Zurich Impressions

Zurich reminds me a lot of Toronto.

The weather is right; the wind is light, but crisp. It's the type of wind that carries a flavour you can't quite define, but it's one that makes you recall tobogganing through the drifting snow, and nights on frozen ponds, falling onto the banks in order to stop. It's the type of weather that makes me think of final baseball games, walking down by the lake, the 509 street car, and final excursions to Dumpling House, before the winter takes hold, making hermits of us all.

There's an old town here, bustling with shoppers, ready to gawk and look around more than they are to make any significant purchases. It could just as easily be Kensington Market, holding hosts of small restaurants, culinary secrets, and surprises down every road – just wide enough for your shoulders to pass through.

The difference is that, for seven dollars I could have purchased some of the best fish and chips in the world, back home. Here – even though I'm ready to spend fourteen dollars (my last remaining franks, nearly equal in conversion rates) I still can not afford even the Spaghetti house.

I turn my attention, once more, to the grocery store. Co-op has been my beacon of hope in a country otherwise devoid of affordable foodstuffs. Switzerland seems opposite of Italy in this respect. Whereas Italy promoted eating out, and being one with your neighbours, Switzerland offers affordable groceries, but restaurants that even the cheapest of appatizers would make your eyes tear up.

With twice the money to spend, though, I took some risks. I took some chances. Sure I bought bread – but no measly half pound this time. No, today i would splurge on a full pound of bread.

This was a mistake.

But to be honest, I bought it only because the smaller ones were stale, and this one was freshly baked. To accompany by grainular treat I purchased some mystery meat (which I think was chicken, but as it was one third the price of ham, I'm not really sure.) It's worth pausing here for a moment to explore the relevance of Swiss Chalet restaurants. They are a chicken restaurant, and I've often wondered (not really ever until I got here, actually) why chicken was considered a Swiss food. I'm still not sure, but judging from the prices, I can assure you that it is.

For the price of a small order of french fries, you could get a half cooked chicken. That's a Bar-Be-Qued half chicken, not a chicken that is only lukewarm, still a little pink, and perhaps sopping with salmonella.

To put this even more in perspective, for the price of a Big Mac combo, you could buy two full Bar-Be-Qued chickens, and have money left to spare.

While I still do not know why it is so terribly affordable, the fact remains that it is, and on that account Swiss Chalet is an honest ambassador of truth and wisdom. Where they falter, however, is in the mass amounts of french fries they give you. Fries of that quantity would be the thing of kings here. Potatoes are not the free food they are back home. Where ten pounds of potatoes can be purchased for two or three dollars back home, for that price you could buy perhaps two, maybe three – if you're lucky – individual potatoes here.

Strange how some things in the world are so much cheaper, and others so much more expensive. It makes sense, of course – locally made, importing, exporting, global economy and such, still – it's weird. Like how you can't buy deodorant sticks here – just roll on liquid versions. This tidbit may lead to terrible trouble in the coming weeks. Here's hoping Poland or Germany are better equipped.

But back to my food. I had bread, I had meat. I was lacking only one thing – mayonnaise! Like something from a dream, this meal would be. Unfortunately mayonnaise was not to be found, but a similar substitute was found in Miracle Whip. Here they advertise that it is a perfect sauce for french fries right on the bottle. How the Europeans are not as large as North Americans is an unknown to me. Perhaps they just can't afford the necessary quantities of food that come so freely in the homeland.

I also picked up some pasta salad. A small ice cream would have been better. But – old habits die hard.



I walked through old town, past what I am told is the largest clock face in the world. I then passed another church of note. Rowers were standing on pedestals holding trophies above their heads at this point. Clearly I had just missed something of note. Still, it would have only been sports. I feel as if I'm due for another protest.

I eventually made my way, past all number of pastel houses, and storefronts, to a bench by the lake. It was just opposite the floral clock which I'm sure is quite lovely in the summer months – but rather drab this time of year. Having consumed my haphazardly made sandwiches, I played god over my own private army of flying soldiers, throwing bread into the masses of birds drifting along on the lake.



At first there was but a swan and a duck. Soon small gulls came, but were outmatched by the flock of ducks that was gathering. In time they were pushed out by larger swans growing in number. At the end, though, all were outdone as the gulls redoubled their efforts and grew strong in numbers, working to catch the thrown scraps while still in the air, without ever letting them ripple the waters surface.

And for a time, this was good. Until the bread ran out. And the birds started giving me funny looks. I had no food left, but I saw the eying me, considering how much food could be plucked from my very bones. With such murderous thoughts in the air, it was time to make my exit.

Tram 33 would take me on a tour all around the city. Lasting one hour, it would show me all number of neighbourhoods, once again reminding me of Toronto. Zurich seems, to an outside like myself, a place that holds many wonders if only you had a local to guide you to them. As an outsider, however, every street may seem the same, and without variance.

The final stop on my tour would be the local mall. Arriving there I discovered that it was open until midnight, shops closing at ten pm. Even on a Saturday. Though it is closed all day Sunday, but if that's the price to pay for such late hours – so be it. And if expensive groceries is the price to pay for living in a country where public bathrooms are plentiful and free, well – so be that, as well.

[authors note: we're going to explore a tangent right now.]

When you think of zombies attacking, you always picture yourself at home, near enough to your family and friends to make some sort of resistance. But what if the zombie uprising were to happen while I was travelling. I would very literally be cut off from everyone I knew for the rest of my life. There would be no way across the oceans. Planes would have to shut down. Airports would have no choice but to close up. I would be trapped in a society with rules I did not know, as the outsider. I wouldn't even have the language skills to try and protect myself.

These are the things you rarely consider before you set out travelling – perhaps because they're based on fictional supposition, and impossible circumstances. But still. What if – what if zombies attacked? Back home I have at least a small plan for dealing with such a situation – but here? I'd be turned within a week, if lucky.

Another question: would you rather be one of the constantly hungry, living dead – or would you rather remain animate forever, as one of the unholy creatures?

These are the things you must consider.

[editors note: the fact that the hostel has started playing the Fraggle Rock theme song has dragged this piece back to normalcy. We hope you have tolerated this brief interlude.]

The mall was five floors of shopping heaven. If you like clothes. Which I'm sure you do. But I, however, do not. This shows. I keep wondering if people look at me weird in this country because of my beard, or because I am very clearly wearing tights under my shorts, as if I were some teenage Japanese girl. Probably a combination of the two, but my bet is on the latter more than the former this time. My ZZ-Topness (still batting 1.000 for being called that in every country, for those wondering.) is the lesser of two oddities this time.

This mall did hold one store for me, however. It was a store similar to the Best Buys and Future Shops back home. The second I entered those doors I felt instantly at home. It's strange how quickly the calming feels fall over you, wrapping you up in their familiarity, and releasing more unnoticed stress than a thermal pool, complete with massaging waterfall, and silica mud mask.

I noticed the iPod touch was only two hundred and fifty dollars. I will seriously consider this as a Christmas gift to myself when I reach America. I saw that 16GB SD cards were down in price, almost affordable. Though this now has me waiting for the 32GB cards that will undoubtedly hit the market soon enough. I walked past the Guitar Hero 5 game, scoffing – it's no Rock Band. And I took a moment to check out DJ Hero, which looks like there might be something to it, though the three hundred dollar renegade edition seemed a little outrageous.

Then, before me, was the Tekken Six collectors edition, complete with art book, and wireless arcade stick. For a moment, just a brief moment, I considered buying this two hundred dollar purchase, for a system I didn't have, adding weight I couldn't bear. But – to play a fighting game with an arcade stick once more. That would be something. Video games, comic books, and certain sci-fi television shows. These are the things that make me happy. That bring me home. Strange that travel isn't one of my primary loves, despite this journey I have set myself up for. But – travel is such an abstract thing. It's like High School. At the time you feel it has some worth, but when you look back on it, it's almost as if you've learned nothing at all. Relatively speaking, of course. Still – it changes you, and enhances every aspect of yourself. It affects everything you do, and brings a greater depth to those things that you claim to truly love.

Travel has a way of taking the things that already exist so strongly in your life, and makes them all that much better. Innocuous.

One thing that did give me reason to pause, and was far more seriously considered, was the World of Warcraft: Wrath of the Litch King expansion. For only thirty dollars I could have the expansion (to a game that I do not own in the first place) but also a making of DVD, audio soundtrack, full sized map, art book, starter decks for the WoW: CCG, and other such wonders. Did such a thing ever come out back home? And for such a reasonable and affordable price?

But, like all things, it couldn't last, and I was once again back outside on the chilly streets of Zurich, the distinct air making me feel as if I was about to visit my friends DW, and idPlasticity. But no, it will be a long time until I see most people from back home. After all, despite how far into this trip I am, in all seriousness, it's still just beginning.

There's a whole wide world out there, and I've still seen but a fraction of it.

another day in luzern

It's worthwhile to point out that this is entry number 100 of my big trip – according to how I number things anyway. Some of the entries haven't existed in that scale, others have been B1, B2, etc (bonus) and some – well I think there are some blank files waiting to be written in (all the recaps for example. Somehow they just stopped writing themselves for me.)

With that in mind, this milestone issue looks to be – well – quite boring. There just wasn't much going on in Luzern today. Not for me, anyway. That that was just fine, thank you very much.

When I was hiking in Interlaken a few days ago, I stepped in a puddle with my sandals on. The heightened smell of feet that always comes with such an experience is still yet to dissipate. Fantastic. It has been haunting me for the last few days. Now, I'm not going to say that I have the most delightful smelling feet at the best of times – but in these shoes, after they've been wet – causing them to bond with my feet in some god awful unholy union... well there are more pleasant things in this world.

So what did I do today? I woke up – realized there was no breakfast to get out of bed for, considered that I'd wandered the town yesterday – thought about how cozy I was – then I went back to sleep. I figured I owed it to myself to sleep longer than seven hours on this day. And then longer than eight. It was a hard fought battle to stay in bed for a full nine hours, but I managed it. Seriously, it was hard. Every time I woke up I felt so lazy laying in bed. I really needed to get out, but I have been told that there's something to sleeping for long periods of time every now and then. Even though studies prove people who sleep 5 – 7 hours a night have the longest lifespan. Take that eight hours a night rule!

Finally dragging myself out of bed, I headed to see the lion sculpture again. It was carved to commemorate the dead mercenaries killed during the French rebellion. I looked – I saw. M'eh. I know it's supposed to be sad. I know people mourn the rock. I just don't get it. I see a mopey looking lion. Great. But, it brings no emotions. It's a lion. A great big lion. A great big lion that would probably rip you in two if that little piece of spear wasn't stuck in it.

Am I heartless? I don't think so. But – who knows.

Food was, once again, bread – pasta salad – juice. Apple this time. How delightful. Remember how I mentioned that a lot of travelling was tedious nothingness? Well – this is proof positive of that. Buying lunch, and eating lunch from the co-op proved to be one of the most exciting parts of the day. I am a lucky feller!

With that done, I headed off to the train station. That ticket for tomorrow's trip to Zurich wasn't going to buy itself. And having bought it I was down to all of for franks left. Sure there's the twenty waiting for me as key-deposit, but I can't spend that just yet.

I was told there was free wifi access in Luzern. And there is. And the blanketed area is quite large. Problem: you need a cell phone to activate it.

Nevermind – I found an open network sitting on the church steps. Bless these trusting Swiss, so.

And after that? I went to the library. I found that they had english comics. And that was me for the day. I read The Death of Captain America – which I'd not gotten around to yet, surprisingly. And man, did they ever do a good job with Bucky. Sure if you have to bring someone back from the dead it's normally annoying – but I think they did Bucky right. His story lines the last few years really make you aware of the fact that these two characters fought in the war – not just the comics war (well – in REAL LIFE they didn't fight, but in the continuity they were soldiers, not just comic icons.)

And I read “The Man Who Laughs” which featured a good Joker tale, and Batman teaming up with the Alan Scott Green Lantern.

And then I read the Dark Pheonix Saga – which I should have read over a decade ago. But there you have it – I knew the story, but this was my first time really reading it. The writing is almost solid enough to still hold up. I wonder if they'll ever “re-master” the old stories by giving them new art? They'd probably wanna change things though (remove the SNAP from Gwen Stacy's fall, and retcon a marriage here or there. Ugh.)

But that was my day. Nothing big. Nothing impressive. But I enjoyed it very much.

I've since copy and pasted two hundred and twenty five pages of Power Rangers history from wikipedia. Look – I know it sounds awful, but I feel it's important to know. I did go to university to major in Pop-Culture, you know.

Did you know they're still making new Power Rangers episodes? I know it shocked me too. That's 17 years of continuity, and over 500 eps. Terrifying.

Well – these no-name beers aren't going to drink themselves. I know I travel tomorrow – but... no name... It's “co-op brand.” Think IGA beer, or something like that. How could I not investigate how god awful it will be?

Zurich tomorrow – and then a flight to Poland. Success!

Luzern / Lucerne

I read books now, while riding trains, rather than looking out the window.

Well not today. On the train from Interlaken to Lucerne I couldn't help but stay glued to the windows. I tried to guess which way the train would be headed, to secure the best seat. I failed. But, once we started up, I made a quick hop and managed to get a good seat before any of the crazy old people with their hiking sticks could sit down. Did I steal seats from old people? It's hard to say. I would say – no – they could easily take my old seat. Plus, you now, pretty!

As it turned out, said old people would only be hanging around for a stop or two before jumping out to start their days trek. But myself? I was in for the long hall. All the way to Luzern. Or Lucerne. Whatever spelling you feel is best.

We travelled past lakes, and mountains, and small Swiss villages. Only to then pass more lakes, and more mountains. And even more small Swiss villages. At one point the train came to a stop, and I saw on the map that the lakes would soon be on the other side, so I hopped over. But – we started to go backwards. Backwards! Can you believe it? So I headed back to my original side, but facing the other way. The other passengers must have thought me quite the hyperactive child. And perhaps I was, but if you had access to such views, I'm sure you'd take whatever action was necessary (or regret failing to take said actions) to secure yourself a prime viewing station.

And for an hour, all was good. Then we were informed that due to construction we would have to take a bus part way. Look – all I'm saying, is I think there should be some sort of money back here. I paid the train price, to ride the train. I could have taken the bus, paid less, spent more time travelling – but I didn't. Had I been an hour delayed on a two hour ride the Germans would have given me half my money back. Provided I could read German. Which I couldn't.

But, eventually I reached Lucerne. And – of course – it was fantastic. More of a city than Interlaken. But still, there is a large lake, across which mountains can be seen. Sure, they may be a little further away – but still, mountains. Can't complain about that, yeah?

I made my way to the hostel – three hours before I was supposed to check in, but there was a girl there and she took me anyway. She gave me the option of leaving my passport, or twenty franks, as a deposit for the key. What type of crazy person would leave their passport?! Seriously – never let go of your passport. And if you left the franks, and you lost the key what's the worst that could happen? Oh you're out twenty franks. Now imagine if you handed over your passport. No thank you miss, I will keep my identification on me at all times, if that's just fine with you.

Having looked ahead at the weather, it seems as if there may be a touch of rain tomorrow. Today, however, was lovely. So I took the next few hours to walk around.

I discovered the lion statue. It's carved into a wall. Mark Twain once said it was the saddest piece of rock in the world. That's what my Luzern visitors guide tells me anyway. So – mystery of the stone lion solved. You may remember said lion as being part of the directions to get to the hostel.

The lion is on a completely different street than the hostel.

Those directions are terrible.

I made my way back down to the lake, where I took a few pictures of the mountains off in the distance, and then followed the walking tour suggested by my tourist information booklet. Over the covered bridges I walked; the bridges were originally part of the city's fortifications. Now they're just quainter than taking the large bridge towards the central station.

Through the city I walked, until I hit the outer wall. There really something fantastic about being in a walled city. It's why Quebec City is so well loved back home, I imagine. You can walk along the ramparts, and even climb up some of them. Provided it's not winter. Which it is. So I couldn't.



But there were a bunch of highland cattle, and a most terrifying mask to be found. For some reason I was reminded of Zardip and the Search for Healthy Wellness.

Cutting through the gate in the wall, I headed back into town, passing by all the name brand stores, and pedestrian shopping districts.

For a moment I considered if this was a tourist area or not. But, even if tourists do flock here, the locals need to shop somewhere as well. So I have, in all my wisdom, decided that this isn't an overly touristy town. Surely it is to some degree – but not so much as Tallinn or Bruges.

Outside the optometrist there was a ridiculous sculpture of a family wearing glasses. I choose to pose by it. Behind me two other people choose to pose, as I waited for my camera's timer to go off. Fan-tas-tic! After doing this to so many other people through the years, I'm glad it happened to me. And it was quite a lovely picture at that. If only there was some way to get a copy of it to them. But they went merrily skipping off before I had a chance to see what they had done.

Next up, the grocery store. And – I found tzatziki sauce! I don't know if I'd mentioned this or not – but I have been craving, and seeking this for a month. It does not exist in the places I've travelled to. It just does not. When I saw it, I nearly teared up with joy. I picked it up, proclaimed my love for it, and proceeded to purchase it. I would eat it with a freshly baked loaf of bread.

Look – the Europeans? They do bread right. It was only three years ago that I discovered there were breads other than white read. Rye – it changed my life. It was only last year that I started buying loafs from the bakers in Toronto. Now – my god. There are so many types of freshly baked, still warm, fluffy bread – it's enough to make you want to try them all.

And I have been trying. If I could find rye bread made like this – well – I don't know if I'd be ready for that or not.

I headed down to the lake with my purchases and proceeded to eat.

I can tell you that Tzatziki still does not exist in this part of Europe. I don't know what it thought it was trying to be, labeled like this, but it was not what it should have been. Look – they have yogurt here. They have cucumbers here. Just mix them together! Why is that so hard?

The quest continues. No longer in the background, but brought to your enlightenment.

I was planning on reading by the lake. But I felt cold. And suddenly very tired.

I blamed it on the train. But – passing out at four pm, I realized I'd never had to nap during the day before. And I also felt hungry. These thoughts faded to black, reappearing at six thirty when the world outside was dark. I was cold. I was tired. I was hungry. I am never any of these things. Not in a way that they affect or bother me, anyway. There is only one time when this happens.

When I get sick.

That stupid kid on the train! Thirteen and headed off with his school mates, coughing all over me! I've probably caught his gross little germs!

But maybe not. We'll see. Maybe I was just tired. And, you know, it is November. And – well people do need to eat? I fear the worst.

Back at the hostel I was told it would cost five franks to use the wifi. Please – I don't think so. I would just head off to McDonalds tomorrow. But, I thought to check for open networks anyway. Of course there was one, and I connected just fine. Is the hostel really charging five franks to allow you to steal internet? And should I have paid to use it now? It's all very confusing – but an open network is an open network, and that's good enough for me. Five hundred megs of train videos to upload, thank you very much.

I met some Australians – they called themselves Australian, despite being from Tasmania (I thought they would have used a different name) and they enlightened me to the distressingly odd show “Monkey Magic” - I've said too much already.

And that's that. Luzern done. Sure I have another full day – and I will indeed wander, provided it does not rain to hard – but I think I've seen it all. It's a great town, and I recommend it. But it's laid back, and that – well that's good too.

CONNECT FOUR IS A THINKING MAN'S GAME.

Video: Train from Interlaken to Luzern

Interlaken Finale NeoX

Here I am at breakfast, typing on my laptop over a plate of Nutella covered bread, and a large juice of orange juice. The orange juice is free at breakfast, and while they may put the tiny little cups beside it (hint hint, nudge nudge) I'll not fall for that ploy. No, not while the large pint glasses for the three frank cups of coffee are only an arms reach away.

But Mike, you may say, that juice is for everyone and in only four glasses you have emptied the entire jug! This may be true – and it's this fear of emptying the containers that I think keeps people from drinking more than they might otherwise. But I see through the tricks. Breakfast is served until ten (a three hour period) and I know for a fact that they have more juice hiding behind the desk and when – oh, there they go, refilling them. Good. Such diligence. Such work effort.

The sky s blue, and the light is hitting those western peaks with as much grace as I could hope for. I've considered hiking back out there, but no – Interlaken's time is done. And Lucerne(Luzern)'s will soon be at hand.

This has been one hell of a place. I really will come back. I have to. There's no way around it. Though I'll be aiming for the summer next time. And I'll buy a SwissPass. For rail exploring. There are caves to explore, mountains to hike, and helicopters to jump out of. I also wouldn't mind taking a tip in the glacial lakes. The autumn doesn't seem the right time for that, strangely.

As I rode the bus yesterday the immortal words of Mr. Burns played through my ears “I'm Riding the Bus.” So contented was I, just by simply looking around, (when not terrified of falling over the edge) that I realized for the first time in a long time I felt 'home.' I couldn't live here – it's too small town for me. But I could gladly spend months here, never wanting to leave. Just so long as the prospect of escape existed somewhere out there on the imaginary horizon.

In most hostels I've done everything I could to try and meet / get to know other people. And yet here, I've been covered in a slight fear that other people will start to talk to me. I very much just wanted to be left alone, and left to my own devices. The leaves would crush under my feet alone, the mountains would be my personal sentries, and the evenings? My time to relax alone.

The contentedness with being alone, by ones self, has really helped illustrate just how good this town has been to me. But like everything, the moment I leave, the more I'll want to get to meet other people, explore cities, and play urban explorer once more. And this? All this will seem nothing more than a dream.

My toast devoured; the juice cup drained.

A group of Australians discuss Barcelona not far from me. Five of the seven were mugged there. The other two felt hands in their pockets. Still they claim it was their favorite city.

That it is not a real city, I will not mention. I will stay silent, covertly listening.

To each their own. “What was your favourite place?” one asks. “That's not a fair question.” And it's not. It's not at all.

Interlaken Finale X

Today was going to be a day of nothing. A day of absolute, fantastic, nothing. The reason? It was raining outside. Now having finished watching an television series that will still remain unnamed, I turned my attention to SG:U. That's Stargate Universe for the uninitiated. I forgot that it was even coming out this year. Good for me – by the time I remembered there were six delightful episodes waiting to be watched.

I have watched all ten seasons of SG1, as well as the five seasons of Atlantis. SG1 related to my teaching is an odd way. Living in Kingston for my year of teachers college I found myself going slightly mad in my tiny bachelor apartment, mini-fridge constantly humming and rattling away through all hours of the day and night. There was only so much J.A.G. that I could watch on the history channel before I became absolutely mental.

Now, some of you might suggest just going outside, enjoying life, having a go at things.

You have never been to Kingston in the winter. It's obvious why this was Canada's former capital. No one could stand those winters forever. The fort's neat though. So good for the fort.

Every few weeks I would treat myself to a season of Stargate: SG1 which I would watch, and found extremely satisfying. I had watched the first season when it was on television back in the day. I don't think I had even seen the movie in those days (though I received an action figure of one of the characters – Daniel Jackson, I believe – from my grandmother all those years past.) There was also a time when the SG1 DVDs first came on sale when a marathon was held. It lasted seven or eight hours deep into the night. We started singing the theme song. The theme song has no lyrics, Duh – Dun – duuuuh duuuh duuuh – de-de-de-de-de-de-de-de-duh-duh-duh-DUUUUN! Something to that effect. We were delirious.

Now, every episode (minus two, I believe – and why, I don't know?) of SG1 has a commentary track. One day I hope to do the impossible and listen to them all. However, I accidentally started one commentary and heard that there were “lyrics” to the song. I had, for years, feared tracking down this one commentary track – however it just dawned on my that the internet could be my friend here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P2Ic7E-JR28 now you can all enjoy them!

It was this show that go me through the tedious boredom of teachers college. Or the Faculty of Education at Queen's University, as it's more importantly know. Two other things that got me through that year: so-do-ku's and Rough Guide to Canada. So there's another travel link.

So – Stargate Universe, it combines all the good aspect of Battlestar Galactica, Lost, and Voyager without the preachy “god rules everything”, “smoke monster impossibility” (it's already sci-fi. If a smoke monster showed up, and it did in the first episode, you just roll with it.), or “whine whine whine i wanna go home, but i'm putting no real effort into it.” So that was how I started my day. Around noon the rain cleared up. It even seemed a smidge sunny.

There was no hope for staying inside at this point. Off I went to the train station to pick up my ticket for tomorrow's trip. With that done, I jumped on a bus and headed as far east as Line 2 would take me. Overlooking the mountains, and lake, I look a moment to think about travel. More of this will be posted in a “month two recap” or something to that effect. I'd rather keep it separate. The short video at the beginning of this entry is enough of that for now, I think.

Once I'd seen all I thought there was to see, I headed back to the station, picked up lunch at the grocery store across the street (bread an potato salad – I'M BACK!) and then jumped on the number 3 bus, determined to go as east as that one would take me.

I saw a number of places along the lake to stop and take pictures, but wasn't sure where'd I'd pick up the return bus. After all, I was on a one way road heading away from town. The longer we travelled on the most terrifying one way road, near a hills edge, the more I questioned the one way nature of it. There were no turn offs, no way for local traffic to double back. And then it hit me. Sure, it was only wide enough for one way, but this was a two way through way.

When we nearly hit two old women driving their car, honking at them until they backed up around twists and turns to let us by (a feat that would have given me nightmares for years to come) my assumption as confirmed.

They took it in stride. Good for them.

At the end of the line, I thought that I would like to hop off and look around – but as there was only one bus an hour, I didn't really desire standing around in the cold in a town I could walk through in seven and a half minutes. And yes, it is finally starting to get cold. I'll have to do something about this. Later.



I did jump off the bus at the front of the lake, looking down at the mountains in the distance, and questioning if the people who lived here still found them amazing, or if they just kind of blended in to the background.

Many pictures were taken, and I said my goodbyes to this fabulous town. Jumping on the next bus, I returned back to the hostel to repack all my freshly laundered clothing, and make sure that I would leave nothing behind. I think I did a good job of this, but it's never until you're actually in the next town that you can be sure.

I thought back on the bus driver stopping to hassle the locals, and chat with them, as we drove along. This was not the type of place that I would want to leave. And yet the Lion's Lodge at Lucerne calls. With directions as good as “a fifteen minute walk from the train station” I'm sure to have no problem finding it. I've since learned it's near the lion statue.

This will, of course, mean something when I'm there. So much of the mystery is trying to figure out what all these little things that mean nothing now – but something then – is what brings travel to life.

Alright. That's all. With SG:U caught up on, I can finally shift me focus to Torchwood (A spin off from Dr. Who ... ... ... curses! I said his name.)

In other news – the larger the currency of a bill, the larger the physical bill. This is why a 100 franks note will not fit in your wallet. Thanks Switzerland. Thanks a lot. And how can anyone make fun of Canadian money when these bills are floating around on the world stage?

In the Hills of Interlaken

Nothing like giving up completely to really get the world working in your favour.

When I woke up this morning the skies were still grey, so back to sleep with me. I'd sleep in as long as I could – and staying in a hostel that kept serving breakfast until ten made a very practical option [authors note: One Night in Bangkok plays in every hostel – but never in real life. What's up with that?] But the next time I woke up, I looked out the window, and it seemed as if sun light was streaming in. This had to be a farce of some sort, for there was nothing but rain and cold scheduled for today. Still, the initial shock of what I was seeing was enough to yank me out of bed, and down to the breakfast area where – beyond all reason and rhyme – I could see mountain peaks against a field of blue. And the video screen displaying live footage from “the top of Europe” proved that visibility was far improved since yesterday. What was I doing wasting this precious time inside?

Six pieces of bread, covered in sweet sweet Nutella (I can't believe I'd never had this stuff before this trip) and a liter of orange juice were quickly devoured. Then up from my seat I sprang with a clatter, running out the door to see what was the matter. And outside, it was as lovely as I could have hoped for, albeit a wee bit chilly. So, quickly, I headed back inside to put on my thermals, and grab my poncho.

On my way back out I overheard the woman working the counter talking to an Aussie - “Are you ok in your room?” / “Yes?” / “You're not bothered – with all the Ko-Reans?” / “...” / “There will be a couple of Indian guys coming in today too.” / “...” / “...” / “No, it's fine.” / “Well alright then. Have a good day.”

I have no idea what that was on about – but there you have it, relayed just as it was overheard. Is Switzerland known as a racist country? Did I miss something? Are Koreans known as notoriously bad bunk mates (because the ones in my room do not snore, and as such make perfect bunkmates. Mind you, it was the worst smelling dorm I've ever stayed in. Though this has more to do with the fact that our window was sealed shut all day, with each of our own unique odours combining into some sort of awful stench soup – with no bearing on the nationalities of those inside. Seriously though, it was gross. I don't care how cold it is – crack a window folks. You can close it before you go to sleep. It will be O.K.

And when trying to crack the window, make sure of how it opens, lest you find yourself with one of those, comical to others, dangerous to yourself, windows that flip open from the bottom, inwards, when the handle is in one setting, and normal right to left when it's in the other.)



Where was I? Right – so I headed outside, and decided to do a little spin about to really take in my surroundings. As impressive as they were in the rain, the sun and blue skies somehow improved upon that. Strange, I know, but there you have it. No point in denying what is true.

My first stop for the day was heading up to Heimwehfluh. A funicular connects the street and the lookout during peak season. This was not peak season. And thank whoever one thanks for that. Were it peak season the lookout would have been filled with tourist eating overpriced food because they are more elevated than usual, and children zipping around a very unimpressive little roller coaster. And I may not have walked up the trail, opting for the funicular instead.

Who a I kidding? Of course I would have taken the trail. I've far to – shall we say, thrifty, to take some sort of other transportation when walking will do just fine. But, those trails which were completely empty would have been covered in other hikers and walker and people bent on destroying my sense of peaceful serenity.

Autumn is the perfect time to visit this town, I've decided. You have the trails to yourself, the weather is at that perfect temperature where, dressed properly, you feel ever so cozy, and the trails are as beautiful as they could possibly be. In the summer the paths would just be unattractive gravel, and the views would be blocked. Instead, the trees had shed their leaves, allowing for a view all the way to the lakes beyond, while coating the trails in a carpet of reds, oranges, and yellows. Beautiful.

At the top I saw a sign pointing to the next village, which was to be my destination. However, as I walked further and further into the woods, I became more aware of the fact that I was walking a ridge line, and that the village would be down below. My map didn't show a way down from the ridge, and as the time to my destination was said to be an hour and a half, I didn't fancy discovering I was stuck, needing to spend another hour and a half back.



So I turned back, and tried to find my way. It was at this time that I pricked my left leg on something. I'm not sure what it was; a thorn, a bee sting, something foreign and potentially distressing – all I know is that ten hours later, I can still feel it. Still – I'm sure it's nothing. Right?

After trying to make my own path, and nearly falling down an ever so pretty hill (which would have been far more painful than delightful, I can assure you) I decided that I would stick to the paths – provided I made it back to them.

I saw a road in front of me. Sure this was no trail, but I'd come up the trail, and didn't really want to just backtrack. So along the road I went (there would be no slipping, sliding, or trying to make my own way here.)



Back down on the flatlands, I started following a main road to the next town. After nearly being hit by cars twice – walking down the road required hopping around a number of large containers not unlike those you'd need to inspect in XvT and jumping blindly on and off the road to progress – I turned back. There would have to be an easier way.

I looked at my map, and realized that were I to simply follow the river, I should end up where I was headed. On my map was marked another “ruine.” Having discovered that these marked ancient castles, I headed out to see this other one.

Following the river offered me a number of views of the same mountain peak with various foregrounds. An ungodly number of pictures were taken of this mountain – but that didn't seem to bother me. And with no rain pouring down on me, I could keep the my camera in the open without fear of it being completely destroyed.

The sky had started to grey, as clouds began to drift in. Had I taken this walk in the morning, I would have had spectacular views and photos of what I was exploring. As it stood, the light was wrong, and sky had changed. Still – had I walked this route in the morning, I would not have made my way up the hill later on in the day. So this was for the best. More exploration.

As I passed over a covered bridge I checked my map. The castle should be a few hundred meters ahead. And it was that miscalculation that allowed the ruin to be nearly as wonderful as the one from the day previous. Hidden amongst the trees was a castle dating back eight hundred years. Walking towards it, I found myself in a ditch that would have once been a moat surrounding the inner building. The courtyard was mostly intact, as was a large tower. And unlike most towers, steps had been constructed to replace those destroyed hundreds of years past. Standing on the top I could see to Thuner See. I decided that would be my next destination.

I paused a moment to take notes of the last few days, something I had been neglecting. And then it struck me just how amazing it was that I was sitting on the top of an eight hundred year old tower, where once more, so much history had passed by. What else had happened up here over the last eight hundred years? To bring a sleeping bag up, and spend the night would be something of a great adventure. And a story to tell for some time to come. Once more, I regret booking hostels ahead. And yet if I didn't, I'd probably never move on. So many towns I've thought, I'd like to spend a few more days, I'd like to spend a few more days. And if I did, I'd be missing out on so much more.

On that note, I pulled myself away from Ruine Weissenau and started heading towards the water. Walking towards the water, I found myself between two rivers. Here there were tiny little cabins. A woman emerged from one, filled her watering can at the river, and headed to water her flowers. Were these cottages? Houses? Cabins for rent?

Reaching the water, and having to turn back to the bridge I passed by earlier, I started following another marked trail to a town down by the water.

Boardwalks, and lookout points were marked here, along with boards depicting the wildlife, and fish that should be seen within the area. Strangely, no matter how many times I see these signs, they never seem to match that which is in front of me. Forever doomed, are the ecological signposts.

Still, this was the best marked trail I'd been on, and after a half of an hour, I wish within sight of the ferry. And this is where the trails ended. To get back to Interlaken I could either turn around and walk back the way I had come, which seemed boring, or take the roads to the next town over, and then take the connecting road back home.

As one who dislikes backtracking at all costs, I decided to head for the roads. Red signs mark the bike trails, and one of these pointed the way I was going. The fact that these signs contradicted the signs for cars was a wee bit upsetting, but I thought I'd just follow the trail. Nothing could go wrong following the trail, and there was a much less chance of getting flattened. So off I went.



I was on back roads between farms. I took a moment to video the cows, recording the sound of their bells jangling in unison. Everywhere the music of the bovine penetrates. It was at this moment that one of the cows decided to start charging me. Which would have been less terrifying if there was a fence more than a ribbon thick stopping it from reaching me. There were not. And the cow gathered its cow friends, and they also started to run. Just like stingrays, they're all fine and well one on one, but when they start massing, it's best to high tail it out of there. Sure, I ran from cows. I tell you what, they're brutal monsters. There's a reason the aliens have been turning them inside out for years (you don't hear about that anymore. Seriously, what happened to all the cow mutilations? Aliens or not, have they stopped – and if so why? And what's happening to all the bees?)

I came to the next bunch of red signs. Interlaken was no longer posted. Ohh good. And next I knew I was at a hospital, which I knew from my maps to be far north of where I needed to be. Good. Great. But – I came across a Swiss Chalet. Well, a Chalet Swiss as they were called. And it was a hotel, rather than a delicious cheap chicken restaurant. So that was worth being lost.

Turned out keeping on going where I was going would take me to another road that would sort me out. And then I headed to pick up my tradition meal of bread, pasta salad, and juice.

I ate it at the park. And as I dropped a crumb a cute little bird showed up. And then another joined it. And then fifteen, at best count were all crowding around. Some people may enjoy these little devils – but myself, I have had a sea gull try to kill me in the great episode of Edinburgh '09. I know that birds are not our friends, and Jurassic Park 2 has taught me that even the small creatures, given enough numbers, are deadly.

So passing the temperature machine (Yes, that's what I believe it to be. My father would love it so – one side has a barometer, the other – some sort of other barometer that outputs like a lie detector, pen on streaming paper, another a thermometer, and the last a hygrometer.) I headed back to the hostel.

There I freely washed my clothes, dried them, and settled in for the night.

One day left.

A Beautiful Day in Interlaken

I'm cold – I'm wet – and I'm ... ... ... content.

Rarely, if ever, has this combination occurred naturally in nature, but nevertheless here it is. I've made my peace with the fact that it will be raining for the four days that I'm here in lovely Interlaken, and probably for the two days that I'm in Lucerne as well. And despite the rain, and the cold, I'm quite happy. My feelings on this town have not been tainted.

The hiking is still good, the landscapes still supreme. The mini-golf... well, the mini-golf is closed in the rain. I don't know what that's all about, but I wandered, I asked, I pleaded. Nothing would have worked. If only I had big luscious eyelashes to flutter. Well, let me tell you – that didn't work either. So long as there is rain, there will be no putting for me. This is, perhaps, the one upsetting thing about the rain. But nothing's ever perfect is it?

On the television in the hostel's common room live streaming video from the top of the mountains plays. I've been told that the view is normally of a swarm of people, and the vistas stretching on and on into the blue sky. Today there is nothing but white. It would almost seem a television tuned to a dead channel, if not for the metal gate only a few feet from the camera (a new assortment of water droplets forming, and rolling off with every passing moment.) The temperature at the top is a delightful minus seven. Perhaps it's snowing up there then, and not raining after all. But here for us mere mortals on the ground below there is nothing but water, water, everywhere.

I started off hiking along the river from Interlaken to Bonigen. This is a city for hikers. The trails are more prominently marked than the roads, with bright yellow sign points always indicating the next possible destination, complete with estimated time until arrival. Why the trails are marked with times, rather than distances is a mystery to me. What does thirty minutes mean? Surely one hiker could close the distance in fifteen minutes, while some might take closer to an hour?

It's possible that the trails are marked this way to allow for elevation to come into play. Three hundred meters on flat ground, after all, is quite different from three hundred meters on thirty percent grading.

The first part of this trail was a simple walk down by the river. The water was the colour of blue zircon, catching the light just so – something I'd not seen since my drive through Alberta Canada at Moraine Lake, and Lake Louise. To see a river stretching out towards infinity, reflecting the autumn leaves changing colour on the mountain side was truly a view to behold. And one of the things that makes Interlaken a stop that would only lead to tragedy were it left out of a European trip.

Yes it was raining, yes the sky was grey and the colours muted. But like Freddie Prince Jr. in the ever-popular movie She's All That, I could see beyond the glasses, the ponytail, and the paint covered overalls that masked the towns true beauty on this day. And while I have given up all hope of seeing the blue skies, and bright sun over head (having checked the weather forecast for my few days here) it is none the less and enjoyable place to be.

Having reached Bonigen, I followed the sings to Wilderswil – following yet another river, past all number of fields full of cattle, and pockets of trees dropping their leaves in inviting, colourful, piles all around. This path would see me walking along the bank, three meters elevated from the water. How long this path will remain is anyones guess. Erosion is doing nothing benificaial here.

To the left covered bridges led paths up into the mountains, stretching all the way to the top. But without a partner, a cellphone, or the weather being on my side, I stuck to the flat lands. There was more than enough to see here for one day. And, what was that off in the distance? Pyramids? A giant golf tee? It must have been mystery park, closing the day I arrived in town. The less said about this, the better, I'd imagine. I wouldn't want to spoil the mystery.

Yes my fingers did wiggle, and my voice did warble as I said, “mystery.” What's it to you?

Passing through these villages I could smell wood burning in various fireplaces, as the people inside remained both cozy and warm on this day when only fools ventured outside. Two hours into my walk, it dawned on me that my rain coat was not, in fact, keeping me dry. Rather my arms were wet, as were the contents of the coats pockets. It was nearly as useless as a windbreaker/fanny pack that one might have worn to a grade four track meet! Was I supposed to treat it, as I would have a tent? Should my M.E.C. rain coat not provide me with dryness and a semblance of warmth through all my aggressively humid needs? Perhaps I will have to have a chat with the fine employees of that store when I return in – well, a good long time.

From Wilderswil I began to follow the signs to Ruine Unspunnen which I could only assume was yet another town. This time I was thrown up onto a hill overlooking the towns, the rivers, and the fields I had past by only hours earlier. My path was covered in yellows, oranges, and reds as each step was padded by the leave of so many trees preparing for the winter season.

To the left stood a log cabin, mostly fallen into disrepair, set against the forest behind. To my right was a pen of sheep. But, unlike most sheep I had seen before, these all had curling horns poking out to the sides.

I would have taken pictures, but each time I wanted a shot, I would need to remove the rain fly from my pack, grab my camera, try to shoot without the rain getting on the lens, failing miserably at this, wiping the lens, taking the shot, and trying to put the camera away before the water destroyed it. Needless to say, this was not the quick and easy process it would have been in the sun. Or even the snow.

But then, in front of me, covered in the autumns discarded colours, was something out of Lord of the Rings. I hate to invoke such a thing, but when one goes from being in the middle of a forest, to staring up at the ruins of what was once a castle, what else is one to think?



Thousand year old steps ascended the castle to the very top. There was the remains of a camp fire from people spending the night within the ruins, some time in the recent past. Having looked around, and marveled at just how fantastic a discovery like this could be, when there is no forewarning, I realized that I would need to descend the steps I had walked up. On the way up they weren't the easiest – small, slippery, and twisting around the walls. For the first time I thought that perhaps I had not made the wisest of decisions. But – brain tuned to auto pilot – by the time I reached the forest floor once more, I thought of nothing but the experience of standing, once more, within walls that had stood – guarding all those within – for so long, so long ago. That such history just exists without pomp... It's foreign to my North American sensibilities.

From there it was simply a forty minute walk through the trees, back to town. Three hours well spent. Throughout much of the trek I thought back to years past, wandering trails with my father, and – perhaps – starting the occasional brush fire that may or may not have got a tad bit out of control.

I had forgotten just how much the cold rain takes from you. Normally I would be ready to start on another trail – but simply getting my finger to respond to my request of reaching into my pocket to fetch my wallet – so as I could pay for food, similar in nature to what I had last night – was an effort. There was just one thing to do – Mini-golf! But as I mentioned, the mini-golf was closed. And for the first time I cursed the rain.

But then, with bag of food in hand, I headed back to the hostel where I would spend the day internetting, finishing up a television series – the name of which I keep trying not to mention, and will no longer have to – as it is done, finished, and over with (until the new season starts up, of course,) and reading.

All in all – a good day.

Of course the rain would stop right as the sun sets. Thanks. Thanks for that. Now lets try to keep it this was for at least another twenty four hours, 'kay?

Interlaken: Teh Best!

And it's good-bye Italy! You were great, I guess? All I remember is your stinky Milan. What a god awful gatekeeper for a country that was. But no – Italy, you were great. We had some good times, didn't we? Rome was a blast, and even though we cooled off for a bit after than in Florence, we made or peace again in Pisa. And what about Venice? Wasn't that a great little while, with the true love of Romeo and Juliet in Verona too. It's just that – well – Milan. You know, shouldn't we try to find people who don't just tolerate our quirks, but actually love them? I mean – you like dressing up your cats in costumes, and I like bad puns. You like Milan, and well -

Maybe it's just best that we spend some time apart for a while, alright? So don't mind me, I'll just be over in Switzerland.

No – you can't tempt me with the beauty of your northern countryside Italy! It's too late for that, besides, it's just runoff from the Swiss anyway. So, please, lets be adult about this. I'll go my way, and – well you – you just stay where you are. No no, don't get up. I know the way out.

Awwwwwk-waaaard!

But, with that out of the way, I was able to jump on my train to Brig without any feelings of guilt. With Italy behind me, I had only the future to look forward to. A future full of mountains, and singing, and songs about do, rei, and me. Ah Switzerland. And to be honest, I just wasn't ready for it.



When my train finally came to a stop at Brig I realized that I hadn't spent a moment reading. the whole time I'd been glued to the window, watching as the flat grounds were replaced by mountains, and watching as lakes began to take over from fields. Outside of Stresa everything changed. The world because a tad more beautiful, and I became a tad more engaged with my surroundings.

For a moment I thought that I was tired of touring by myself. No – I was simply tired of the lackluster place where I was. But now, back in the land of - - -

What do you mean only two minutes to catch my connecting train?! Oh noes! Oh noes! I ran through the station, stopping a moment at the departure board to check where my train would be, and saw platform three. I ran there, ran there, and realized that I had no idea if this was the right train or not, because the paper departure boards aren't always accurate. I was going to ask the guy who blows the whistle telling you the train was about to leave, but then he blew the whistle telling me the train was about to leave! So down the platform I ran, and ran, and ran, and jumped on just before it started to pull away.

For the next thirty minutes I sat in silence, fingers crossed, hoping for the best – but planning for the worst. Were the customs officials who checked my passport back on the train to Brig to find me without a proper ticket now, they'd not be upset, right? They'd find me both quirky and cute, yeah? And so I had no money for this country – that was all good, too yes?

Nothing could go wro-

Ohh good, Speiz Station. That's where I was headed. Grabbing my bags I hopped off only to find that my next train was leaving in two minutes! So rush rush rush (worst connections ever – I really did get screwed by that train guy in Milan. I also paid twice what I'd have had to pay for the train with just one connection! Bloody Milan – you see Italy, this is why we can't be friends, despite what your Cosmo tells you!) only to find the Interlaken train delayed.

Good. I could look around, and at Speiz station, overlooking a lake which, in turn, is overlooked by a mountain – well, it wasn't the worst place to spend an extra ten minutes. And here I was thinking I'd seen it all. The fool I was.

Within moments I was in Interlaken, jaw dropped, eyes bulging, mouth repeating of its own accord, “amazing, amazing, amazing; it's amazing.” And then I walked to my hostel, with the sun nearly gone and the sky overcast. Why yes this would normally spell doom for first impressions – but not here, my friends. No, not here in Interlaken, Switzerland.

To reach my hostel I had to pass a large field in the middle of towns, with enough cows to make you think you're watching downhill Olympic skiing. The number of peeks surrounding the city are beyond counting – and it doesn't matter. Just taking it in was almost too much for me. I kept repeating that one word like some sort of OCD ADHD kid... which, sure, I may be – but – never mind that.

And then I got to my hostel. The hostel upon which all future hostels will be judged. And most likely fail. To start, it's thirty dollars a night Canadian. Which isn't really that bad anywhere, as of late, but especially here. Next up – when I got there they handed me a pass for free bus use, and free local trains. O.K. sure, that's great and all but what's the ca- - - then I was handed a pass for free swimming pool access, and free mini golf in town. Sure but really now, what's with all th- - - and then I got 8 coins. These coins can be used for internet access (ahh! There's the rub no free wifi - - - wait, there is free wifi too?!) or sodas from the coke machine, or – yes indeed – one coin for the laundry, one coin for the dryer. Or one coin could also get you two hot coffees. You get two coins per night. So, yes, that thirty dollars a night does include free laundry! What?!

There are also free lockers, and free all you can eat breakfat, and all the other stuff you know and love. Not only that, but the woman working the counter was able to throw me a map of all the local trails, and tell me the best places to go. If you want to bike, ski, or sky dive, they'll hook you up. I'm still not sure what the catch is, but I fear things this good. And let me tell you, I did not stop repeating how, “amazing!” everything was.

And once I got dinner of freshly baked bread, pasta salad, and orange juice in me the sugar rush did nothing to quell my nonsense!

This is where I want to honeymoon! Yes, that's right – I've found my location. Locked it in! No take backs! Some people want a cruise – some want a Niagara Falls trip... chumps. I want a week in Interlaken to hike all the trails, and take the train to “the top of Europe” (a train station that costs about 200CAD round trip for the three hour journey that I was highly considering this time, despite the cost – but it looks like no clear days will present themselves, and that's when this ride really comes alive, I'm told.

So Interlaken... The most beautiful place I've seen in the world. I love it. Love it! And I haven't even seen it during the day yet.



Well – these hikes aren't going to plan themselves! I hear there's a good five hour one, just outside the door to the hostel. Well of course there is. This is, after all, the most magical place on earth!