Wagner & Schumann & Bach, oh my!

Mendelssohn as well, in fact - the number of syllables in his name simply precluded him from the title of this entry.  Here I am, on a quick stop in Leipzig, Germany, where, all of these dead composers once lived, and okay, I have to say it right now, I attended an organ concert this afternoon at the church where Bach worked for 27 years as organist and cantor.  Yes, that's right. I am a geek, and this absolutely thrilled me.  More on that in a few moments...I´ll keep things somewhat organized chronologically with an update on the past few days.

The worst dorm mate EVER. She's coughing, sneezing, and even has a roll of toilet paper on her bedside table so as to facilitate blowing her nose every few minutes. I shared a dorm with her in Munich, and then I became her in Nuremburg.  For the first time this trip, I had my next three stops entirely planned out (as hostels in Weimar and Leipzig are apparently busy in late October - who knew?) with deposits paid, and so have had to keep moving, makeshift box of tissues at my side.  I promise that my level of activity within each day HAS slowed a bit, and the last several evenings have been spent in the good company of my book, my journal, and many cups of tea.  I have been keeping to myself a bit more also, perhaps becoming a bit more introspective as my trip draws to a close, but also feeling apologetic about the cesspool of germs that I currently am.  And, I think rightfully so, despite the fact that generally I'm endeavouring to live my life less apologetically these days. "Hi, I'm Liz - from Canada, a music therapist, the one that's about to keep you up all night with my incessant coughing.  Can we be friends anyhow?"  The good news is that I am definitely on the mend, and I am imagining that by the time I get to Berlin (tomorrow evening), I will be almost as good as new.  For those wondering (Alison et al), yes, it's entirely possible that my head cold is a reminder from the universe that I could still learn to slow down a bit more. I had thought of that one too, just so you know. :)  Could also be a reality of sharing dorm rooms with strangers.  Or a bit of both...

Aside from my trip to Buchenwald concentration camp, which I already wrote about, and my intense sinus headache, I felt very content and at home in Weimar. In fact, I can add it to the list of cities of which I have thought, "I could live here". It has a lively and artsy vibe, and is far less touristy than many of the cities I have visited (I was pleased that not everyone I met could speak fluent English). The Bauhaus movment in art/design/architecture was founded in Weimar (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bauhaus), and some, oh, pretty important folks such as Goethe, Liszt, Bach, Schiller, Luther, Nietzsche (and so on), have lived there through the years. There are quotes from famous philophers/poets painted onto the sides of city buildings, there are more bookstores per capita than any city I have ever been to, and there is a vibrant and creative student presence, owing to the Bauhaus University. After a lazy morning of sleeping in, I spent the afternoon yesterday wandering the city. Bookstores, cafes, and statues of famous dudes aside, my favourite part of Weimar was the gorgeous park that I found along the river, where I sat in the grass beneath a wise old tree with leaves turned a spectacular shade of orange, read, journalled, and felt content.

The perfect tree for reading beneath, Weimar

Incredible colours, Weimar

Famous dudes (Goethe and Schiller), Weimar

Contentment. Last night, as I read Eat Pray Love (and sipped my tea - I am quite a predictable soul these days), Gilbert described herself on the last leg of her journey: "I have never felt less burdened by myself or by the world", and talked about the search for contentment as a "generous gift to the world", getting oneself "out of the way" and thus open to being able to contribute to the world. This is an idea I've thought about a great deal on this trip, sometimes I suppose in response to self-imposed guilt ("With all the suffering that exists in the world, how do I deserve 3 months of self-discovery in Europe?"), but also in true resonance to the idea. I guess we all search for contentment in our own ways, and likely many of these ways are not generous gifts to the world.  And, it would seem rather egotistical for me to declare every moment of my journey "a generous gift to the world", as though chowing down on pizza in Naples or hiking in the Swiss Alps was entirely altruistic. Of course it wasn't. But the genuine search for self-knowledge, connection to others, joy, beauty, and yes, contentment that this trip has entailed - I do also believe that this can and will free me up to, when I return to "regular life", contribute more wholly to my work, my world. I wonder the impact on the overall happiness in the world, if we all believed that we were worthy of pursuing our own dreams, and if those of us who are caregivers by nature were to care for ourselves with as much love and generosity as we freely give to others. Perhaps self-indulgence, embarked upon with a certain spirit, can have far-reaching implications. "I have never felt less burdened by myself."  Yes, I think this is true for me, right now.

So, yesterday evening I headed to Leipzig, a trip that by fast train takes less than an hour, and by slow/cheap regional train (that's me!) takes less than two hours. I had to make one transfer, in Weißenfels, and hadn't considered the fact that it would be dusk by this time, dark by the time I arrived in Leipzig. I sat down in a train compartment in Weissenfels, on my own, and then was suddenly accompanied by 7 (6 male, 1 female) individuals who I would certainly not want to meet in a dark alley, or, in a train compartment by myself for that matter. There was no one else in sight. It's been a while since I've felt really vulnerable travelling alone, and here I was in a situation where, even if I had had one or two other female friends with me, I would have still been afraid. There is no way in moments like these to hide the fact that I´m a tourist, with my tell-tale giant backpack at my side, and my smaller bag (the one that clearly contains my valuables) on my lap.  "Right, but at least they don't know that you're not German", I thought, and then looked at the English copy of Eat Pray Love sitting on my lap. They soo know I can't understand them. I remembered a story that a couple I recently met told me, about how they had been robbed in their train compartment before the train left the station.  Breathe.  Anyway, I was fine, of course, and was relieved when the train arrived in Leipzig.  Also, for all of the worries I had before leaving Waterloo, about what it would be like to be a "solo female traveller", I was reminded to be thankful for how few moments like this I have had. 

Perhaps I was still looking through the lense that my train journey provided, but the area around the Hauptbahnhof (train station) in Leipzig is a seedy one.  Or perhaps, as I walked out onto the streets of this city that Bach lived in for 27 years, I had imagined that I would hear organ music wafting from every window, stoic Lutheran fathers with no less than twenty-one children gathered at their sides.  Something like that. Nope, seedy. My hostel in Weimar was located beside the bakery and the post office. Here in Leipzig, I can purchase any drug paraphenalia that I would like, just next door. Perfect.

Leipzig was quick to redeem itself however, as I walked the short distance from my hostel to the city centre this morning.  A grand old city with pompous buildings, bustling with a thriving arts and cultural scene, yes, I can believe that Bach (and Mendelssohn, Schumann, and Wagner) all lived here. I felt this sense of reverence  as I entered the Thomaskirche (St. Thomas church), gazed at the stained glass, the columns, the organs (there are two), and the small Bach museum (his tomb is in the building somewhere I believe, but not available for gazing upon). For all of my griping about learning each voice of my fugues separately, or whatever, there I was, standing in Bach's old stomping ground.  Unbelievable. As I walked through this church, I thought lots of my dear childhood piano teacher, the woman that instilled a love and appreciation for Bach into me at quite a young age, and wished Leslie could be here with me at this moment. I returned this afternoon to attend an organ recital, where organist David Franke performed a number of works of Bach's, and then one of this own compositions.  Granted, I have listened to very little good organ over the years, but this was organ like I have never heard organ before. The crunchy dissonance, the booming lower register that vibrated through the floors, walls, and pews, the variations in timbre, the suspensions that brought me to the edge of my pew, the way that each separate voice of each fugue could be detected so audibly, the regality of this instrument.  Ahhh, glorious. The organ that Bach played is no longer here, but in 2000, to commemorate the 250th anniversary of Bach's death, the church had a new organ built called the "Bach organ", intended to be the perfect replication of what Bach would have played and written his music for.

Thomaskirche, Leipzig

Me and J.S. himself

Organ!

Tonight is another lazy kind of night, as I strive to get/stay well, and prepare to head to Berlin tomorrow (where I will stay for 5 nights - I am sooo excited to be staying put somewhere for a bit!).  Before I sign off, I will share a few photos from Munich and Nuremburg as well.
Tschüß!  xo

Beer hall! Munich

Schmancy clock tower in Marienplatz, Munich

Along the city wall, Nuremberg

Grounds of imperial castle, Nuremberg

A pretty street, Nuremberg

finding beauty anyway

Though I never created any kind of itinerary for this trip prior to jumping on a plane last August, there were of course certain things I knew I wanted to see/do while I was in Europe. Hike in the Swiss Alps and along the coast of Italy. Swim in the Mediterranean. See an opera.  Eat pizza in Naples. Visit as many art galleries as possible. The list goes on. One of the items on one of these lists was to visit a concentration camp in Germany. This felt necessary for me, that, alongside all of this beauty, pleasure, joie de vivre that I was to experience, that I also deliberately carve out time to learn, absorb, grapple with the atrocities human beings are capable of, and very intentionally pay respect and honour these lives lost not many years ago.  So.  Today, I headed to Buchenwald, a concentration camp located just 10km north of the city of Weimar (http://www.buchenwald.de/index_en.html).


I don't have my head wrapped around the things that I saw and read today, and I hope I never do, for to wrap my mind around such horror would be to roam the world without a heart, with walls standing between myself and my fellow human beings.  Though I suppose I learned many new "facts" today, it was not as though anything I saw surprised me. I knew what I was in for, I've heard stories, I've seen pictures, I've studied these events.  I guess nothing prepares you to actually stand in a place like this though. To walk the now overgrown railway line where hundreds of thousands were brought here. To see the watchtowers and barbed wire, imaging the stories behind the many individuals who tried to escape (no one ever survived an escape attempt). To enter execution facilities (no gas chambers existed at Buchenwald; here, prisoners sentenced to die were shot in a building made to look like a medical examination room, or were suffocated through being hung on hooks on the wall). To gaze upon prisoners' artwork, and photographs of starved inmates and corpses piled high. To read about living quarters, stables intended for 50 horses that housed up to 2000 humans in each. To walk along the rows of crematorium ovens.

No, there is no preparation possible for this. To see this, and also to sit with the feelings it brings up.  Horror.  Fear.  Disgust.  Nausea.  Guilt.  Confusion.  Deep sadness.  Questions about how it could possibly be that only 65 years ago this camp was in full working order. About how the world "let" this happen. And what about the warcrimes that happen in places where the Western world is less likely to pay attention? And what is my place in all of this - how did I get the sweet deal of being born in Canada, white, with well educated and loving parents, and so on? Is the little bit that I do in the world, as I strive to be a self-aware and contributing, and endeavour to walk alongside others in their journey to do the same...is this enough?  With all that I've been given, what could possibly be enough?

And, in terms of my newfound journey of seeking presence in each moment, what about right now?

When I was in Budapest back in August, exploring a city by myself for the first time of the trip (while Sarah nursed her ungodly hayfever), I remember reflecting and journalling about the fact that if I wanted to see danger and reason to fear, evidence of suffering and cause for despair, I would be able to find this.  Even in the streets I walked alone that day - I could have felt alone, scared, and vulnerable. And of course, at times, it is absolutely essential to very deliberately look at human suffering and allow oneself to be affected by this. I read the news, I do volunteer work, and yes, when in Germany, I visit a concentration camp, for I refuse to live in a bubble of safety and comfort and privilege. At the same time, it's vital for all of us to also deliberately look upon the beauty that still exists in the world, to believe that capacity for tremendous good lies within all of us, to kick at the darkness until it bleeds daylight, as the song goes.  Finding beauty anyway.  Tonight, I will find beauty in my mug of peppermint tea, the chill of the autumn air, the adventure and bravery in the travellers that surround me, the thriving artistic community in Weimar, and will express gratitude for the gift of being right here amidst it all.

God said no

Matthew, from South Africa, liked to ask me philosophical/goofy/thought-provoking questions, while we walked the streets of Venice and sat in cafes together.

"If you could have lived in any era in history, which one would you choose?"

"When was the last time you told a lie?'
(This one led to a lengthy decision about the ways that we lie to ourselves on a daily basis, rationalizing decisions in order to silence our inner-voices)

"If you could tell people one thing about your trip so far, what would it be?"

My over-active mind, referenced in the last post, gets all excited, at times to the point of paralysis, by questions such as these. I struggle to answer from a "gut" place, and instead, I weigh all the possible answers, formulate a poetic reply, but then imagine another possible response, and so on.  I´m working on this. :)  I wish I could remember my exact words to this final question though, because a response came to me quickly, and with an unusual confidence: "I guess, more than talking about a specific city, monument, or experience, because there are already too many of those to be able to pick just one, I would just want people to know that I am actually okay, and how empowering it is to realize this.  Traveling alone doesn´t have to be lonely, and the world doesn´t have to be a scary place. And that this doesn´t have to set me apart from others. So many people have said to me, "I could never do that", that they could never travel alone.  I think they could. It´s such an amazing thing to have realized this about myself."

I have this really tangible sense of my experiencing of traveling solo happening in phases. There are growing pains as the phases shift, and I am left in a place of unsettled-ness for a bit, asking, "Okay, so, what´s next for me to learn?  What is this next phase going to be about?"  My first two phases had to do with specific life themes that I was thinking about a great deal, the aspects of my life I wanted to have "figured out" by the time I had left Europe.  Nothing is "figured out", though I imagine that many things have shifted without my even realizing it.  This last phase I´ve realized is a return to just being present in each day in Europe, my realization that, as I learn how to walk around the world believing that I am enough, and each moment is enough, that those other things will figure themselves out in the right timing. It is enough to stop trying, and just to allow myself to be (in fact, if I was looking for a challenge, this is perhaps the greatest challenge).

When I last posted, I was about to head to a beer hall, Augustiner Bräustuben, in Munich.  I had a moment, upon walking in, where I lost that solo-traveler groove.  The place was packed and loud, an oompah brass band playing "Oh When the Saints", beer steins clanging, Germans singing, tourists drinking their faces off, and everyone seemed to be part of a group.  There was not an empty space to be seen. Self-talk, a proud posture, and a convincing smile, I began walking through this place which turns out was HUGE. In the back corner, through 3 separate rooms, I asked a waiter tentatively, "For one?" and he pointed towards the last table, where there was a German family of 5 and 2 American girls. Everyone was super friendly, and I was relieved to have instant company in this jolly place, as I sipped my Augustiner beer (this beer hall is located within the famous brewery) and ate (more) sausage.

Friday was a pretty uneventful day in Munich, taking care of practicalities like finding shoes for €7.99 (I had been trying to bring back "socks and Birks" in Europe, but it was not taking off), and endeavouring to remain zen through a battering of poor customer service from Vodafone.  I found the "Glockenbach-Viertel" area, a funky, more alternative and less conservative area of town, which was fun to wander in for a bit, and sip an over-priced coffee in a cafe surrounded by gay men.  As I got ready for bed that night (around 11pm), Cam, a cute Australian boy from my dorm (cute in a "tuck him into my pocket" kind of way, as my friend Deb would say), invited me to come clubbing with him and his friends.

Liz: How old are you?
Tuck into pocket Cam: 18.  I´m still a bebe.

Albeit a cute bebe, he then proceeded to call me "nana" for the rest of our conversation, despite my attempt to explain that clubbing hadn´t really been my thing at 18 either. I was actually tempted to check out some Munich nightlife, but then TIP Cam started talking about all of the Jäger shots he would do before leaving, and saying things like, "Partayyy...yahhhh...I´ve never been clubbing in another country before...yahhhhhh...." while waving his arms in the air. I resumed thinking about the appeal of my uncomfortable bed.  Bed won.

My train ride to Nuremburg on Sunday was spent across the aisle from an American teenager, who was working hard at translating into English an article in a German women´s magazine about how to give a great blowjob, with the help of his German friend beside him.  This took well over 30 minutes (the translation, that is).  I smiled to myself as I got off the train, and walked along the city´s restored medieval wall on the way to my hostel.  Quite charming, really, and I was glad to be in smaller city once again.  After checking into the hostel (cleanliness, check!  free internet, check!  kitchen for guest use, check!  locks on dorm doors......not so much), I wandered around the walled city centre for a bit, and went into the gorgeous Lorenzkirche (Church of St. Lawrence), a medieval church whose columns, gargoyles, stained-glass quite literally made my jaw drop.  Beautiful.  Next, a moving art exhibit at the Kunsthalle - "Any Day Now", art by Dutch artist Mathilde ter Heijne (http://www.kunsthalle.nuernberg.de/ausstellung/2010/heijne/heijne_G.HTM) - eerily realistic sculptures of women (made from molds using her own head and hands), stark social commentary on domestic violence, capitalism, and explorations of women´s handiwork, non-monetary systems of exchange, and matriarchal cultures.  From beginning to end, I was totally enveloped in this world created by her art and ideas.

Okay, and I ate sausage one more time.  I´ve made a number of exceptions on this trip, in order to experience local cuisine, but I do think I´m done again now with the whole eating animals thing for a while. Nuremburg is known for its Nürnberger Bratwürste, little finger sized sausages, served with either sauerkraut or warm potato salad. As I arrived on Sunday, and no grocery stores were open, it seemed the time to try the local fare at a well known local pub, Bratwurst Röslein (If I had to rate my sausage experiences, I must say that I enjoyed Munich´s weisswurst much more). My dark Tucher beer was quite lovely though (a well known Bavarian beer).  AND, while I´m on the subject of food, Nuremburg is also famous for its Lebkuchen, a traditional German soft ginger cookie, technically meant for Christmas time, but eaten the rest of the year as well.  Chewy and spicy, with a hint of orange flavour.  I had a plain one on Sunday, and a chocolate covered one today, from a delightful little bakery.  Mmmm...

Nuremburg is a familiar name to many, due to its integral role during WWII and in the war´s aftermath. The Nazis first held party rallies here in 1927, and during the 30s, they extended their grounds around the Dutzenteich Lake for these annual rallies to an area covering 11km square. The city was known as "The Temple City of the NS Movement", and Hitler proudly referred to it as "the most German of German cities". The construction work in this rally area was never completed, as it was largely halted when the war began, but it remains the largest example of Nazi architecture in Germany.  Apparently, the city considered demolishing it after the war, but the cost would have been too great for post-war Germany. And so, it stands today, made from materials mined largely by Jewish people imprisoned in concentration camps, in an area of town that feels desolate, chilling. The city has done what seems to be admirable work in owning up to their role in the terror of WWII, and in 2001, a museum was created in one wing of the uncompleted congress hall on these grounds. I took this all in yesterday afternoon, as much as is possible to take all this in, wandering the exhibits that followed the Nazi´s path to power, from post-WWI conditions in Germany, to the "Nuremberg trials" after WWII - this city was the location in which Nazi political/economic/military leaders were tried, sentenced to death, and hung, by American/French/British/Soviet judges in 1946.  I watched footage of these trials, as well as of the party rallies from the 30s, where soldiers and proud citizens paraded through the lovely city centre (that seems quite idyllic in 2010) and then through these stadium grounds, where they gathered to listen to the führer (Hitler) speak. This stadium where I now was standing. Unbelievable.

It all got me thinking about blame and hatred and ethnicity and culture. The incredible poverty in Germany post WWI for example, that created a political climate in which someone like Hitler could rise to power, or how quickly "groupthink" can entirely take over the masses.  Who is to blame?  Maybe "blaming" isn´t the point, or maybe that´s a naive thing for me to say, as a privileged white North-American. I am fond of the song, "God said no", written by Dan Bern (but I prefer Craig Cardiff´s cover). The singer pleads with God to allow him to go back in time and "bring down" Hitler:

God said "no,
If I sent you back
You would get caught up in theory and discussion.
You would let your fears delay and distract you.
You would make friends,
you would take a lover."

I read that at the height of Hitler´s power, 1 out of 500 Germans were vocal about being opposed to Hitler´s government.  How naive is it to think I could have been that 1 of 500?  In my travels, I have seen many examples of how it´s still, in 2010, perhaps quite difficult to be non-white and living in Western Europe. In Italy, nearly every person of colour that I encountered was selling umbrellas or fake Gucci purses on the sides of the road. In Switzerland, there is a far-right party that has quite a presence, and were demonstrating close to Bern when I was there. Their propaganda currently features images of (literally) white sheep kicking black sheep out of the country. I have heard many derogatory remarks made towards Asian tourists. Of course, all this exists in Canada also; perhaps it´s just easier to miss it, as society as a whole is a bit more multicultural (and again, as a privileged white person). Still, I wondered as I wandered this eerie stadium where Hitler once spoke to the masses, how far have we come?

Today, I woke up with the full-fledged version of the cold that I have been fighting for the last couple of days.  Grateful to have the 8-bed dorm entirely to myself, I felt sorry for myself for a while, and went back to bed until nearly lunchtime.  At this point, I decided to suck it up, and wander the beautiful city centre.  I was glad to have seen the images yesterday - they helped me to truly appreciate and understand the beauty of this city as it stands today, to appreciate the restoration that has been done (the town was in absolute rubble after the war), and gave me a sense of balance.  Truly, it´s a lovely, lovely place, kind of what I picture when I imagine a picturesque German town. The walled city centre, a huge castle, incredible church spires, a lively market, and, ohhhh, the bakeries...

xo

still making to-do lists, after all these years...

While exploring Zürich on Tuesday, I wandered into a bookstore (as I do in pretty much every city that I visit), and, in gazing through the English section, I picked up a copy of Eat Pray Love. I could not put it down. Now, I had read Eat Pray Love a couple of years ago, but I was GLUED to it now as I read about Elizabeth Gilbert´s experiences in Rome, Lucca, Florence, Naples, etc...(listen to how she describes Naples: "...wild, raucous, noisy, dirty, balls out...a tripped-out, dangerous, and cheerful nuthouse. My friend Wade came to Naples in the 1970s and was mugged...in a museum."  Balls out.  Why didn´t I think of that?), and I supposed resonated with her decision to drop regular life and be in Europe, in a way I couldn´t have two years ago. I spent a good 20 minutes trying to convince myself that buying a brand-new book, one I´d already read even, in Switzerland of all places, was a really bad idea. And so I put it back. I walked around the bookstore. "Liz, you should just keep allowing the hostel book exchanges to surprise you with things you may never have read otherwise. Liz, you´re seriously running out of money.  Liz, your backpack is seriously HEAVY."  The voice of should was already defeated though, and Elizabeth Gilbert and Elizabeth Mitchell have been having a grand time together these past few days.
As I noted previously, I took a day completely "off" on Wednesday, and did absolutely nothing touristy at all. Though I have taken many portions of days off, and I have also spent a number of days sitting still on trains for many hours (which, though involving sitting still, isn´t necessarily relaxing), I believe this was the first complete-and-utter day off (assisted, I might add, by having a lovely apartment and comfy couch in/on which to crash: spending a day lying in bed is less appealing in a dorm, and is impossible in Italian dorms, where the vast majority of hostels have a lockout period of anywhere from 2-8 hours).  So. I walked to a nearby farmer´s market, went for a jog, read my new book, wrote in my blog, composed emails, cooked dinner. I´ll add humbly here, that even after over two months of travelling, of time away from work and regular life, I still pretty much suck at "time off". I started the day by making a to-do list (in my defense, this is a helpful strategy for my over-active brain, as when I write things down I stop thinking quite so much), and still, when I was reading, I was thinking of the emails I wanted to send, and when I was writing in my blog, I was wondering if I "should" just be "relaxing" while calculating at what time I should start cooking dinner....

...Travelling in this manner has allowed me to live life very fully, while also examining many aspects of my life in this very deliberate fashion, extraneous factors stripped away, honing in on the basics. Like being able to sit in Zürich and read a book without thinking of the list of relaxing things I should also be doing.  Last July, when this trip started to feel very real and also pretty scary, and spending 3 months away felt like a ridicuously long amount of time, and I feared I wouldn´t "last" or that I would be insanely lonely (and so on), I tried desperately to keep myself in the present: a) live July now Liz, rather than living your travelling while you´re still in Waterloo and b) once you actually are travelling, you also only need to live each moment at a time - you don´t have to "do" 3 months at once. This felt all theoretical then, but hey, turns out it´s actually true, and it´s gotten me through many a tricky moment, when my brain starts to project myself into the future.  Staying present. And then, there I was in Zürich, yes, rocking the three months of travelling thing, but trying to blog and compose emails and read and cook dinner, and relax, damn it, all at the exact same time.

Presence. It keeps coming back to that, doesn´t it?  Awareness is important too I guess, but I think I have a healthy dose of that. :)  But I´m still working on the other.  When I lamented to my dear friend Deb recently that I feared I wouldn´t have my life all figured out by the time I was to return home, her reply was, "Please don´t. I would be so intimidated - I´m not sure we could still be friends."  Right. We´re all on this journey, aren´t we?

I´ve found myself in Munich, Germany, and have enjoyed casually exploring the city by foot last night and today. Despite the grandeur of the architecture (this is the capital of Bavaria, afterall), the city doesn´t seem to take itself too seriously, and I´m quite pleased about this.  For example, they are so proud of their beer culture that even internet cafes and hair salons offer "Happy Hour" each day. It´s been a beautifully sunny day, and I ate my lunch in the huge "English Gardens", watching swans nose-dive and listening to the sounds of the nearby accordion player. The churches are gorgeous, the streets are lively and full of people, and there is lots of green space, despite the city´s large size (1.25 million).  My hostel, which leaves a lot to be desired in terms of the dorms and bathrooms, scored serious points this morning with its unlimited free breakfast, which included museli and milk, yogurt, hard-boiled eggs, toast with a variety of spreads, crusty rolls, cheese, meat, coffee, and juice. The last time a hostel offered me free breakfast was in Rome, where I received 2 white buns and really bad vending machine coffee.  No joke.  Also, my bank account is quite pleased about this whole being in Germany thing. It had actually woken me up during a couple of my last days in Switzerland, uttering things like, "Uhhhh, Liz, you and me, we really need to get out of here".

Despite the fact that I´ve missed Oktoberfest (I must admit that I´m a bit relieved about this, or, at least relieved to not be staying at a hostel during Oktoberfest), I think I´m going to head to a traditional beer hall tonight, just to take in some local culture. And, last night I bought meat for the first time in over a month (with the exception of fish): Munich´s famous "Weisswurst" (white sausage) mit brezel.  My tummy wasn´t thrilled with me, but I must admit it was quite delicious.  Not sure if I can do the pork knuckles tonight though.

And, just because I´m loving reading Eat Pray Love for the second time, I´ll end with a quote that made me smile, describing Gilbert´s first night in Italy:

"I climbed the stairs to my apartment, lay down on my new bed and turned off the light. I waited to start crying or worrying, since that´s what usually happened to me with the lights off, but I actually felt okay. I felt fine. I felt the early symptoms of contentment. My weary body asked my weary mind: `Was this all you needed then?´  There was no response. I was already fast asleep."

xo

birthday (suit)

It's true, I turned 28 this week.  But, before I tell you all about what it was like to turn 28 in Zürich, I will share a few photos from Lucerne and area:

Kapellbrucke, Lucerne (famous covered bridge)

Lowendenkmal, Lucerne (commemorates Swiss guards killed during the French Revolution)

cow bells!

I took the train to Zürich. on Saturday evening, and was greeted at the train station by Cameron, nephew of my beloved childhood piano teacher and friend, Leslie. Though we had never met before, Cam and his girlfriend Andrea opened up their apartment to me with incredible generosity, and were also remarkably flexible with me while my estimated date of arrival in Zürich. changed numerous times (I sent him many an email that went something like this, "So, I'm actually STILL in Italy..."). Cam and Andrea live about a 15-minute tram ride from the city centre, in a cute little artsy apartment in a subdivision that has lots of character and cozyness.  Both students (Cam is doing his PhD in plant and soil ecology, and Andrea her masters in ecology and evolution), as well as musicians/artists, I have felt comfortable in making myself completely at home here. We've shared music, great food and wine, meaningful conversation, and have discovered several friends/acquaintances that we have in common back at home. 

Zürich., Switzerland's biggest city (with a whopping population of just under 400 000, I believe), is a blend of all that is Swiss and idyll (in its architecture, its location along a river and lake, and the view of the Alps in the distance), with an energetic and creative vibe, and also the "realness" of a true urban centre. I have seen litter here!  Imagine!  I have also seen poverty (albeit, not much - the city's unemployment rate is under 3%, and there is no such thing as the "working poor" in this nation, where the minimum wage is incredibly high), and even the occasional jaywalker. Never a disappointment though, I learned this week that it is actually illegal to recycle on Sundays (i.e. bring your bottles/cans to your local disposal bin) because Sunday is decreed as a "day of silence" and recycling is simply too noisy.  Similarly, Andrea and Cam cannot do laundry in their apartment building on Sundays.  Ahh, the Swiss. Noise bylaws aside, I can certainly see the appeal in being a student in this vibrant city. There is a great photo on they city's website: http://www.zuerich.com/en/welcome.cfm - better than any angle I have been able to capture from simply staying on foot:



Grossmünster Cathedral in the background

Fraumünster Cathedral and downtown Zürich

Food has been an important focus during this time in Zürich. Sunday morning, Cameron cooked rösti, a traditional Swiss dish that is essentially a giant buttery hashbrown with cheese. After a leisurely coffee at Henrici's (I was already a bit of a coffee snob before this trip - 3 months of European cafes is not helping matters), we went to the Kunsthaus, the well-known art gallery in Zürich. A special Picasso exhibit had just opened, and some works by Van Gogh, Monet, and Chagall also stood out for me. Sunday night was filled with glorious cheese fondue (also traditonally Swiss). Glorious glorious stinky cheese.  The Swiss really know what they're doing with the whole dairy thing - the cheese and milk here are astounding (and, unlike most things, not more expensive than home). So, in addition to giving me a comfy couch to sleep on and lovely company, my hosts are filling me with delicious food. 

And then, it was Monday, October 18th. For the past few years, my birthdays have been a source of the nasty kind of introspection. It was quite a deliberate act, that of celebrating my 28th birthday in Europe, one of "re-wiring" if you will: the path in my brain that had begun to associate birthdays with the things in my life that I don't have figured out was stopped in it's tracks. Kaboom. I'm living intentionally and fully, seizing every moment, loving myself, and surrounded by love from others. All that, AND, I'm living out my dream of backpacking Europe.  Take THAT, negative neural pathway.

How does one spend one's birthday in Zürich, you may be wondering. Well. I took the tram downtown for 11:30am, and headed to the Hamam, a traditional Turkish spa, which Fabi in Bern had recommended to me for a birthday treat for myself.  After some time in the jacuzzi, I doned my special Hamam towel...

Ahh! I have become a plaid rectangle!

...picked up my copper bowl and exfoliating glove, and progressed through the following series of rooms:

1 - "Sogukluk" - Steam room: LOVED the steam, sat and soaked it in, sweating and enjoying the dark heat of this little cocoon.  

2 - "Kese" - First exfoliation: Take off Hamam towel (now in birthday suit), fill up copper bowl from basin, rub body all over with glove, watch months of backpacking emerge from skin, rinse, repeat as necessary.

3 - "Sicaklik" - Relax in pool (Hamam towel back on)  

  
4 - "Binguel" - Herbal steam room: Loved the steam even more here - more intense and incredibly fragrant.

5 - "Lif" - Second exfoliation, this time with a yummy herbal gel.  (A note about these naked exfolitations.  There was a mixed room and a women's only room, and the first time, I opted for the women's only. This second time, I would have had to backtrack through the rooms to get back to the women's only area, and I peeked in the mixed room, which looked empty. Trying my hand at being a little less North American, I walked in confidently, only to discover that it wasn't actually empty, as the entire room was not in full view from the door.  Before me, stood an exfoliating man. And, it seemed that the worst possible thing to do at that moment would have been to turn around and hightail it to the women's area, and so, it's true, this 28 year old Liz, exfoliated on her birthday in her birthday suit (trying her best at being discreet, I might add) in the mixed area.

6 - "Nabelstein" - Sit and relax on heated surface.

From there, I traded my Hamam towel for a robe, sipped peppermint tea, and relaxed in a lovely room with mattresses along the walls. I laid down, dopey from the steam and warmth, feeling seriously detoxified and all zenned out.

The last step was a 20 minute massage, and when I was picked up from the lovely tea-room for the massage, I was surprised that there were 3 others that had a massage at the same time as me. I was even more surprised, when, upon entering the massage room, I realized that we were all going to be receiving massages in the same room, at the same time, side by side. The day was all about the experience, and so it was all good, but seriously?  Unlike my experience with Josef in the Czech Republic, which you may remember, I felt completely relaxed with this therapeutic massage woman, and I was still pretty zenned out from all the steam, so it really was all good. And, due to the experience with Josef, the sudden nakedness was less surprising this time around (even though I was in a room with 3 others...)

(A note also about nakedness and European culture. I love the fact that beautiful and tasteful sculptures/art abound in public spaces, proudly showing the human form, both male and female, unapologetically, all shapes and sizes, without shame. I can truly appreciate the European comfort with walking naked down a beach perhaps, and wonder why we are so scared of our bodies in North America, why nakedness is typically viewed as either shameful or sexual. I think we could learn a lot from these cultures. On the other hand, advertisements that are blatantly sexual and very objectifying of women are also commonplace here (things that would NEVER fly in North America), and so, I wonder if these two things go hand in hand: does this increased comfort with bodies and sexuality in a positive way also mean that sex gets exaggerated, abused, put-on-display more readily in potentially harmful ways? Perhaps my utopian kind of idea of nakedness without objectification and unwanted oggling is entirely naive.)

Ahem. So, back to the birthday.  I left the Hamam in a Zen like and oily state, and wandered both the Grossmünster and Fraumünster, cathedrals in Zürich very famous for their stained-glass (work by Polke and Chagall).  I was blown away by the art in both of these churches - stained glass like nothing I have ever seen before.  Absolutely beautiful and breathtaking - worth looking up the images on Google, if you're interested.  Then, a $6 capucinno (I really need to leave Switzerland), with a heart in the foam that gently said "Happy birthday", accompanied some intense journalling time, as I envisioned the next year of my life, and the ways that I want for the intentionality that has been a part of travelling to be a part of day-to-day living, no matter where I am. 

Happy birthday, Liz.  Love, your cappucinno

I returned "home" to a flood of emails, and a lovely meal prepared by Andrea. I am so richly blessed by the people in my life. Wow.  After dinner, Andrea and I baked a chocolate zucchini cake together, which turned out tasting like something for which a Swiss would pay at least 7 franks per slice.  Delicious. And, Andrea presented me with a gift, "Luxemburgerli" Chocolates from the very famous Sprüngli shop in Zürich: 




And no animals were harmed!

Yesterday I spent the day wandering the city centre, visiting more churches, imagining what it would be like to be able to purchase a $3000+ purse from the window of Prada on Bahnhoffstrasse (and thankful to be someone who couldn't actually care less), walking along the shores of  the Zürichsee, and secretly taking photos of old Swiss men smoking whilst playing chess in the park:

And today, I'm proud to say, has been the least touristy day of the entire trip. I had been planning on leaving for Munich today, and realized yesterday that I just didn't feel ready, and that I was needing a lazy weekend kind of day. After going to the farmer's market this morning with Cam and Andrea, I went for a jog, and then returned the apartment, where I have listened to music, done laundry, read, written emails, and blogged. As someone who values stability and home, backpacking is wonderfully exhausting. Today, this computer, my book, and my developing knack for flexibility, have been true gifts.  

doing, being & biking

Doing. Being. Two words that I have been thinking about a lot over the past couple of years, as I've realized that my identity and self-worth have always been caught up in the former - achieving, working tirelessly, care-giving, managing/organizing/planning, and so on. Of course, none of these things are negative in and of themselves, and of course, they contribute to my identity, however; at some point, some semblance of balance was thrown wayyy off.  Recently, I've been considering what it is to just "be" - am I "enough", just as I am, without all of this doing?  Would others still see me as enough?  Would I see me as enough?  Not always planning ahead, not always imagining how to best take care of everyone in every situation, not always having an incessant need to give 110% in all aspects of my life...but rather, just allowing myself to be authentically me in each moment, and trusting that this is enough. 

This has been an important theme for a while, and as I've already written about, was part of the intention in coming on this journey: letting go of my need to plan and achieve, and just be authentic-travelling-Liz for a while. I've been considering another layer of this, which pertains to the trip itself. Though I didn't necessarily say it out loud, those "doing" parts of me were putting pressure on myself in embarking on this trip - that I would return to life in Ontario with my relationships, career, etc, figured out, and hey, maybe while I was at it, I could work on learning a new language, volunteer on an organic farm for a couple of weeks, or at the very least, research and possibly visit some potential phd programs.  Doing...

(...Just when I think I've quelled the over-achiever in me, she comes back in a different form!)

...Being...Maybe this highly intentional being in Europe is more than enough. That in ceasing trying to figure everything out, perhaps I will figure out more than I could have imagined.  So.  I'm trying to just let each day unfold, trusting that it will be what it is meant to be, and that I will be led where I am meant to be led.  Re-wiring years of other patterns. Believing that for today, this is exactly enough.

I arrived in Lucerne on Wednesday evening, and it immediately felt a bit more "real" than the idyllic Switzerland I had seen thus far, as the train travelled through an industrial area of town. My days in Lauterbrunnen were well-timed in terms of weather,as since Wednesday, this area has been in fog at all locations below 1700m.  Yesterday I went into a souvenir shop to look at postcards, in order to learn what the view of the mountains is like from town (the postcards are quite lovely!), as I certainly haven't seen a mountain since Wednesday.  Despite the fog and general grey of the weather, I have been fortunate that I haven't had to get out my umbrella until today (and in fact, the last time I needed an umbrella was in Vienna - August 31st!!!  I have had the most amazing weather on this trip...)

Thursday morning was spent sleeping in (MUCH needed), and then the afternoon was spent wandering the Old City centre: quaint pedestrian streets, brightly coloured shops, Gothic and Renaissance churches, and the clear Reuss River and Lake Lucerne (how do they keep their water so clean??)  Lucerne's most photographed sight is the Kapellbrücke (Chapel Bridge) (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kapellbr%C3%BCcke), the oldest wooden covered bridge in Europe.  Thursday evening, I took myself out for dinner (in my Swiss price range, meaning I had spring rolls and a salad) at a little artsy hang out, which advertised live jazz in the evening. After my meal, I headed downstairs to a cozy little room, and listened to the sounds of "DKSJ All-Star Projekt" - 5 guys (2 sax, 2 keyboards & percussion), combining experimental-jazz/post-rock sounds with wacky images projected onto a screen at the front of the stage - intense, while also fun and quirky, it was a great vibe, and I realized that it had been too long since I had heard live music!

Given the day I had yesterday, it seems that the universe knew that I needed some comic relief. Despite the foggy and very grey weather, I decided to rent a bike and go for a ride along Lake Lucerne - I had heard that this was very picturesque, and I liked the idea of being active, feeling the wind in my hair (particularly as there was not a helmet to be found - much less common in Europe), and getting outside of the city. The lovely woman at the front desk of "Backpackers Lucerne" suggested the route: just under 20km to Bürgenstock, a small mountain, with a glorious view of the lake.  She recommended that I take the funicular up the mountain, and then bike back down. The map she gave me was incredibly vague, but the route seemed simple enough - keep the lake to your left, and follow the signs. Go up the mountain, come back down, and then retrace your steps exactly. Good. 10 degrees Celsius (snow is forecasted for today) and highly overcast, I set out, wearing several layers, and gloves for the first time on my trip.

I had been biking for less than 30 minutes when the chain fell off.  There was at least 15 minutes of failed attempts (alternating between cursing at the chain and offering it love), before I finally coaxed it back on, hands and gloves (my hands quickly froze) now completely coated in grease.  I also discovered that this so-called "mountain bike" would skid out quite easily on gravel, as I nearly went flying off around the first gravel corner.  Realizing that I had to stay on pavement (and so couldn't follow all of the marked trails), and also a bit nervous about the chain situation, the next portion of my ride was truly lovely, through rural areas, cow/goat/sheep bells ringing, and the lake at my side. I am sure that the view without the fog would have been absolutely stunning, but I was happy just to be close to water, with a mysterious haze around everything, and the shadowed coastline on the other side of the lake.  And then the chain fell off again, this time on the side of a road with no shoulder.  Another 15 minutes (but this time caught on to the bike's ways)...

I eventually did arrive at the foot of Bürgenstock Mountain, and was skeptical about how stunning the view from the top would be, given how grey the day was (and given the fact that there was no one else in sight, and the ticket salesman was asleep at his desk).  However, the top of the mountain was not actually in the clouds, so it was possible a trip to the top would be worthwhile, especially given that I had come all this way. I asked in both English and French about the view, but should have learned the word for "fog" in German before setting out, as I was unable to communicate this question to this sweet man that I disturbed from his slumber. So. I decided to venture to the top anyway - why not - and was told that I would have to pay extra to take my bike (funny only because I was literally the only person on the funicular - the bike wasn't exactly taking up space where someone else could be sitting). The sweet Swiss funicular driver took his job quite seriously, systematically opening all of the doors (as though there were several dozen people getting on) and then closing them all, and then we ventured to the top.  The view?  Complete and utter fog, and now, much colder, of course.

And so, it was time to get off the mountain as quickly as possible. I hadn't really worried about this, as the woman at the front desk of the hostel, who knew all about this faux-mountain bike, had told me I could easily bike down. I imagined there would be a nice and leisurely trail somewhere that was not too steep. Ha. I found the trail - a true mountain bike trail - grass, dirt, gravel, and quite an angle.  And then the chain fell off again. I knew immediately that this trail was not an option (unless I walked the bike down it), and so I went back to the road. It seemed innocent enough at first - downhill, but not too steep, and not busy at all, as it wound through farmland, the sounds of cowbells ringing in my ears.  Lovely.  Before I knew it though, I was on a hairpin bend mountain road - no shoulders, no visibility (for cars, or for me), no helmet, very steep, and very shitty bike with very gimpy chain. Ahem.  My options at this point were to walk my bike back up the mountain from whence I had come (just to then turn around and walk it down the mountain bike trail), or just to continue on this way, and hope for the best. I chose the latter, kept my brakes on at all times, definitely feeling the wind in my hair now, and thankful that I was surrounded by Swiss drivers and not Italian ones...

Today, I had breakfast with a lovely couple from Mumbai - Hitakshi works in public health, specifically, tabacco control, and I learned about the way that American and British tabacco companies are targetting rural India and China, now that smoking is on the decline in the Western world.  Really interesting. (On another note, the popularity of smoking in Europe is also really interesting to me, though I have become quite used to second-hand smoke after being here for 2 months - European culture as a whole is soo much more health-conscious than North America, especially when it comes to activity level and food choices, and yet smoking is also so much more common here...a bit of a puzzle!)  I am hanging out at the library (where there is glorious free internet access) as it is pouring rain, and am hoping to check out the Saturday farmer's market once I am finished here, and possibly also the modern art museum, before I head to Zurich this evening.

And, for those wondering, there wasn't any romance with the Swiss hiking guy. I'm glad to know I left many of you wondering. :)  That's not to say there hasn't been any romance on the trip, however; just none of the Swiss variety (not all of the details can get posted on the blog)...

xo

"Cows, goats...and Europeans"

I think I could live in Switzerland. The vibe is a homey one, people are friendly, the streets are clean (immaculate for the most part - a sense that one would be publicly shunned for littering), people are active and outdoorsy (the 2nd most active population on earth, next only to the Kiwis), public transportation is very efficient and well-used, I feel safe, I can find delicious organic/veggie food, and the chocolate really is that good...Living in Switzerland is quite contingent on also making a Swiss salary however (I would be below the poverty line here on my Lutherwood salary...) :)

I arrived in Lauterbrunnen on Saturday night, did some groceries, and then settled into my hostel and cooked dinner, alongside a likely well-intended American man, perhaps in his 50s, one of those people who seemed to garner quite a sense of fulfillment from hearing his own voice and imagining that I would want to spend my time here exactly as he had; he also lacked the self-awareness to actually ask me anything about myself, or consider that perhaps the difference in our respective statures (how's that for p.c. lingo?) could mean that we had different plans with regards to hiking in the Alps. He raved about the 1 hour easy stroll he had been on that day ("You really must do this"), informing me in hushed tones that along this walk I would see, "Cows, goats...and Europeans".

Little did he know, I in fact already had plans to spend the following day with a real-live European. Dani, who I had met at the Bern community, took the train to meet me in Lauterbrunnen on Sunday morning, and planned an 8-hour hiking route for us. With biting sarcasm, left-wing political ideals, great piercings, and gentle compassion and care, it was such a treat to spend the day with Dani. I looked at the proposed route - a 16km hike with a climb of over 1400m (from 800m to over 2200m), and then descending the same amount: act casual Liz, sure, 1400m, no problem, I do that everyday in Waterloo...
 
Lauterbrunnen is located in a narrow valley - when in town, one can see cliffs to the east and west, and snowy peaks to the south (including the famous Jungfrau, a peak of over 4000m). As Dani and I climbed out of the valley, we could see mountains in all directions.  Clear skies, cows, goats, and yes, my very own European. A memorable moment was when we sat down for lunch - Dani had said that he had made sandwiches, and I expected that he would pull out one for each of us.  He pulled out 7, in fact, of 4 different varieties: avocado puree, carrot/ginger, spicy egg salad, and mustard/olive/radish. Impressive, and suddenly my offering of chocolate, almonds, apples, and granola bars seemed quite weak. :)  At the peak of our hike, we were able to leave the trail in order to go hang out by a glacier for a while, watching the rocks on top that were poised to fall very carefully). As clouds began to come in above us, they also did below us, leaving us with a gorgeous view in-between these layers, and looking down into the "sea of fog" (the German language has a word for this, which we don't have in English), that had been our valley.

...

Below and above the clouds...

1400m, no problem, and these legs were sore when I woke up on Monday morning.  Requiring a no-less-beautiful but a bit less strenuous day for Monday, I had considered taking the famous train ride to the Jungfrau Bahn, the highest train station in Europe, with a beautiful view of the glaciers and the Jungfrau, and a price tag not for the faint of heart. Monday morning, I, with the help of Elizabeth and Stefan at the front desk of the hostel, decided that this money (a birthday gift - thanks, Dad!) could be spent on a few smaller things, equally beautiful, but without the expensive hype of this particular trip.   I was advised that many people find the view from the top of the Schilthorn equally, if not even more, breathtaking, as its position offers 360 degrees of mountain peaks (over 200 of them). The trip there also involves a few cable car rides (where at times, my positive self-talk went something like this: "If anyone can build a safe cable car, it is the Swiss". Repeat.) and the view was truly incredible. After walking loops around the terrace, watching swooping birds and paragliders, I decided to sit in the revolving restaurant, where I journalled for 1 1/2 hours (or, 540 degrees) and ordered the cheapest thing on the menu - a bowl of soup and a coffee (over $13).

I'm the one taking the picture, don't worry: View from Schilthorn

If there are any James Bond fans reading this, the cable car to the Schilthorn mountain was brought to the public's attention in the late 60s - Bond himself made this trek in "On her Majesty's Secret Service" (or so I am told, as I haven't actually seen a single James Bond movie I don't believe...) I managed to avoid all of the tacky touristy stuff pretty well, aside from the not-so-subtle "007" on my coffee mug...

Less than subtle

Monday also contained a couple of hours of leisurely walking (trying to gently coax my leg muscles back to life): the stroll back from the cable car in the evening, through the valley towards Lauterbrunnen, was so charming. Cows being herded, their bells ringing loudly as though they were church bells, waterfalls, the setting sun illuminating the autumn colours on the cliffsides...

And yesterday, more hiking, on a route planned by the lovely Elizabeth from the hostel, who became quite personally invested in my hikes (I think she took interest in me once she heard the route I did on my first day here - apparently this was impressive), to the extent that on Monday evening, when she saw me sitting at the laundromat from her apartment window, she came over to sit with me and help me plan my hike for the next day.  :)  The mornings are beautiful in Lauterbrunnen - the town has been enveloped in fog each morning when I have awoken around 8am, and by 10am, the clouds are starting to break up, but also still hovering over the valley, providing increasingly larger glimpses of the mountains and cliffs, until the blue sky and sun completely break through.  The hike was about a 5 hour trek - I walked up 500m (on the other side of the valley this time), and then took a cable car to help with the next 1000m (legs still a bit wobbly, and, this portion of the trail is known to be a bit dangerous and not recommended as a solo hike), for a gorgeous view of the northface of the Eiger mountain....

Morning clouds and fall colours

Dew and sunlight

Eiger Mountain

The Valley Hostel has been the perfect spot to hang my hat these past 4 nights -  incredibly clean, lovely rooms (with a balcony, even!), friendly staff, a gorgeous kitchen, and even cartoon cows and Swiss flags on my linen - the Swiss think of everything. :)  I head to Lucerne today, likely for 3 nights, and then it is on to Zurich.  Over this past while, I've really connected with my outdoorsy self, which I knew existed, but stays in hiding a good part of the time in Waterloo, as I go about day-to-day routines. I wonder if living close to water or mountains is in my future? Or, at the very least, if making hiking/camping (and so on...) needs to become a more intentional and regular part of life? I feel such a sense of peace and connection in these moments when I am surrounded by natural beauty, and outside of the noise of city life.

I've been thinking about the gift of solitude these past two days, as after the intense time at the community in Bern, and then my day of hiking with Dani, the solitary-ness of the past 2 days has felt quite pronounced. I notice how important this time on my own has become to me - I have always been an introspective creature, but carving out time deliberately to reflect and connect with myself has become even more vital (I ask myself, "Is travelling alone making me weirder?"). I crave this time, and I am fulfilled and energized by it. I feel as though the desire to connect with my inner-voice has been taken to a new level - that this is something that need not only be reserved for those deliberate moments, but can be a practice, moment-by-moment. I imagine that this is a life's work!  There are also moments where this solitude is challenging - I seek to run from it and distract myself from myself, times where I miss those closest to me so much that it actually physically hurts. I am reminded to stay present in the moment, and to offer care for myself very deliberately. In light of Thanksgiving, I am also reminded of all that I am grateful for - connections with others and solitude, the opportunity to be on this journey, the incredible beauty of my surroundings.  It is all almost unbelievable. 

Walking around in gratitude...
With love,
xo

changing seasons

Naples grew on me, as I was told it might. :) Wednesday morning, I had a chance to wander the city before my train to Bern. In broad daylight I felt much more confident in my exploring, and I found myself being pulled in by the chaos and excitement, mesmerized a bit by the constant flurry of activity, and enjoying the people-watching very much.  Naples was a thriving center centuries ago, and this is readily apparent in the grandeur of its architecture. The port and view across the Bay of Naples, and also the view of Mount Vesuvius, were also lovely reprieves from the busy city streets.

So as not to disappoint, and as Italian men have been a theme in recent entries, I have one last story to share (I share this with the disclaimer that I have met countless Italian men who do not fit the stereotype that I am reinforcing through these stories...but the stereotype reinforcing makes for great blog posts, no?)...

So. Whilst wondering about Naples on Wednesday morning, I decided to buy myself a sweater, preparation for the rest of my travels further north. Saw a cardigan in a window for 15 euro. Perfect. And so I entered, and was greeted by Franko, age 49: "Ohhhhh, Elizabeth, you are top-model!  Yes!  Top-model!  Bellissima!" (and so on)  This went on and on (and on), as Franko hovered around me, wanted to help do up the buttons on my sweater (and so on). "When do you return to Naples?  You are top-model!  I think of you. You think of me".  (Just give me the damn sweater, Franko.)  Our interaction ended when Franko pointed to his cheek, and asked, "Kiss?" (as is culturally quite acceptable). One cheek kiss, and when I turned my head to kiss the other, Franko went in for the lips...

And with that, I said farewell to Italy! :)

Fabienne, Couch Surfing host extraordinaire, met me at the station in Bern, when my train arrived Wednesday night after the eight hour journey from Naples. What a treat - after a month in Italy with eight different arrivals at eight different train stations, disoriented, trying to make my way to a hostel on my own - to be met and taken under someone's wing immediately. Within minutes, I knew I was in good hands for my stay in Bern.  Warm, thoughtful, generous, full of life, Fabi and I hit it off right away.

Fabi and her boyfriend Stefan live in a "community" in Bern with 18 others, aged 1-50. The 20 of them share a kitchen (and also food and cooking/cleaning responsibilities), a living room, music room, and a yard. Then, there are 5 floors with 4 bedrooms on each, as well as additional living rooms and bathrooms. I was so warmly welcomed by each person I met there, and was inspired and somewhat enthralled by this living arrangement. A real challenge to the typical Western values of independence and personal-space, I felt this community had struck a beautiful balance between shared space and privacy.  20 bikes lined up outside, 20 chairs at the dining room table, the back door always unlocked, and guests are always welcome.  And there was piano!  So remarkable.  Fabi and Stefan, and also their good friends Oli and Dani who I also hung with a great deal, truly embody the community's values within themselves - they were beyond generous.  It was such an honour to stay there for three nights...

Some highlights from my time in Bern include...

...Visiting the beautiful Rosengarten (Rose Garden) with Fabi on Thursday morning before she headed to work, and gazing over the city centre from the lookout point at this garden:

View of Bern's City Centre from the Rosengarten

...Wandering the city centre with Oli, a gentle soul currently studying philosophy, and discussing politics and philosophy as we visited the baerenpark (the bear has been the city's mascot since the 12th century, and Bern stays true to its heritage by keeping a bear, or a family of bears, in captivity at all times...In 2009, a "park" was built to replace the less appealing bear "pit"), and the Munster Cathedral (a gothic masterpiece).

Papa Bear: Baerenpark

...The Shnit Film Festival, which Fabi, Stefan, and Dani and I attended both Thursday and Friday nights, viewing quirky international short films (and falling asleep, due to the 11:30 start time on Friday night). Artistically and culturally speaking, there is apparently always something going on in Bern!

...Chestnuts galore: Chestnuts are in season right now, and I named Friday "Chestnut Day", as it included chestnut yogurt, chestnut purree with whipped cream (soooo good) and roasted chestnuts from a little street stand...mmmm....



Fabi and I eat roasted chestnuts while waiting for the bus...

...Hiking to the top of the Gurten "Moutain" in Bern, with Fabi and her sister Monique. More of a "big hill" than a mountain, the Bernese call this their "house-mountain" (the direct translation from the German). It was a foggy view of the city from the top... 

The foggy view from the top of Gurten Mountain, Bern



...Fall colours: When I arrived in Bern, though I knew the temperature would be significantly lower than Naples had been that morning, I hadn't thought about the fact that the leaves would of course be turning (and the last several hours of my train journey had been in the dark). Sitting talking to Fabi, Stefan, and Dani upon my arrival, I suddenly asked, "Have the leaves changed?", and Stefan and Dani went out to the backyard, and brought in an assortment of vibrantly coloured leaves.  Yes, I miss the Meditteranean a wee bit, but I have always loved autumn, and I think I would be disappointed to go directly from summer to winter. The colours are gorgeous here. 

Culturally speaking, the trip from Naples to Bern in one day was an interesting experience. There is a part of me that misses all the things about southen Italy that felt exotic - certainly, the goal of my travels is not to remain "comfortable" at all times, and learning about, and soaking in different cultures is so important to me - this journey is about much more than "sight-seeing".  That being said, culturally, life in Switzerland feels a bit more homey, and that feels somewhat comforting right now. I feel a bit guilty about this, but perhaps it is well timed with my trip and with my inward journey. Three times on this trip, I have spontaneously thought to myself, "I could live here": in Vienna, Austria, in Lucca, Italy, and now in Bern.

Yesterday afternoon, I said a goodbye that felt far too soon to my newfound community in Bern (although not before trying the slackline in the backyard), and took a gorgeous trainride to Lauterbrunnen, a little town surrounded by Alps (very close to Interlaken, which is the city name more people are familiar with). I have a breathtaking view of the Jungfrau, the peak known as the "top of Europe" at over 4000 metres.  And, I will close this post by saying that I spent the day today hiking (a full 8 hours, including a 1400m climb) with Dani, from the Bernese community (he took the train to meet me here today). Incredible.  A bit of a cliff-hanger, I know (literally and metaphorically, even) - you'll have to wait for the next post!

Good night.

Sending my love xo