In which we swift to Switzerland.

This excursion to the land stereotyped with banks, chocolate, watches, and, ironically-- army knives and neutrality-- was a bit more goal-oriented than the peek into Poland had been. Zürich is home to some very dear, very talented individuals from my musical life. We'd played with the idea of visiting during my past years as an alien in Europe, but so far had been unsuccessful at making that happen-- until now. The temptation of yet another beloved person simultaneously co-visiting was just too much to resist, so I strapped on the ol' wings and headed south with the rest of the feathered beasts.

Once I'd finally worked up enough momentum to pierce through Hamburg's cloudy packaging, my eyes were rewarded with a healthy smacking of befuddlement. I'd previously seen many a rainbow poking through such faux-snow landscapes, but never one so curvacious as this. (And no, it was not a reflection on the window. Thorough tests were thoroughly tested.) Cool, ne?

I had my face smooshed to the glass for the majority of our jaunt over Germany, straining my sockets for any sign of mountains the longer we flew. Little did I know how disappointed I would be with the Alp-titude experienced during this trip... or would I? (Oooh, a mystery!) I did, however, delight in watching winter creep over Swiss landscapes as we zoomed into Zürich.

 

Touched down and trained into the citay without difficultay, met up with one wonderful woman and was whisked homeward, where I was bombarded with fine hospitality, home-cooked food, a beautiful four-legged beast, t-enderle-y drizzled chocolate cake, and fresh, warm love, among other things. The sun eventually lured eight legs out the door and along the shore of the lake, from where we could watch birds primp, cruise, and jump rope against a backdrop of lightly-sketched mountain crests. These lungs pumped a happy dance the whole way.

That evening we had the great luck of having our ears painted with all kinds of delicious at a cello-happy concert in the Zürich Tonhalle. Much sparkling abounded, as well as heated heart applause. Yum. Yum. Yum.

The next day was for solo exploring in the city proper, which I did with great gusto. See?

 

 

 

 

This excursion day was very enjoyable, though perhaps not as visually thrilling as I had anticipated, as the mountains refused to un-don their invisibility cloaks. As it turns out, Zürich is a beautiful city that looks a lot like many beautiful German cities, only more expensive. Much more expensive. 

Taking in the language was much more of an adventure, albeit a linguistic one. I hadn't had too much experience with Swiss German and was curious to see how I would fair. All the signs around the city were in High German and thus lulled me into a false sense of comprehension security. Eavesdropping on the tram or walking down the street revealed this deception for what it was. The spoken language sounded at first like Hochdeutsch being spoken with a thick Scottish accent, which was a little more entertaining than it was understandable, but still surprisingly clear. Then instead of finishing a word, the speaker would cut it short and insert a pleasant, hackingly guttural sound instead, then again, then again. I pulled out my map to see where the conversation was going, but the little, red "You Are Here" dot had already faded with the mushing of contour lines. Ten seconds later everything came back into focus, business as usual, and therrghghhghryurfchhhurghgh. Such fun!

This is another fun photo for layers of civilization:

We stumbled upon a neighborhood Christmas market on a post-sunset stroll that evening. There were giraffes on the carousel. It was perfect.

The next morning came with tempting blue brightness, but still no staggering Alp-ine views. Just real purdy ones.

The four-legged creature and I accompanied one another on a morning walkabout and found ourselves a nice cemetery in which to frolic. I love seeing how different cultures present their burial grounds, and this one was particularly fine in my book. The late-autumnal colors against the blue of the sky and rolling hills were just delicious, though the creative grave stones were what took the prize in the end. There were some classic, boring ones for-- perhaps-- classic, boring individuals buried below, but for each of these there were several more unique, beautifully designed stones and sculptures to be discovered. We're talking angels to octopuses here, folks.

There was a little touristic indulgence that afternoon by means of a boat tour around the lake. We sat in the sun, and had I a straw, I would have sucked up every last drop of it on deck. So nice. Just plain nice.

 

The best part of this vaycay, however, came just before departure in the form of a semi-spontaneous meet-up with a very dear Swiss friend whom I had not seen since we were exchange students together in Belgium back in the days of our youth. (Ha, I really enjoy using that phrase at the piddly age of 23.) Back in those days, we got to know one another speaking broken to healing French while traveling Europe together. We have since both learned one another's mother languages, so we communicated our meet-up plans in English and then ended up speaking High German together in the end. The whole situation made my heart and brain implode into a puddle of pleased contentedness.

These organs than exploded back into place when the plane took off a couple hours later and deposited itself in the midst of one of the most incredible airplane window landscapes I had ever experienced. As it turned out, those pesky mountains did exist after all.

Thaaank goodness.