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Third lake

I’m trying to learn German, been trying for years. It’s a few years now but we used to stay in a largely German speaking area of Switzerland. Great chance to practice, way better than getting strange looks in Yorkshire trying out my second language. As a result, these days I have to practice by ordering the occasional German magazine or newspaper.

I’m not going to kid myself, my second language capabilities are still pretty rudimentary. There are reclusive Himalayan mountain sheep with a better grasp of German grammar than this Yorkshire Pudding. Which basically means that quite often it’s picking out the occasional word I can translate amongst a sea of letter confusion. It’s a good job you get pictures in the magazines to at least give me a few clues on what on earth is being written about.

A couple of years back I was trying to read a German magazine article about Interlaken, a beautiful Swiss town which was often our Sunday morning adventure. Best hot chocolate of the holiday. Best shop combo ever for the three of us. One shop, three happy punters. Hawklad looking at a huge Schleich toy section, his mum looking at a huge wall calendar section and me fascinated looking at the amazing cuckoo clocks on the wall.

Interlaken given its name is unsurprisingly a town between TWO huge lakes. But this article mentioned a third lake. A mysterious lake, as hard as I searched on the maps, I couldn’t find it. In the end I decided it was either a massive underground lake or a famous fictional lake from some mega Swiss story, maybe a continental Europe version of Brigadoon.

Yet this week. In an English magazine, an article about last Ice Age, that mystery lake was there again. And this time I could read the words all about the now not so mysterious third lake. Apparently the two Interlaken lakes, Thun and Brienz, were once a mega lake called Wendelsee, Lake Wendel. No wonder it’s not on the maps now, and what a good job it’s not. Our favourite shop would have been underwater, right smack in the middle of that lake. In this case two lakes is definitely better than one.

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Memories

Driving along a certain road, a route I frequently venture down. It’s not a bad trip at all, nice country views, not too much traffic and memories. Just on the outskirts of the city, the road runs by a little road side cafe.

A smile. Always a smile.

Mum’s 70th.

That cold, frosty and beautifully clear morning, Mum had just landed in a farmer’s field….. A so called bumpy landing, ‘came in a bit hard’ …. A hot air balloon flight over the city and countryside. Mum now had a tale to tell, so the family gathered to listen in this small roadside cafe. Tea and Cream Scones, sat huddled on the wooden benches outside. Much laughter. All the funnier as mum revealed a secret, she was scared of heights… If we had known earlier she might well have had a birthday boat cruise down the river.

Over the proceeding years the cafe has physically not changed much, maybe the wooden benches are looking a little more creaky. But one change is that it’s increasingly become a bit of a biker pit stop haunt. Yamaha’s and Motörhead Jackets reside on the wooden benches alongside couples and families, cream teas still being consumed by all. Mum would find this amusing.

Feels like a timeless memory to me.

There is another road, often ventured as well. Nice road, very like the other road. This one had another memory.

But no smiles this time, they have slowly faded..

This road runs by a derelict pub, one that’s been up for sale for too many years. Sadly the years have not been kind to the old building. Windows broken, part of the roof have collapsed, weed filled car park. Surely it can’t be too long before the bulldozers move in and put it out of its misery. Yet this was still the site of a memory. For weeks we had kept our work romance quiet but finally it was time to come clean. A Christmas office quiz night and meal at an old country pub. Back then it was a place full of life and character, really well kept and stylish. The big reveal ended up probably not being a romantic one, rather that the seemingly clever bloke from Finance in the three piece suit was in fact a monumental idiot whose useable pub quiz knowledge was limited to football and football…. Plus wow, was he an embarrassing dancer. Little did they know that it took years of practice at the Top Deck in Redcar to get this bad….. WHAT on earth could she see in him…… What she did do that night was to convince me to go on holiday with her to Switzerland, our first trip. That old pub and that night proved to be our gateway to The Alps. And as we left, it started to snow, snow just a couple of days from Christmas.

That memory would bring a smile every time I passed this pub. But that was when it was a busy, working pub, when it had life. Watching it fade away started to change the feel of the memory as well. As the life slowly ebbed from the pub, the gloss and magic went from the memory. The memory became less vivid, less colourful, faded, transient. Now when I pass here, I struggle to see the memory anymore, I just see a sad old derelict building. When I do try to recall the memory it feels really ancient, from a different world, almost artificial. Compare that with Mum’s birthday memory which feels alive, vivid, as if it was yesterday. But heres the thing, both memories were born just a few months apart.

Memories are delicate, can’t be taken for granted. Yet is it also possible that some memories are intrinsically tied to something like a location, a sound, a smell. Things that stimulate a certain reaction from our senses that link to a memory. If that thing is damaged, the memory is also damaged. But surely it might also be possible that we can find memories that are more embedded, tied to things we pick up on which feel like that have more permanence. Let’s say locations that appear untainted by time, places where we can still talk about timeless personal memories.

Time for a little piece of Switzerland. So many memories flow from just looking at these photos. Memories that feel as fresh as ever.

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Take root.

I had a conversation with a friend a few weeks back on how his view on life had changed drastically with time. He talked about how for years he desperately wanted to see the world, home was just not enough. Home time often felt like wasted adventure time. Adventure, adventure, adventure. But over the last few years, increasingly, his home, his garden, the countryside immediately around him, was his world, it was more than enough. He felt like he had done enough travelling and adventuring now, experienced enough of that in person. Now he could relax and fully appreciate that LOCAL LIFE which had previously seemed way too claustrophobic and restrictive for him.

Why take his paintbrushes and sketchbooks thousands of miles, through countless stressed filled hours in concrete departure lounges…

Why damage the world in search of ever more exotic adventures when there was more than a lifetime of adventures and wonderful subjects to paint, just a few moments from his front door….

For years he only went into the garden to have a barbecue and reluctantly cut the grass. Now he sits for hours in his garden, happy, relaxed and content.

He was even thinking about if he could get rid of his car, did he need it now he had taken ROOT.

This got me thinking, could I do the same here, take root in this part of Yorkshire. Possibly, there are definitely worse places to become rooted. But I kept coming back to this one thought…

I could take root in Switzerland, I really could. I would right now if I could.

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One man revolution

Going through some old photos for this post and a TV news item about the upcoming election sparks memories. The Swiss Hotel Owner would always want to hear updates about UK politics. After the update he would always say something like

‘In the UK people don’t seem to go into politics to help communities, it’s about helping themselves. They want the political power too much…’

Oh that is so true, and my mind wanders. Some folks do want political power way too much 😂😂. This post is going off on a tangent now.

Recently I went to vote in the local Mayoral election. A trip to a little used, tiny village hall. The Presiding Officer, clearly bored, was having a good giggle at not accepting my photo id, as to her it was not a true likeness. Apparently my beard shape was different to the photo and she wanted me to restyle it before I could vote.

Maybe more ZZTop, or maybe more Idris Elba…..

In front of the bored official, on the desk, apart from the voting forms and electoral register WAS a Stephen King Book, a food pack up, several Mars Bars and a flask of something.

Memory time. I had completely forgotten that years back, I had been a Presiding Officer, just as bored as this beard focusing prankster.

The Election Team could never get enough people to volunteer to run all the polling stations, so the day before the election, desperate officials would walk round the government building where I was working, trying to entice people to volunteer. AND I was one of the willing….. Why was I so willing….

Run this past me again, you want me tomorrow to not come into work, at this really busy time, to go to a deadly quiet village hall. Then instead of working my butt off, I can read a book, drink coffee, have a picnic, and I just have to hand out a few voting cards for 12 hours. I’m your man…..

But the secret was not to look too keen, make it look like a real chore, a real inconvenience. Eventually they would agree to pay your normal salary for the day rather than just volunteering.

And you are going to pay me to do nothing for the day…. Just GRAND. Now you can sign me up.

You would turn up at the voting centre and basically vegetate. In most of these remote polling stations your were lucky to get 10 voters turning up during the whole 12 hour shift. Normally a super relaxed shift. Yes, sometimes boring. One time I can remember trying to convince a voter that I could sort out a special voting bone for his dog, so the dog could vote as well. Yes I so understand her beard jokes….. But one year I had to do the voting centre gig with a trainee planner as an assistant. Way too keen. Have you done this, have you done that, is that wall poster on local conservation appropriate during voting. Never stopped. On top of everything, he then accidentally put his empty crisp packet into the vote ballot box rather than the bin. I forced him to fish it out with tongs I managed to find in the village hall kitchen. After about an hour it was too much for my sanity.

Ok, I’m going to make you Acting Presiding Officer.

Really, can you do that.

Yes, I will even get you a name badge to tell everyone about your new role. You can then run the process and I will just sit over there and de stress.

He was so happy, even happier when I stuck a postage note on his chest telling everyone of his new role. Then I sat in the corner and read while the new Acting Presiding Officer enthusiastically dealt with the handful of voters over the passing hours, only once did I have to intervene to stop some form of bureaucratic madness from him. Always thinking, when will he look at his name badge. He never did, at the end of the day, he threw it in the bin and went off a happy bunny, full of the new political power he had exerted. I kinda hoped that at least one of the voters had read his name badge.

No it didn’t read……

I’m the Acting Presiding Officer

Much more importantly it read….

I’m the Acting Prime Minister.

I’m sure that act of personal silliness broke several electoral laws and Revolutions have started over much less.

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Wrong order

For years I’ve tried to learn a second language. At school, French was the weapon of torture preferred by the teachers. They tried, I was very trying….. After about 15 years of more self imposed French torture, after so many different language learning systems, I realised that there we’re still rabbits and chickens who could ask for a sandwich in Paris better than I could.

Experiment abandoned…..

I switched to German. Since then I’ve tried, I’ve really tried. Slowly the second language developed past rabbit linguistic levels. Increasingly on the Swiss trips, I tried out my German, usually spectacularly badly. But then in 2015, on one particular train heading towards Bern, with one particular German speaking Train Guard, a Guard asking to see our tickets and asking where we were going, I nailed it. The perfect response in perfect German. I actually spoke German for maybe 20 seconds…..

I looked over at my partner and whispered ‘that was unusually competent German for me…’

Well I thought I nailed it.

The Guard looked coolly at me over his glasses and said in perfect English…

“you used all the right words but pronounced them in the wrong way and you got the word order completely wrong”…

He then proceeded to give me an impromptu lesson on how verbs are parachuted to the end of sentences when certain words like THEN or BECAUSE are used. But then there are other words for BECAUSE that don’t send the verb flying all over the place….. what on earth is that all about.

So fast forward to 2024 and I’m still trying. I think I’ve just about sussed out the verb going to the end thing. Sadly my pronunciation is still very Yorkshire mixed with Geordie, think Monty Python. What chance have I got with actual German speakers when my very own car satellite navigation can’t even understand my accent. That’s when I’m speaking English…… But one day, hopefully really soon I will get the chance to try German again in Amazing Switzerland.

Ich kann es kaum erwarten, es wieder zu besuchen, weil es sehr schon ist.

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It tastes better there

We were watching an old James Bond movie with a long scene filmed in Switzerland.

“Dad, even James Bond stuff looks better in Switzerland….”

I couldn’t disagree. That set me off again thinking about how amazing a life in that beautiful country would be.

Fast forward to early this morning. Sat outside with a coffee trying to cool down after more exercise torture. Yorkshire was grey, misty but at least almost dry. Did I mention that Yorkshire is great for COOL DOWNS, no need for ice baths here, just hot drinks…. Then a thought hit me, even the coffee tastes better in Switzerland.

Deep sigh…..

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Weather

Another seriously damp and dark day in Yorkshire. After his morning constitutional walk, it was a fight with the mad dog for the best location nearest the fire. That kinda day.

Yes it’s not just Yorkshire that gets RAIN, Switzerland gets bucket loads as well. A wonderful Hotel Owner once told us with a smile ‘It rains somewhere in Switzerland every single day of the year. Switzerland always has Chocolate, Cheese and RAIN.”

Just like on the 23rd August 2015, it rained in Switzerland.

A dark and damp trip up The Niederhorn shows that the WEATHER can’t take away the wonder and beauty of some special places. I would happily take a bit more rain right now, AS LONG as I was in Switzerland.

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Switzerland

Back many many many years, at university, I remember a climbing buddy having an old battered poster on her kitchen wall. It was a beautiful mountain, with its reflection perfectly captured in a lake. In bold the message was something like “Keep looking, there is at least one place where you will fell truly ALIVE”.

Several decades later I was blessed to be able to stand by that very same lake and by that very same mountain. The Poster was so right….

These places DO EXIST.

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Switzerland

Sometimes you hear things that just pass you by. Sometimes you hear things that you think, that’s interesting. Then very occasionally you hear something that stops you in your tracks and you cry out

‘I’m sorry, say that again…..’

Sat in the Departure Lounge at Geneva Airport, talking to a Swiss Couple also waiting for the same plane. Two couples, two pregnant couples. The subject randomly got onto prospective child names.

“If you want that name then you better have your child in Britain. You won’t be allowed to call your baby that in Switzerland. Swiss Authorities have to approve names and have strict rules…”

Officially stopped in tracks.….

Switzerland, yes the country has naming rules. Can’t use names that might have a negative impact on a child’s future. Can’t use place or brand names. Middle names frowned upon as no room on official forms for them. Double surnames frowned upon. Some names changed to reflect local Italian or German pronunciations.

To be fair the couple did say things had become a bit more relaxed over the last few years, but rules are still there. At one stage there was even a list of approved baby names that you had to pick from.

Switzerland is a stunning, amazing country, it’s also occasionally just a bit barking mad. Coming from Yorkshire, I like that.

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Switzerland

Lost in Bern. Sounds like a Bill Murray movie. Lost back in time. The three of us were trying to find our way to the Bear Park. Walking in never ending circles around the old city streets when an enticing ice cream parlour became way too tempting. Temptation is a slippery slope to ruin or in this case a slippery cafe floor. Carrying 3 ice creams and drinks was way beyond me and I went head over heels. The Muppet Dad was on the floor covered in various flavours of ice cream and coke.

An embarrassing silence descended on the busy cafe.

Silence broken by Hawklad who loudly announced “HE is not my Dad, I have never seen him ever before…”

He was 5 and already he knew me way too well.

Doing a bit of that alpine climbing.