Switzerland (Part 2)
The Basel Rathouse
Day 3 (Monday, June 20) - Jet-lag is in full-effect, but
we finally have a morning off, and I was determined to do some
sight-seeing. We decide to go down to the marketplace to find
some souvenir shops listed at the concierge desk. The first thing
we see is the stunning Basle Rathouse (City Hall), standing guard
over the marketplace in brilliant red with beautiful paintings
and murals all over it. Upon closer inspection, we saw that it
was open and free, and began to explore. Beautiful courtyards,
intricate paintings, statues, wall-sconces, patterned motifs on
the ceiling archways... I saw the fountain pictured to the left,
and thought it was too funny, so I took a photo of it head-on.
We then went up the 8 short steps next to it and into another
courtyard. The courtyard wasn’t too interesting, although there
were some interesting gargoyle things poking out of an enormous
wall. There were steps on the other end to go to the top, but
we decided to head back and see some other things. So, I continued
taking pictures of the walls... the ceiling...
*thud* *thud* *thud* Down I went... the 8 short, but flat
steps the same color as the rest of the stone floor, landing in
a pile near the aforementioned fountain pictured to the left.
I managed to “save the camera” (much to many of my friend’s
taunts - “Sure... save the camera!”) but at the
expense of the cushioning of my right hand. (Well, the camera
was around my neck... I could get it out of the way when I fell
on my face, or end up sending a rib through my lung...) So, all
told, I ended up with stair-bruises and scrapes across both knees,
a stair tread bruise across the belly, a scraped elbow, a scraped
chin, and the possibility of a broken metacarpal or two in my
right hand where the camera and the floor collided with my hand...
A fountain? Or a mirror that
sees into the future?
The good news is that I could wiggle my fingers. I could still
play! And after getting my wind back (Matt was right there by
my side being incredibly good through this, and showing great
concern for me, rather than his camera, by the way...) I determined
I’d be able to march, too. So, at least nobody in the corps would
injure me for not being able to play the Yshalle
Tattoo shows on top of my mishap... (although I was deemed
by several sources to need mothering and hand-holding so I wouldn’t
fall on my face for the rest of the trip.) Being fiercely independent,
this is usually considered a bad thing by me... although I did
nearly fall out of a church bell-tower later on... but let me
get back to Monday. ;-)
That afternoon, we headed back to St. Jakob’s for more practice,
which mostly was held outside, as they were messing with the lighting
rigging inside for the show. My hand was a bit swollen up, but
I was able to play the whole practice, and I think having it elevated
up to my face-level helped the swelling go down, and my fingers
loosen up. Playing didn’t hurt... it was everything else. Seathrun
looked at it, agreed that I’d live for a week without an x-ray,
and told me to ice it as soon as I could. Which would present
a new quandary - where to get ice on a continent that didn’t believe
in refrigeration, air conditioning, or ice?
But, until that quest, we went to a place downtown where
they had a free dinner for us in a very nice hall. Unfortunately,
I don’t have a picture with it, as I could barely hold my hand,
much less my camera and fifes and stuff. (And I hadn’t expected
dinner to be anything special). Apparently the hall is where they
have some local Basel fife & drum competitions, but it was
just stunning. We felt like we were in a castle dining room, instead
of above the down-town streets below.
Dinner consisted of spaghetti and some other uninteresting things,
but Matt has decided he likes eating in Europe. They feed him
spaghetti with the option of no sauce, they don’t put mayonnaise
on everything, and even if you don’t speak the language, they
get your order right, no matter how weird it is. And, as uninteresting
as spaghetti was, I have to say as someone who’s ultra sensitive
to salmonella poisoning and reacts to just about any food served
at any restaurant in the U.S., I never had one single episode
of indigestion, food poisoning, or any other single unpleasant
thing gastrointestinal while dining in Europe.
Oh! And the breakfasts! I, for one, am not one who eats breakfast,
mostly because there isn’t anything on the American breakfast
menu I can eat! Everything is bacon and sausage and grease,
fat, and more grease, or has high concentration of eggs in it.
(Which I seem to be allergic to.) But we had the options of fresh
fruit (not that uncommon) and croissants. I’ve decided my new
favorite breakfast food is croissants with raspberry marmalade.
In any case, my weak and broken 9th grade German came in handy
with the night crew at the hotel, trying to find ice for my hand.
“Entschuldigung - Ich möchte Eis für mein Hand
haben, bitte. Es ist brechts.” And if there’s any question,
showing them my severely bruised hand got the point across.
A gentleman looking very French alongside
his meat on a stick. Perhaps he’s thinking:
“Silly American tourist!”
Day 4 (Tuesday, June 21) - The next day was more of the
same - rehearsals, standing on concrete for long periods of time,
etc. - but this time in uniform! They needed to adjust the lighting,
so we had to put on the wool, which wasn’t fun. Too friggin’ hot.
Some people went to the pool next door in the hour or so we had
at lunch time, but Matt and I optioned to walk to the mall and
get some lunch. This was an adventure, as I had to find food in
the grocery store Matt would eat. There are about 45 different
types of pork-products you can have at the deli, but I only saw
one turkey. I got a small loaf of bread, some cola-light, and
little ice-cream cups to top it off. So, we had our own little
picnic lunch in the cafe-seating... outside of a grocery store...
in an indoor mall... while we watched as people smoked and walked
their dogs around inside.
Place de la Réunion
The City Hall in Mulhouse, France
I have to say, it was a little shocking to see that dogs were
allowed in stores and food establishments, but every single dog
I saw was incredibly well-behaved and quiet. I didn’t see any
cats while I was over there, either. And as for every other European
smoking, I can’t say that I observed that. Certainly it seemed
on the whole, more people smoked, but they didn’t smoke as
much or as frequently as Americans. They generally
kept the smoking to outdoors, and only while they were standing
and socializing. They tried to keep their cigarettes away from
the crowds, and tried to blow the smoke up and away. I dunno...
it just seemed like they were more considerate smokers.
After practice, 13 of us decided to take an adventure into Mulhouse,
France. Since Basel lies near the French and German borders,
this only consisted of a 30 minute train-ride. We got to the main
train station, and walked down the lines, and saw spiffy trains,
keeping an eye out for track 35, where our train would be. Surely
that couldn’t be it... didn’t they decommission something in that
shape? Inside, once again, no air-conditioning. Orange vinyl seats
with almond baked-glaze walls like off a kitchen appliance in
the 1960’s. I vaguely remember trains looking like this... when
I was a baby...
St. Etienne - Mulhouse, France
We had our passports at the ready, but there wasn’t a single
person to look or care once we got to Mulhouse. The train station
was under construction, and we had no idea where we were, or where
we were going. So, we decided to follow the gothic steeple we
could see over buildings to the center of town. (Which was a good
idea).
Eventually, we made it to the marketplace, which was an impressive
sight. Complete with a large gothic cathedral, a carousel, and
a beautiful rathouse/City-Hall (dunno what it’s called in France)
just begging to have those stairs more closely inspected... but
maybe I’ll pass. I’m trying to take in the sights and take pictures,
but I was lagging behind the other 12 people in our group.
We wandered through the streets looking for a restaurant - I don’
t know if people had a specific destination or not, we were just
following along taking in what we could. When I caught up to the
rest of them, they were standing in front of an appropriately-named
store labeled “Stock Americains.”
While wandering farther from the marketplace, we came to a Franciscan
church, which had a restaurant with cafe-seating enough to seat
our motley bunch. I managed to not only witness, but induce our
first experience of the stereotypical French temper, when our
(first) waitress tried to take our drink orders, and ultimately
ended up slamming her order pad down on the table and leaving
in a huff at our inability to speak French. We then got another
waitress who served us for the rest of the night, and was much
more patient, although we tried to apologize for our lack of French.
At later thought, it occurs to me that she and the gentleman waiting
on us may have been the owners of the establishment. “Your
money is good here!” So were the frog’s legs! Hey - when
in France...
Little nude sunbathers on my plate!
I decided frogs’ legs look like little nude sunbathers. And you
know how you hear “Frog legs taste just like chicken!”
but in the back of your mind you figure there must be some
subtle taste that’s more frog than chicken? Well... they taste...
just like chicken! I didn’t catch a hint of anything else.
They’re a little less convenient to eat than chicken, as there’s
only so much meat on those little bones, but it did, indeed, taste
like chicken. (At least it wasn’t some sort of pork sausage...
there’s only so much of that you can eat in a week!)
After an incredible dessert (which I have no idea what it was,
but the waitress recommended it) we headed back through absolute
mobs of people in the Marketplace and surrounding areas. This
was at almost 11pm, and the place was packed! Stages with cover-bands
set up everywhere, people milling about, families out with the
baby strollers... the place was utterly hopping, and this was...
a Tuesday? Do these people work during the day? We did notice,
however, that the daylight lasted much longer than it does
at home. They’re on the western edge of the time-zone, and it
was near summer solstice, so dusk didn’t start until about 10:30
pm.
I tried getting some pictures of the cathedral, but without a
tripod to keep me stable, most of them came out blurry, except
this one where I was blocked against a palm-tree-trunk. Remember
what I was saying about it being hot? When’s the last time
you saw someone put a palm tree outside in New England?
We got back to the Swissôtel at around midnight, and I
went on another mission to find ice for my hand. It was becoming
quite colorful at this point — somewhere between Frankenstein
and Blue Man group.
Stay “tuned” for more of my adventures in Switzerland
- Next episode: Heat Stroke in the Ice Rink
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