Monday, December 28, 2015

In a Stable on Christmas day


In A Stable
Years ago, we used always to go away at Christmas. We had to take a break in this tradition for a number of years when we were caring for my husband Steve’s elderly mother and did so up until her death last December. Now we have restarted our preferred Christmas holiday. There are good reasons for doing this; one being that our small family antiques import/export business dies the proverbial death during December, and does not recover usually until mid January. The other reason is that we find the, spend, spend, spend and drink yourself silly at office party’s and eating fit to bust, quite distasteful.
My husband Steve, was brought up in a Catholic family, my dad played the cornet in the Salvation Army band, and my mum sang in the choir of St Peters in Brighton as a youngster, which meant that both of us were taught, and therefore do know the meaning of Christmas. And having that inbred, prefer to be away from the sort of Christmas so many people now prefer to celebrate, that seems to us to be almost pagan.
So for many years we enjoyed spending Christmas in Switzerland and although we are not a heavy duty religious pair, we prefer to enjoy a traditional celebration that does not include baubles and sparkly Santa figures climbing over balcony’s, and the strange growing habit in the UK of smothering the front of your house with gaudy lights. When I mention this, people say to me, “Well, Christmas is for the children isn’t it”. Well, no actually, in my view, it is not. Or rather it was not once upon a time. For me, and I hope still, for many others it is about the birth of Christ.
December for us is also a month of remembrance since so may of our elder family members have died around Christmas time. This is why we try to get away to a hotel or better still a small apartment where we can spend a less commercial time quietly together mixed in with some sport; swimming and walking in the picturesque mountains. Christmas in Switzerland is far more tasteful and does include the Christmas Story.
Walking in the mountains helps restore our spirits and even though we are thinking of lost loved ones we are also seeing the beauty of nature and following healthy pursuits rather than stuffing ourselves to bursting, and drinking ourselves under the table to the point where each morning comes with a hang-over rather than holiday joy.
Our plan for Christmas day this year, was to have a good swim as usual and as we do most mornings at home, we are a sporty pair. Then we took a light breakfast before setting off for a reasonably arduous hour and a half long walk up a mountain path through a wooded valley. The path eventually leads to a point 1896 metres high, where it links to a tiny railway station, a little halt on the Rhätische Bahn, where what was once the original station waiting room that has been moved to adjoin the old stables. The waiting room and the stables of long ago, stand sandwiched together. Here we had our Christmas dinner, in a tiny shed refurbished with pine panels, simple and plain as could be.
I could say that we ate bread and cheese for this meal but that would be making us sound much more pious than we actually are. Putting it in a more truthful way we wanted to make our day as far from the gluttonous feast that the main meal of December 25th has become in these modern times, when people gathered with their families, eat so much that they cannot move for hours. We did not want to stuff ourselves with three times the food we would normally eat at a lunch or dinner. In fact at home we do only eat lunch OR dinner. Boil it all down to the fact that we are not going along with the bigger and bigger portions competition of the times. 
Our meal was in fact one of the national dishes of Switzerland and Austria, cheese fondue, the down to earth farmhouse invention where everybody digs in with a piece crusty bread stabbed on to a long fork, you then make a figure eight shape to coat the bread with the cheese mixture and by doing also keeping the hot cheese stirred. Apart from the pan of liquid cheese, it is sometimes served with little gingham lined sack of small plain boiled potatoes as an alternative to the plain bread.
By the end of our meal we were very happy that we had made that choice and full enough to be looking forward to an equally energetic walk back. The return hike was more challenging since it was by that time dark and once we had moved away from the building we had eaten in, it was totally dark. When we were in the planning stage of our Christmas outing, the moon was full, that was I think on Christmas eve so we had thought that our way would be lunar lit, a bright arch light overhead, since it was a maximum of one day past the full moon phase.
Ah! We had not taken in to our calculations that we were in a narrow valley with enormous mountains almost surrounding us. We were only saved by our foresight in that we had brought torches with us for the parts where the path led us through thick forest. So we set off jauntily with just the torchlight to try to prevent accidents, caused by tripping on a rock, of which there are many, or going off the path and getting lost. Nobody else knew where we were.
The other things that you do not think of in the light of day is that in the mountains there are a number of dangers present; Slipping in the river, stepping off a ledge, tripping and hitting your head on a rock or a tree or of course the darkness starts to seep into your imagination…. Getting attacked by a bear! All these things were possible in the darkness.
We picked the pace up a little and my husband grasped my hand so that at least if one of the above did occur we would meet that fate together.
As it happened; we did take a wrong turn along the way and did not realise this for some time because in the pitch black, the path is just a metre or so in front of you, and you cannot see the view all around for orientation as you had in daylight. We knew we had gone wrong when some way lower down the valley, we found ourselves on the wrong side of the narrow gauge railway line. Since it was an open stretch of central line between stations or crossings, it was well banked up, with almost a ditch of rocks, and then a rise up to the actual rails and the same repeated the other side before a fairly steep embankment, where with the torches both shining we could actually just see a woodland fingerpost. We were in a clearing and in the completely clear night sky, stars were now peaking out. Sirius had just climbed over the mountain tops to the right of us, was bright enough to be giving a little light and actually flashing his ‘Dog Star’ blue and white sparkling shards.
Steve stood for a few moments before stating that we would have to cross the line. There was no choice apart from trekking back to where we had obviously taken the wrong direction. My husband is not a man who turns back!
That made my little heart jump and miss a beat, but I did say that I thought we should not climb across the line and were they not electrified and anyway you’re not allowed to go across the line willy-nilly, except at the allocated crossings? He laughed loudly and said “Of course we’re ‘NOT  ALLOWED’, to cross the line, but unless you want to walk back a couple of miles when we are both tired enough already, we have no option”. He then pointed up to the overhead electric power lines as if that made it all instantly clear.
I held my position of opposition to the line crossing idea for a moment or two longer before caving. He was right about one thing; I didn’t fancy an uphill walk back to where ever we went wrong. If it was a couple of miles, then it was of course a four mile round trip. This logic was competing against that of clambering a mere fifty metres across the track.
Before I could raise any further objection, Steve was hoiking me up the bank ahead of him then he climbed up to the centre of the track and down the other side turning again to help me down the rocky slope into the indentation on the other side. From that point we had a steep-ish climb over rough terrain up to the point where the foot and mountain bike path signage was. By the time we got there I was quite out of breath. We stood in our tracks for a few minutes until our pulses got back to normal.
I did have to concede that this was the path we should have been on and that it was nobody’s fault that we had strayed, bearing in might the lack of the moonlight we had expected. The only sign of the moon rising was that on the other side of us the top of the mountain was illuminated by this time; the moon rise being a lot later than we had thought, due to being in this steep valley of huge rock walls.
We both admitted that we had the odd aches and pains as we strode with a renewed determined vigour; we just wanted to get our adventure over with and if we had to suffer a bit on the last couple of miles, so be it.
We were chatting cheerily by the last stage of our trek, encouraged by coming level with the lights of the town across the valley, where we started our outing, getting brighter and brighter all the time. We talked about our choice of how to spend this special day and the choice most of the people we knew had made. We came to the conclusion that we were most likely seriously outnumbered but who was to say which group was right and which was wrong. We are all entitled to our opinions and only not allowing people to think as they pleased was wrong if anything was.
For our part, I was recalling a passage from book I had once read that claimed that Jesuit priests’ would say “Show me the child at seven and I will show you the man”. Well. At seven, my parents were sending me to morning children’s service at the Emmanuel chapel at 9am on Sunday mornings, the main church service at St Georges Church at 11am and after lunch to Sunday school at 3pm. Our neighbour’s children were out playing in the street, looking scruffy but happy, whilst I stood in my clean and pressed, cream, old fashioned Sunday coat and hat and old but shiny shoes. Is one wrong and one right or shall we just say, “I blame the parents”.

 

Saturday, December 26, 2015

Portrait of My Soul

During our almost forty years together we have moved quite a few times. We have had all kinds of neighbours some good, some bad and at one of our homes a neighbour from hell who would take a swing at Steve any time they passed. So it is such a joy to have all the lovely neighbours we have in our home in Toddington Lane, Littlehampton. Helen across the road who apart from giving me friendship, keeps my wildish hair under control, and her lovely family who I have seen grow up. Jan and Christine live right next door, both play saxophone in bands and I find their devotion to practice comforting that I am not the only freak with a serious obsessive hobby. They also play ping pong in the garden and I hear their happiness over the fence. Christine is also a stunning artist a painted a portrait of me in 2002. Christine's image of me hangs by my desk and watches me work, sleep and sees how I feel and everything I write.


Portrait of My Soul
 
At first glance she dares you to look away
Then makes you think about what you will say
Attention fixed ‘No nonsense please’ to convey
Challenge

Her bright red, dyed head of naturally curly hair
A stop light helmet of protection to be aware
The falsehood misleadingly shouts; take care
Guard 

The eyes lock firmly on to the viewers gaze
Time stills or ponders on some old yesterdays
Sitters hazel eyes (now painted blue) appraise
Think 

Wearing lenses coloured to the artist’s choice
Once garrulous woman now has a quietened voice
Imprisoning frame holds one no more able to rejoice
Restriction 

Concentration cannot unlock her from your face
Determined stalking rather than a heated race
Following the intruder around a limited space
Control 

She silently takes in all within her placid sight
Dimming but still held still throughout the night
Relentless no matter if movement be left or right
Helpless 

The carefully painted eyes seem slowly to change
A rainbow of emotions expressed within their range
To have been put there by a brush seems so strange
Incredible 

Searching my mind whilst concentration stays in abstention
A moment in time hovers forever in spiritual suspension 
An invasion of my soul if this be skill by intention
Fear 

An exploratory operation undertaken to find the cause
To remove faults with scalpels, claps and shiny saws
Delicate remedial work cut, stitched, then held with gauze
Fright 

I see myself clearly in my artist friend’s patient work
The mouth reflects a secret humour too polite to smirk
Neath the surface of her strokes, my inner truth shall lurk
Confidence



Friday, December 25, 2015

Winter Solstice adventure


Waking on December 22nd, that marked the Winter Solstice this year was like waking on my birthday when I was a child. It was that exciting to me. The darkest weeks of winter really get me down, and I have often claimed that this is because I was born in mid August, my birth sign is Leo my ruling planet is the Sun. I am a sun baby.  

So anyway, I was up well before dawn cracked, made myself my obsessively special morning coffee, with exactly the right sized spoonful of the particular blend of coffee that is precisely to my taste, adding the exact amount of CoffeeMate creamer and finished with a carefully controlled, just a tichy bit more than a level spoonful of 12+Active Manuka honey that is added daily, more as a health requirement than the sweetener it most certainly is. The resulting mug is stirred to completely blend all the ingredients thoroughly together. 

Quietly I sat and waited for the night sky to stretch into an etiolated early light.
My celebration of this day when the sun would halt its winter journey south and gradually day upon day begin to makes its way back to a position that I very much prefer. 

In the little cottage where my husband and I live, the sun only shines on the front of the house for around six weeks every summer. There is still only about an hour each day when the light is on the lounge bay window in the morning and then again for a short while in the evening. Still, the sun is high in the summer sky for most of the day as opposed to the dreary November, December, January when my beloved ruling planet seems so out or sorts that he quickly sails so low as if completely out of energy and wishes he didn’t have to get up at all. 

Personally I have never understood the idea of ‘Having a lie in’. This is where I disagree, totally and completely with Mr Sunshine. The amount of sleep I need does not alter from summer to winter and that makes the winter darkness a whole lot worse for me, since I am not capable of sleeping for longer, which I can see might be helpful. Try as I might I still sleep roughly the same amount of hours and wake up regularly at 5.30am or somewhere close to that. Most of the time that is convenient since my husband and I like to exercise in the mornings to keep our fitness levels honed enough for us to take part in our chosen sport of triathlon. 

All this boils down to the fact that I feel a lot better once the mid winter point has started to pass. Steve, my husband and I were up and ready to go for a structured swim set first thing. After that we took breakfast before setting of on a celebratory long walk from our holiday apartment to make sure that this special time on the calendar was memorable marked. 

Our walk through a beautiful Swiss valley was spectacular. We took loads of photos of the magnificent scenery including a few of those shots you see on tourist calendars where mountains and forests are reflected in the glass still lake water. This was Lake Silvaplana. 

We were not alone we quickly realised, when we saw quite a number of twitchers with cameras some of which were on tripods with very long lenses. I bravely tested my poor German by asking one of the birders what bird it was that they were watching. The man was very excited and explained that there was Pacific Diver, a very rare bird indeed only usually seen in Alaska. This group were totally disinterested in the magical reflection in the lake that we had stopped to catch and totally focused on one little bird, it looked to me like a variety of Grebe but with a much lighter plumage. It was a treat for us also since we love birds too. A special bird sighting on a special day. A seal on an important day in my year. The icing on the cake. 

When we left that lake to continue our short drive back to out holiday home Steve pulled in to a parking space at another lake further along the Engadine Valley, a smaller lake where there was not a stunning reflection on the surface because this lake, just a couple of miles away from the glass like Lake Silvaplana, was completely frozen and there were families skating on the ice, some playing ice hockey. 

Out jumped my husband to catch more memories of Switzerland with our little camera. He said that I should stay put and he would be straight back. But in less than a minute his head popped up a hundred or so metres away gesticulating excitedly that I should go over the road and join him. 

We were having such a fun day with so many lovely surprises. 

I got out of the car and closed the door and Steve worked to remote lock. Then I walked across to the central reserve of the road. I was wearing my big old warm coat and big winter boots. I made the old tourist mistake of looking the wrong way along the road and when Steve shouted at me I suddenly saw that I was about to get wiped out by a bus closing in fast. I leaped over the armco like an Olympic hurdler! Steve who has been hurrying to help me caught me and said "No sign of the little old lady act you pull on people sometimes there then".  

He helped me steady myself up, a little shaken I have to admit. The truth of the matter is that I am a little old lady of seventy six and a tad deaf to boot but luckily a very fit woman for my age and one who was very happy to have made a lucky escape for a close call.

Tuesday, December 22, 2015

Swiss Takes


Swiss Takes

December 2015

 

A string of ‘firsts’,
Greeted our visit to Switzerland this winter. 

We were not stopped at the border.
Not asked to present our passports.
Not checked to see if we had bought the obligatory Vignette.
Officers made no attempt to check our car.
They did not even come near.
They displayed no interest at all,
In this particular pair of tourists. 

Less than and hour later
We arrived at our chosen overnight hotel
We parked outside and unloaded our car
We pushed our trolley into the smart foyer
Walked to the reception desk
Where a smiling employee warmly greeted us.

Details were checked, booking sheet shown.
We asked for a room with a bathtub
Not just a shower,
We prefer to wallow in a tub.
We were checked in and given a key card. 

On arriving at the allocated room
A quick glance showed that there was no bathtub.
With a sigh we turned our trolley around
And rolled back to the lift; it had been a long day. 

The same smiling receptionist greeted us again,
Explaining the problem in a pleasant tone,
The young woman made an embarrassed apology
She presents another key card and smiles sweetly
Stating that this room definitely does have a bath.

We trundle to the lift once more.
Opening the door of the second room
We see that once again there is not a bathtub there.
Huffing and puffing to each other
We return to the lift,
Then for the second time,
Back to the reception desk. 

The receptionist looks surprised at our news
And, at this juncture a more senior staff member
Steps up to the desk from the office just behind.
She is SOOO sorry.
She says that due to these mistakes
We will be given an upgrade. 

We are finally given a room with a bathtub
In fact there are two bathrooms
One with a shower and one with a bath
And a separate bedroom beyond the sitting room
All very nice, not quite a rock star suite, but nice. 

There were no further problems with our stay;
The young man who served us at dinner
Was utterly charming, thoroughly efficient
And so polite, from Goa, he offered.
Excellent dinner. 

After and equally excellent breakfast
The next morning we continued our journey;
Our plan was to get to Chur and the Julier Pass
Ahead of the heavy Christmas holiday traffic.
Destination St Moritz.

This trip was probably
On thoughtful consideration,
At least the thirtieth visit
Our favourite place for all our married life. 

On reaching the top of the pass road,
Another first! Almost scary.
We were stopped by a machine gun wielding guard
Softened when he approached with the greeting
“Hello, good morning”,
Said he, as he peered into our little car,
Looking around
Before waving us back on.
Bit of a surprise to be stopped there. 

We have stayed in some nice hotels
But also many, many apartments
Over the years in lots of different areas
In the town centre or in the close by villages
Samedan, Celerina, Sils Maria,
Silvaplana and Champfer,
All of them as lovely as each other
All of them neat clean and well appointed
And all the usual homely items included. 

This year we found our first slight let down.
The apartment was basically, a Swiss average
Yet modern upgrades had not been placed.
No WIFI! What?
My eye’s almost popped out in shock!
In this so modern an age? 

A small portable TV with very few channels.
No extractor fan in the kitchen.
Not a complete set of any crockery
One mug, three dinner plates
Milk pan? Water or beer glasses?
Hair dryer, iron?
So many missing items. 

Money had been spent though;
On a fancy shower room.
Very modern, very smart….
Glass sink, whooo!
A posh square toilet, maybe for Spongebob?
Not quite so smart however,
To place the matching square bidet
Directly in front of the shower entrance!?
Members of Cirque du Soleil may like it;
A bit of extra acrobatic practice. 

We called into the booking agent up in the town
Where I voiced my opinion that,
I thought that WIFI should be a norm
In every hotel and apartment block
In the civilised world.
This is not the dark ages after all. 

I offered my list of items missing from our flat
Taking this item from my hand,
The pretty young woman
With a charming smile
Told me that they were,
Always happy to receive any feedback. 

The main disappointment of our travels
Through Switzerland up to this point
Was the worrying absence of ….
The White Stuff.
Snow. No snow!
Just bronze (still beautiful) mountains
Instead of swathes of magical white,
Even on the high mountain tops
The barest, sparing-est dusting. 

Of course I cannot blame Switzerland for this.
This is the sad truth of climate change
That we have brought upon ourselves.
The rest however;
Made me think of a favourite poem.
And God forgive me,
Changing the end more than a little;
Is this the way the world ends?
Is this the way the world ends?
Not with a bang but a breakdown
In the fabled Swiss efficiency.