The Scenery Was Beautiful, Though . . .

We have recently returned from the Second Annual Admiraal Family Post-Christmas Trip-to-the-Mountains-Where-Mom-Books-Us-into-a-Really-Crummy-Hotel. Last year, we went to Gstaad, which is a swanky Alpine resort town. We stayed at the youth hostel in Saanen, which was neither swanky nor a resort. The  chattering of other guests, desert-like air in the bedrooms, and smell of the shared bathroom were not compensated for by the free breakfast, which was mediocre. The scenery was magical, though.

Trying to recreate the winter-wonderland experience, I suggested we travel to Interlaken this year. I had learned my lesson with the youth hostel. Sort of. Lured by comparatively low prices (this is, after all, high season in resort towns), I clicked “book now” on a bed-and-breakfast located conveniently near the Interlaken West train station and advertising free breakfast. That last bit should have tipped me off. It was only when looking at the confirmation email that I noticed the ominous words “the shared bathroom is on the same floor.” Lucas asked if the “hotel” would have a pool. I smiled grimly and told him he’d be lucky to get his turn in the shower. But, after all, we were there for the hiking, the majestic mountain scenery, the snow. Strike two on the snow. Switzerland is in a warm spell, and Interlaken was positively balmy. 
       Interlaken has a McDonald's, where the kids begged to eat. I find that the longer I am in Europe, the better I like McDonald's. I'm not sure why, but perhaps it has to do with the predictability of the place. In the middle of a life of surprises, the fries always taste the same. Nevertheless, I don't like McDonald's well enough to agree to eat there while on a real vacation, so we ended up at a place called Bebbi's. This had to be the most aggressively kitchy Swiss place I have ever seen, with servers wearing spotted cow pants, Swiss flags and postcards papering the walls, and perky mountain music blaring. When Lucas ordered milk with his dinner, the waiter flexed his biceps and told Lucas that if he kept drinking milk he'd have muscles like that some day. He also told the next table. The restaurant promised "happiness, food, and fun." I think the waiter was supposed to be the fun. It also advertised free salad with every meal, which was welcome, as most Swiss food involves heavy doses of potatoes, cheese, and pork and is a bit thin in the vegetable department.

We had decided to travel by train because, well, I am a big fan. A train is like a tram . . . only bigger and faster. Also, unfortunately, more expensive. As a partial alleviation of that problem, I have cracked the code to finding “billets degriffés” a.k.a. supersaver tickets. This was not an easy task, and took me most of Christmas Eve morning and also a good part of Christmas day. Fortunately, someone else was cooking those days, so I could devote myself to entering and reentering data into the online ticket counter grid (every time I made a mistake or wanted to check a different route or date, I had to type in everyone’s vital statistics). At a get-together with other expats on Christmas evening, I bragged to a friend that I had figured out how to get cheaper train tickets. She asked me to send her the information via email. I realized while typing out the process that a sane person would probably just pay for the more expensive tickets, as the time and hassle involved in the supersavers cannot be worth it on any kind of reasonable hourly wage. Fortunately, my job does not pay an hourly wage (or any other kind for that matter), so I have no idea what the process cost us. Here is my email:

Go to sbb.ch. Change the language to English or French -- it's usually German when I get on the page. Maybe you like German, though. :-) I change the language to French because I always feel like maybe they’re holding back some deals for people who can speak the national language. I’m afraid that if I change the language to English, they will know that I am an American and refuse to come up with any bargains for me.

Hover over "Travelcards and Tickets," then under "Tickets for Switzerland" choose "billets degriffés" or "supersaver tickets." At the bottom of that page, type in "Versoix" for the station closest to you or "Genève" (not Geneva -- it won't find anything), and the date you'd like to travel, and it will show you all the deals. Keep in mind, however, that the prices will be double unless you have a half-fare card. The half-fare card is good for a year and costs 175 chf per person. We have not bought them, because I think we'd have to travel a lot more by train to make it worth it. I'm thinking about it, though, because we do really enjoy train travel.

You can look for international tickets by clicking on the link "International Tickets" under "Travelcards and Tickets." There's a link for supersaver tickets. The catch is that you can't get a supersaver ticket from Geneva or Versoix  to Germany. What you have to do is get a ticket from Geneva or Versoix to Zurich, then Zurich to Germany. (You also have to spell Zürich HB the German way or you get no deals.) 

Even with my slick mastery of the billets degriffés, traveling by train is more expensive than traveling by car. It is, however, so much more enjoyable -- you can walk around, watch the scenery go by, sleep, read, play euchre, eat. Unlike plane travel, you can arrive five minutes before the train leaves and be in plenty of time. You can also bring large bread knives on board and no one bats an eye. Best of all, with train travel, you are never lost, or if you are, it is probably someone else’s fault.

The train bridge. We climbed up a large hill/small mountain near here.

But only about halfway up. This is the view of the top, where we did not climb.

And this is the view of the valley from midway up the mountain.

We went on a beautiful, if not snowy, hike to a small town near Interlaken, where we bought enormous pieces of freshly baked apple strudel. Then we tried to eat them while walking back, which was a challenge.

Chalets at the base of one of the mountains surrounding Interlaken.

The bliss of rail travel.

Eric and the boys relaxing mid-hike. Johanna isn't in any of the pictures because she was in Spain.

Merry Christmas!

Some of you have already received this Christmas letter. For those who have not, Merry Christmas. For those who have, I give you the gift of the 10 minutes you would have spent reading this. Enjoy a cup of coffee.

If I were a DJ, this is how I would spin the year . . . .

January: “Dooley” by the Dillards (Back Porch Bluegrass). It’s not the words of this song that are meaningful, as it would take someone with much greater depth than I to draw lessons from “Dooley, sittin’ by the holler; Dooley, tryin’ to make a dollar.” Rather, we played the song to remember the fun of Grandma and Grandpa Waggener’s visit, which included watching the Dillards on The Andy Griffith Show. We also celebrated Luc’s 12th birthday this month with a treasure hunt party.

February: “Unafraid” by Amy Grant (Somewhere Down the Road). This is what we tried to be, with varying degrees of success, as we slid down the slopes of the Jura Mountains in nearby France. What the kids like about skiing: Challenge, danger, adrenaline rush. What the parents like about skiing: The peaceful ride up the mountain on the télésiège, the beautiful view from the top of the run, the relief at having reached the bottom of the hill unbroken.

March: “All Things Bright and Beautiful” by Cecil Francis Alexander. We saw the first crocuses and flowering plums of spring in our neighborhood. We also had a fancy-dress mystery dinner party to celebrate the 14th birthday of our own bright and beautiful Johanna.

April: “Wonderful” from the musical Wicked. The title describes not only the show, which we saw in London’s West End during Easter break, but also our whole experience in that city. We saw some friends from Cincinnati, walked through the city’s beautiful gardens, and rode the London Eye. We also enjoyed the opportunity to speak English, and eat Krispy Kreme donuts and Chipotle. Our favorite thing, though, was probably the Sherlock Holmes Museum. It’s not that it’s so impressive; it’s just that we’re such fans!

May: I chose “Shake, Rattle, and Roll” by (take your pick) Big Joe Turner, Bill Haley, or Elvis Presley for the soundtrack to our trip through Northern Italy, which included miles of rolling along the confusing Italian motorways and the rattling and shaking of an earthquake in Padua. Eric (clearly more heavenly minded) chose “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands” (a traditional American spiritual) to remind us who made and upholds all creation: whether it is the earthquake and the sinking of cities or the beauty of the Mediterranean at Venice, the lake at Como, and the mountain as we waited (interminably) to pass through the Mont Blanc Tunnel into Italy

June: “Try to Remember,” from The Fantastiks. Try as we might, we can’t think of a single interesting thing about this month. No vacations. No milestones. No disasters. Even our family member who had a birthday (Eric) turned a ho-hum 41.

July: “Ohio” by Over the Rhine (Ohio). We spent most of July back in the U.S. (Michigan and Indiana, too, but those states don’t have as cool songs). It was great to b If I were a DJ, this is how I would spin the year . . . .

January: “Dooley” by the Dillards (Back Porch Bluegrass). It’s not the words of this song that are meaningful, as it would take someone with much greater depth than I to draw lessons from “Dooley, sittin’ by the holler; Dooley, tryin’ to make a dollar.” Rather, we played the song to remember the fun of Grandma and Grandpa Waggener’s visit, which included watching the Dillards on The Andy Griffith Show. We also celebrated Luc’s 12th birthday this month with a treasure hunt party.

February: “Unafraid” by Amy Grant (Somewhere Down the Road). This is what we tried to be, with varying degrees of success, as we slid down the slopes of the Jura Mountains in nearby France. What the kids like about skiing: Challenge, danger, adrenaline rush. What the parents like about skiing: The peaceful ride up the mountain on the télésiège, the beautiful view from the top of the run, the relief at having reached the bottom of the hill unbroken.

March: “All Things Bright and Beautiful” by Cecil Francis Alexander. We saw the first crocuses and flowering plums of spring in our neighborhood. We also had a fancy-dress mystery dinner party to celebrate the 14th birthday of our own bright and beautiful Johanna.

April: “Wonderful” from the musical Wicked. The title describes not only the show, which we saw in London’s West End during Easter break, but also our whole experience in that city. We saw some friends from Cincinnati, walked through the city’s beautiful gardens, and rode the London Eye. We also enjoyed the opportunity to speak English, and eat Krispy Kreme donuts and Chipotle. Our favorite thing, though, was probably the Sherlock Holmes Museum. It’s not that it’s so impressive; it’s just that we’re such fans!

May: I chose “Shake, Rattle, and Roll” by (take your pick) Big Joe Turner, Bill Haley, or Elvis Presley for the soundtrack to our trip through Northern Italy, which included miles of rolling along the confusing Italian motorways and the rattling and shaking of an earthquake in Padua. Eric (clearly more heavenly minded) chose “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands” (a traditional American spiritual) to remind us who made and upholds all creation: whether it is the earthquake and the sinking of cities or the beauty of the Mediterranean at Venice, the lake at Como, and the mountain as we waited (interminably) to pass through the Mont Blanc Tunnel into Italy

June: “Try to Remember,” from The Fantastiks. Try as we might, we can’t think of a single interesting thing about this month. No vacations. No milestones. No disasters. Even our family member who had a birthday (Eric) turned a ho-hum 41.

July: “Ohio” by Over the Rhine (Ohio). We spent most of July back in the U.S. (Michigan and Indiana, too, but those states don’t have as cool songs). It was great to be back at our home church, to spend time with beloved friends, and to see our dear families. Okay, going to Costco was pretty outstanding as well. 

August: “Celebrate” by Mika (Origin of Love). From the decadent fun of spending hours on the couch watching the London Olympics to visits from several friends and relatives, to finally getting to know our Swiss neighbors, to basketball camp, soccer coaching, and cooking classes, August was a month filled with energy and joy. 

September: “(What a) Wonderful World” by Art Garfunkel (The Singer). The song that begins “Don’t know much about history, don’t know much biology . . .” aptly sums up our dive into homeschooling in Switzerland. It’s not so much the academics about which we felt so ignorant, but rather the Swiss system, which is, predictably, rule-driven and inflexible, but ultimately, full of quite pleasant and helpful people. Drew remains at IIL, where his knowledge is his own. This month also brought his 16th birthday, celebrated with a “Mom, can I have a few friends over” get-together that turned into a 25-guest fiesta. Good thing his friends are polite and like to help clean up!

October: “Barnatro” by Ejnar Westling, popularized in the 1930s by Swedish folk singer Lapp Lisa. We visited the frozen North (the southernmost section, at least) this month. We loved seeing the country and reconnecting with relatives, including some of Lapp Lisa’s great-grandchildren. The Swedes are friendly, coffee-and-sweets-loving, and almost completely anglophone. Good thing, as our Swedish standbys of “tack” and “hej” will only get you so far.

November: “Run On” by Cantus (That Eternal Day). Yes, we do realize that the song has nothing to do with our early morning jogs or competitive race efforts. Nonetheless, it’s a great song to listen to while running, and this month was full of that. The Trans’Onesienne was the 17th and the Escalade on Dec. 1. It makes it into November, though, because of the Cours du Duc. This run began on Nov. 30, in France, and followed the route that the Duke of Savoy took in 1602 when he came to attack Geneva. He was repelled with a pot of hot soup, and the Genevois have celebrated the event ever since.

December: “Great Is Thy Faithfulness” by Thomas O. Chisholm. The past year brought literal (and figurative) mountaintop experiences, some thorny valleys, and quite a bit of monotonous trudging along familiar paths. We’re thankful to God -- in every situation -- for his unwavering faithfulness.

May he bless your Christmas and New Year with his unending love. e back at our home church, to spend time with beloved friends, and to see our dear families. Okay, going to Costco was pretty outstanding as well. 

August: “Celebrate” by Mika (Origin of Love). From the decadent fun of spending hours on the couch watching the London Olympics to visits from several friends and relatives, to finally getting to know our Swiss neighbors, to basketball camp, soccer coaching, and cooking classes, August was a month filled with energy and joy. 

September: “(What a) Wonderful World” by Art Garfunkel (The Singer). The song that begins “Don’t know much about history, don’t know much biology . . .” aptly sums up our dive into homeschooling in Switzerland. It’s not so much the academics about which we felt so ignorant, but rather the Swiss system, which is, predictably, rule-driven and inflexible, but ultimately, full of quite pleasant and helpful people. Drew remains at IIL, where his knowledge is his own. This month also brought his 16th birthday, celebrated with a “Mom, can I have a few friends over” get-together that turned into a 25-guest fiesta. Good thing his friends are polite and like to help clean up!

October: “Barnatro” by Ejnar Westling, popularized in the 1930s by Swedish folk singer Lapp Lisa. We visited the frozen North (the southernmost section, at least) this month. We loved seeing the country and reconnecting with relatives, including some of Lapp Lisa’s great-grandchildren. The Swedes are friendly, coffee-and-sweets-loving, and almost completely anglophone. Good thing, as our Swedish standbys of “tack” and “hej” will only get you so far.

November: “Run On” by Cantus (That Eternal Day). Yes, we do realize that the song has nothing to do with our early morning jogs or competitive race efforts. Nonetheless, it’s a great song to listen to while running, and this month was full of that. The Trans’Onesienne was the 17th and the Escalade on Dec. 1. It makes it into November, though, because of the Cours du Duc. This run began on Nov. 30, in France, and followed the route that the Duke of Savoy took in 1602 when he came to attack Geneva. He was repelled with a pot of hot soup, and the Genevois have celebrated the event ever since.

December: “Great Is Thy Faithfulness” by Thomas O. Chisholm. The past year brought literal (and figurative) mountaintop experiences, some thorny valleys, and quite a bit of monotonous trudging along familiar paths. We’re thankful to God -- in every situation -- for his unwavering faithfulness.

May he bless your Christmas and New Year with his unending love.

The -- Somewhat Tardy -- Report From the Duke's Race

      As those who have read this blog for the past year will doubtless remember, it was in December of 1602 that the Duke of Savoy staged an attack on Geneva. The attack was, in legend, anyway, repelled with the aid of a pot of hot vegetable soup tossed out the window onto the attacking soldiers by a woman known as Mère Royaume. Four hundred and ten years later found me lined up with a couple thousand other slightly loopy runners to reenact the voyage that the duke took as he came from Savoy to attack the city. When I signed up for the race in October, it seemed like such a fun idea. Eric and I were going to run the 17k together. We would take the bus to Reignier, France, in the evening for the race, which would begin at 9:30 p.m. The night run, crossing from France to Switzerland, the novelty . . . it all seemed unique, adventuresome, and far in the future. Then a work trip to London made it impossible to Eric to join me, and the adventure started to take on a darker tone. Running 10 miles in the dark by myself started to seem a little silly. Not to mention scary. Silly, nevertheless, has yet to stop me (though scary sometimes does). So, after a half-hour bus ride to Reinier  during which I sat next to a Portugese man who explained his running exploits in a mixture of English, French, and Spanish, and after sitting in a drafty gym for two hours waiting for the race to start and trying to decipher the conversations around me, there I was. As I stood, shivering, with all the other runners, I had to ask myself one question: Why had the Duke thought it was such a good idea to attack in December, of all months?

      

My view as I waited for the race to start. Everyone was given headlamps, which made for an amazing view of  a chain of lights snaking up the hills. It was an amazing view for those of us in the back, anyway.

      A cannon shot started the race. We were in blocks, and I think the organizers arranged the blocks so that the fastest runners went first, followed by the slowest, then the middle. At first, I passed person after person. Then, as each faster block behind me caught up, I found myself passed by waves of runners. Not very inspiring, but since one was not allowed to enter the race without being able to finish in under two hours, I had known from the beginning that I would be among the slow. I had been worried that I would be running all alone in the dark. The opposite was true. I'm not sure how many people were out there with me, but it was difficult to even find a place where I could move my arms without whacking someone.We passed a drum corps dressed in what I can only assume was traditional Savoyard costume. People around me were singing, "Nous sommes les Savoyards!" 

      As we ran on and I warmed up, the cold became less of an issue, and my question about the December attack was replaced with another: Why had the Duke chosen such a hilly route? We weren't exactly going over the Salève mountain -- but we weren't quite going around it either. Thanks to the early morning hill repeats that Johanna makes me do, however, I managed the hills with something close to aplomb. And just a short hour and 40 minutes later, I was coming into downtown Geneva  seeing the lights, the cheering crowds, and -- best of all -- the finish line. I was delighted that, while we had followed the duke's course, we had escaped the duke's boiling vegetable greeting.

      Another Escalade tradition is the Marmite Run, which took place the next night. I don't know how wearing costumes and parading around the city ties into the history of the Escalade, but I think almost any excuse to dress up is a good one. Johanna participated with a friend from the U.S. and one from Germany (a very international crowd). They dressed up as the Butcher, the Baker, and the Candlestick Maker. Eric and I took them downtown, but there were so many people in the parade that we didn't see them once from beginning to end. Typically, even though it was a costume event, lots of people ran it. These Swiss people are just not kidding.

The costumes were Grandma's idea -- a great one, I think. The only problem was that
Jo's bloody cleaver and apron scared people who didn't know the nursery rhyme.

It was difficult to take good pictures of the moving marchers in the dark. This is a gigantic dragon.

Here are some Marie Antoinettes followed by frogs.

One of my favorites -- Christmas windows.

Snowballs wearing Santa hats.

In Which the Elder Aliens Party in Berlin

In front of a map of divided Berlin that was part of an outdoor exhibition on the wall.
The hats were our first Berlin purchase. That city is cold in December.

      Lo these many years ago, we celebrated Anniversary #10 in Las Vegas. While that city is probably worth seeing for it's unique nature, it made me think of what Hell must be like -- hot, loud, and full of vice. Little did we know that a decade later, we'd be celebrating our 20th anniversary in Berlin . . . or that Berlin would be a lot closer to home than Las Vegas. If Las Vegas is Hell, then Berlin must be Heaven -- it's cold, full of beauty, and they drink their coffee in mugs almost as large as the steins they use for beer (although I understand that actually, "In Heaven There Is No Beer," which is fine with me).

      Despite these positive qualities, Berlin may seem like something of an odd anniversary destination -- one might ask, why not Paris, Venice, Antibes, or something more traditionally romantic. We chose, in our patented practical style, by pulling up the Easy Jet website, typing in the weekend we wanted to go, and selecting from among the deals offered. Upon further reflection, however, Berlin actually is an  appropriate place to celebrate a marriage. Through it's history, the city has been assailed by trials from within and without. Berlin can't have always been an easy place to live. Yet it is a place of great beauty and depth, and a place that is continuing to build and grow. What more can a marriage ask for than a history like that? 

       After four days in Germany's capital, it has definitely become one of our favorite destinations, one to which we hope to return. What's so great about Berlin?

#1. History. Berlin's stormy history makes the city a fascinating place to visit. We spent hours learning about the abuses of the Third Reich in Topographie des Terrors, a museum built on the site of the SS and Reich Security headquarters. Outside of the building stands one of the longest remaining sections of the Berlin Wall. 

The Berlin Wall outside the Topographie des Terrors. The holes are from treasure hunters
 who wanted to take a piece of history away with them.

Memorial to the Jews killed in World War II.

      We visited Checkpoint Charlie. The sign is the original one, I think, but the checkpoint itself is a reconstruction.

The sandbags and plaque commemorate the standoff between American and Soviet tanks in 1961.

      We spent more hours in the German History Museum learning about the years from the end of World War 1 through the present. We also visited the display on the Reformation. We could have learned about ancient history to the 1900s as well, but didn't feel able to digest any more information that day.

I never realized that Cranach painted Luther's wife as well. The pictures were meant to
be an argument in favor of marriage by the clergy.

2. Architecture. Despite the destruction of war, Berlin in chock-full of amazing buildings. 

The Berliner Dom

The Reichstag

The Brandenburg Gate. I found it very interesting that Napoleon took it to Paris for a few years.
I wonder who he got to do that job.

Charlottenburg Castle (a Christmas market was assembling in front
of the castle, but nothing was open yet, unfortunately).

3. Food. Probably it is because our heritage is more German than French, but we loved the food in Berlin. Big breakfasts. Sausage and sauerkraut. Delicious baked goods. None of these ridiculous beautiful, tiny portions intended to please the eyes more than the stomach. The Germans like food. They don't put up with exorbitant prices, either. We did have one funny dining experience. We were sitting at a table in a crowded restaurant when an older woman came up and motioned toward one of our two empty chairs. I assumed that she wanted to take the chair to another table, and so I nodded and smiled. She and her husband promptly joined us at our table. Their English was limited. Our German more so. Nevertheless, Eric managed to carry on a conversation. I wish we could have talked more to them, as we learned they had grown up and lived in East Berlin. I'm sure they could have added to our historical perspective. As it was, the situation was somewhat awkward. My parents, who lived in Germany for a year before I was born, assured me that table sharing is perfectly normal. That kind of efficient use of resources is probably why the country is doing comparatively well economically.

Eric in our favorite restaurant, right around the corner from the hotel. No one joined us at the table here.

   

4. The Christmas Spirit. Berlin is full of Christmas decorations, Christmas music, and Christmas markets. The lights and festivity make the water darkness not only bearable, but kind of cozy. We heard a wonderful Christmas choir concert in the Franzosischer Dom, which the city built for the Huguenot Christians fleeing France after the Edict of Nantes was revoked. I'm sure the Huguenots  would have loved the ancient and modern hymns. I know we did.

The Christmas market outside the Franzosischer Dom. We found wooden molds
for springerlies -- one of our favorite Christmas cookies.

The Best Worst Pie Ever

       I went running with EuroSMAC last week. As I may have mentioned, it's been a little wet around here, and the trail was a little splashy. We slogged through some serious mud, baptizing our fancy running shoes. Then we charged up a rocky and uneven hill at a speed far zippier than my usual trot. This is what I get for running with teenagers. So I decided that, as revenge for their efforts to improve my fitness, and since I was hearing a little whining about the mud and hills, I would share some of the wisdom that comes with age.
       "Girls," I began (pant . . . gasp). "Did it ever strike you that sometimes the worst experiences make the best memories?"
       I was thinking about the run, made both more difficult and more memorable by the adversity. Then I thought about how many of the experiences I've shared in this Blog are memorable because they were difficult. Climbing the Salève wasn't fun at the time. Neither was being lost in Italy. Being locked in a subterranean garage was certainly no picnic. But how much more memorable were those experiences than all the times I have successfully parked the car, all the pleasant hikes along flat trails, and all the smooth car trips we've taken (actually, I don't think there have been any of those). When I told the dad of EuroSMAC's other member my musings, he said that adversity is memorable because our lives are easy. If life was full of adversity, it would be the moments of respite that we remembered. I'm sure he's right, but that's more philosophical than I really want to be right now. Right now, I want to write about The Pie.
         It was Thanksgiving, and I was probably in my early teens. We were at my Grandma Emy and Grandpa Bob's house in Indiana with all the aunts, uncles, and cousins. My dad and his sister, my Aunt Jane, decided, with no discernible provocation that this year, they would bake a pumpkin pie. This was not a decision made lightly. Pumpkin pie is my dad's favorite dessert. He often asks for it for his birthday, which is in July. In addition, our family includes several experienced and fully competent pie makers. Nevertheless, Dad and Aunt Jane would make the pie. And they would do it right. From the beginning. From scratch. No Libby's canned pumpkin for them.
          I think the first mistake was the pumpkin they chose. Whether from pure lack of knowledge or from a desire to use up leftovers, they cooked up a Jack O'Lantern pumpkin, rather than the small variety usually used in pies. Actually, maybe the choice was motivated by a good old American love of the large. Without a blender, they simply cooked and mashed the pumpkin flesh. They then mixed in the Carnation milk, spices, eggs, and heaven-only-knows what else, and poured it all into a crust they had made. Probably the crust was made from stone-ground whole wheat flour, in some sort of misguided effort to make the pie healthful. Then they slid the whole thing in the oven.
           The pie was stringy, chewy, with crust like cardboard. In an effort to redeem the whole thing as a joke, they covered the top with shaving cream and set it out on the sideboard. No one was fooled. As a culinary experience, the pie may have been among the worst I have seen; it is, nevertheless, one of my favorite holiday memories. Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Cozy

      It is November in Geneva with a vengeance. Saturday night, it was raining so hard that even I didn't want to go out for dinner, so we decided to order pizza. Dominos exists here, and, if one is a COMPLETE BABY about making telephone calls in French, one can order pizza online. Further, if one does not want to venture into the rain to withdraw cash from the bank machine down the street, one can pay online with a credit card. Perfect. Except that when I tried to pay, I was directed to a page that informed me that all the redirects required by the payment process had left my computer lost in cyberspace. I tried again, received the same message, and started to worry that perhaps somehow I had just ordered two Hawaiian pizzas (and cheesy bread and Cinnastixs -- hey, we're hungry over here). So I nicely asked Drew to call Dominos and ask if we had ordered twice. He nicely did, only to be informed that they had no order from us. Pas de pizza. I tried one more time online (I am not a quitter), then called the other Dominos in Geneva, just to make sure. Nothing. So I did what I should have done all along and told the patient man on the telephone what we wanted. In my flusteration over trying to repeat my phone number in French, I forgot to ask if I could pay with a credit card, so guess what . . . we had to go out in the rain anyway. Later, I saw a message in my email from a company called Saferpay, telling me that my credit card payment of 57 chf had indeed been successful. Twice. We kept waiting for the doorbell to ring with our other two pizzas, but they never came. The lesson here seems to be, "Quit being such a coward about the phone calls, and you'll be able to stay inside where it's warm. And save hundreds of francs into the bargain."

      The good thing about nasty fall weather is that it makes staying inside where it's warm that much more blissful. So, in the spirit of warmth, here are some things that make November cosy.

1. The sugar bowl. I don't know what it is about a sugar bowl. I don't even like sugar in my coffee. But there is something about this piece of crockery that just says, "come in and curl up."

2. The Estonian Philharmonic Chamber Choir. I heard about this group and how it survived through years of communism in a radio segment called, "The Singing Revolution" (The World and Everything in It, Nov. 10. http://www.worldmag.com/podcast/worldandeverything.cfm if you're interested). The story was so lovely that I looked up the group on Spotify. The music perfectly captures the feeling of being inside in candlelight watching rain run down the windows.

3. And speaking of candlelight, the darker days allow for more hours of candle burning. This one, with the candlestick made in my grandfather's furniture factory from the tulip tree that grew near his home, makes me feel connected to my forbears and so is particularly comforting. The marshmallow-scented one from Migros isn't bad, either.

4. The Thanksgiving Tree. Years ago, in an effort to extend my favorite holiday, I started having the kids attach leaves to a paper tree that we taped up in the kitchen. Each leaf bore something for which we were thankful. The idea has evolved, and now we use an actual tree . . . okay, a branch, but it's 3D, anyway. So far, we've been thankful for football, friends, memories, an available God, running, and, I'm pretty sure, video games. We range from the sublime to the trivial by the minute.

5. Soup. It's such a great meal. On Saturday, a person could cook up a pot of say, chicken vegetable soup with gnocchi, and on the following Wednesday, the family could still be enjoying a tummy-warming dinner in a pot. I did promise to make something different for dinner tonight. Chili?

The Aliens Visit the Old Country, Part One

       Spurning all advice from people who had actually visited the country, we spent the last days of October and first days of November in Sweden. Turns out, our advisors were right. The country is cold and dark this time of year, even though we confined ourselves to the southern 20 percent. The truth is, we just couldn't manage a summer trip, and as it turns out, the purpose of the trip wasn't really sightseeing, anyway.
        For those of you who may not know, my mother's parents are both from Sweden, having moved to the U.S. as adults and met and married there. Many members of both families stayed in Sweden, meaning that I have a host of relatives there, mostly of the second-cousin-once-removed variety. I've met many of them at reunions in the U.S., and I was in Sweden as a 7-year-old, but Eric and the kids hadn't met most of the family. We're a 2-hour, 35-Euro plane flight away, and clearly, it was time to go.
        Because of the time of year and because we are not entirely loony, we decided to focus on my grandfather's family, who mostly live in southern Sweden. My grandfather Martin spent the last years of his life in Göteborg, which is Sweden's second-largest city (about the size of the greater Geneva area). He apparently shared my enthusiasm for public transportation, spending his days riding the tram from one end of the line to the other with stops for lunch and coffee. We planned a tour that began with a flight into Copenhagen and a train ride across one of the longest bridges in the world (16k from the Danish coast to Malmö, Sweden, where a cousin lives with her family). We were then going to take the train to the other side of the country (a ride of only 1 1/2 hours, as opposed to something like 24 hours from top to bottom, which, if you haven't seen a map lately, gives you a good idea of Sweden's shape). My mom's cousin, Tonnie, lives in Sölvesborg on what has to be one of the world's loveliest properties, sitting on about 3 miles of Baltic coastline. Then we would take the train to Göteborg to visit the trams and some other cousins there.

At Nyhaven in Copenhagen. We actually had sunny weather the first few days,
and Copenhagen is well worth seeing, even in the cold. 

Nyhaven again.

The Little Mermaid of Hans Christian Andersen fame. She sits in the harbor in Copenhagen, and is the city's most famous landmark. She's also one of the world's most disappointing landmarks, because she is really unexpectedly little. We were saved from devastation by the fact that my dad had forewarned us.

       My initial impression of Sweden is that it is much more like America than Switzerland. First of all, nearly everyone speaks English. My cousin Lotta said that Swedes like Americans, like America, and like to practice their English with Americans. My young cousins told us that they speak such good English because they watch a lot of YouTube and play a lot of video games. Hmmm. When I mentioned that in Geneva one kind of has to know a little French to get around, one young cousin was shocked, telling me that in Sweden, if you are making a doctor appointment, you can talk in Swedish, English, or even Italian if you want. In addition to the language, Sweden has adopted some parts of America about which I am not so crazy . . . there seem to be McDonald's and Burger King restaurants on every corner, and shopping malls and traffic abound. Convenient for sure, but I have to say that I like the quaint bakeries and narrow streets in Switzerland and France. Nonetheless, I do appreciate the larger cups of coffee up north, but I think the Americans probably adopted that from the Swedes, and not the other way around. It's a chilly place.

       The Swedes, or my relatives at least, are also outstandingly hospitable. One cousin made wonderful dinners every night, then invariably apologized for them, saying, "I hope you can eat this."  Another cousin insisted on driving us the four hours from Sölvesborg to Göteborg, even though we had planned to take the train. Everywhere we went, people opened their homes and took time to visit with us. We weren't allowed to pay for anything -- not even our toothpaste and shampoo at the grocery store. Strangers were friendly, too, asking where we were from, offering directions, and generally being far more open and smiling than the Swiss (which, okay, isn't difficult).

Tonnie's place on the Baltic. It's called Bjorkelund, though I'm not sure I have the spelling right.

Lucas braving the rocks at Bjorkelund.

Our guesthouse. The hot tub on the porch was a highlight for the kids, especially Lucas.

While we were in Sölvesborg, Tonnie took us on a tour of Småland, which is famous for glass factories. This was taken in the Kosta Boda factory, which also has an outlet mall. He's making wine glasses, I think.

The Småland tour included some family history, as that is where my grandfather (and his brother, Erik, who was Tonnie's dad) grew up. Anne Svensson was Martin and Erik's sister, who died quite young. Their father is also buried in this cemetery, but we didn't know where to find his grave.

          In Sweden, we also realized how much French we actually know. While we can conduct daily business in French, our Swedish is sorely lacking. Despite the fact that most people there speak English, a few of my older relatives do not. I had foolishly underestimated what a barrier this would be. We spent one whole morning driving around with Tonnie, and about all we understood was "titta," which means "look." I, and I think the rest of the family, too, felt bad that we couldn't communicate to Tonnie (and a few others) how much we appreciated their hospitality and how interested we were in them. A few of the younger members of the family plan to remedy this problem at some point in their lives. Until then, a big "Tack så mycket" (our other useful phrase) to all the wonderful people who made the trip one of our favorites.

Johanna, typically, found little friends everywhere, from Isa in Malmö . . . 

       

. . . to Esther, whose family (nobly representing my grandmother's side) traveled 12 hours
from Umeå to see us in Göteborg.

The boys made friends, too. Drew is way happier to be eating Swedish pizza with
 his third cousins than he looks . . . really.