to put all the dead in the now structurally sound catecombs and make morbid art out of the bones. Millions flock to see morbid art under Paris. 

I have a soft spot for morbid stuff so I really enjoyed trying to read all the death poetry in French, which definitely went better than reading it in Latin. Joe played forensic pathologist, trying to deduce whether large skull holes were pre or post mortem and show Maya what the inside of an eye socket looks like. 

Now lest you think that all our adventures are wild successes due to my detailed planning skills, I should note that our last trek of the day to watch sunset from the Eiffel tower was a total bust. It did re-enforce my previously stated conviction that anything you really want to see in Paris, pre book and pay for line skipping. We went on a lark and found the stairs closed (which was our rough plan for avoiding the line), the elevator to the top closed and a long line to get to the elevator that goes to the second floor. This was after waiting in line for the security strip search just to get near the tower. So we ate quiche in the freezing park and went home. 

Tomorrow off to Dublin. I hope we didn’t need to prebook our Guinness  drinking. 

Ali – Alsace is the regional equivalent of the high school flirt, having been fought over for hundreds of years by France and Germany. Alsace is currently dating France but you never know when Germany will give up austerity and lederhosen and start to look attractive again. Since Alsace has been around a bit, it boasts a wonderful blending of French and German culture. 

Maya is off for Herbstferien (fall break) and we are fulfilling our oath to spend every school holiday travelling. The plan is to meet Joe’s parents in Ireland but I couldn’t resist finding a few waypoints to add to the itinerary. When several friends mentioned Alsace as must-see and I noted it was a couple hours north in the general direction of Ireland, I knew destiny was calling. A quick google of Rick Steves Alsace led me to pick Colmar as the destination as Maya had said she wanted to see Venice and I figured Little Venice was close enough to say I’d fulfilled her request. 

Our friend Gary – back from the Mühlehorn post (AirBnB hosts from the ship Maya!) –  decided to join us on Saturday as a surprise for Miriam’s 50th birthday so we rented a lovely 3 bedroom airBnB right in the heart of Little Venice.  We arrived on Friday at 6:30 pm in Colmar, having raced after school got out to make our 4pm train out of Zurich. Our host, Patrick, met us at the apartment in a classic Tudor style Alsacian building and got us dinner reservations at an Alsacian joint across the street where we experienced what food from a country named Germance or Framany would taste like. 

Think meat and potatoes wrapped in a delicate pastry and you are there. Joe ordered escargot because we had to go all in and Maya bravely slapped a snail on some French bread (didn’t manage to capture the expression on her face but it was somewhere between someone enjoying a meal and someone about to be sick).

The next morning after eating Pain Au Chocolate from the neighborhood backery, I force marched the family to the Unterlinden Museum because I read it was famous and anyone who knows us would agree we could use some culture. This turned out to be a challenge because the town was so stinkin cute we couldn’t go 10 feet without stoping to go in a shop or absorb some history. Joe was sucked in past the event horizon of a knife store and we feared him lost. I dragged Maya kicking and screaming into Saint Martin’s Church, which is a big gargoyle bedecked gothic church that says ‘tortured souls welcome!’ … And I think at that moment I felt I belonged. See Joe below playing the part of a gargoyle and Maya playing the part of…well herself. Finally we made it to Unterlinden, which is housed partly in an old convent and has a collection of art that spans the ages. For an art ignoramous such as myself it was spectacular to see the changing styles of painting and say things like, “you know I hardly think this is Renoir’s best work”.

The Unterlinden also has a fun collection of artifacts including the world’s largest house key and the very first water bong. 

After the museum we hurried back to meet Gary, Miriam and Eileen. Apparently Miriam was onto the surprise when Gary packed the car with all the ingredients for an authentic home cooked Thai dinner, as he had been promising to cook for us. Gary and Miriam lived in Thailand for years and Gary still whips up Thai feasts for festive occasions. Gary cooked up a spectacular spicy Thai dinner and sarenaded us that evening, and it was marvelous until we realized we were all sharing one bathroom that night. 

Well what’s a little Thai colon bomb among friends?