I thought I could fit this all in 1 blog post but I know Tyler doesn’t like to read more than 1 paragraph at a time so I try to keep that in mind. Today’s post is a continuation of this post. Here is part 2 of a 3 part series.

A preview of Hendrick in college

We have given up on not getting wet every time we go outside

Gruyere armor display

Another Gruyere view

Peanut Birthday

Gruyere

Gruyere, where they make the cheese, is also the site of an epic Swiss chateau. That’s a fancy word for castle. (Thanks Nancy). We’ve now been there 3 times – with Tiffany, with Howard and with Linda. And I’d go back again. The views are amazing. The castle is more of an art gallery than anything, which is fine because there is a ton of surreal style work which is right up my alley. There is also the medieval hamlet leading up to the castle. Although I’ve seen their cheese in the States, a local delicacy served at all the restaurants in town called “Gruyere double crème” was a new one to me.

It’s along the lines of freshly whipped cream but a little thicker. It’s not sweet, just decadent. When my mom and I visited, we sat down at a café to have some with coffee. The owner did not speak English and my broken French was not enough to prevent us from ordering two menu items which loosely translated to “berries with double crème” and “meringue with double crème”. Surely our host thought us gluttons because each plate had around 2 heaping cups of crème on it. And I’m going to be honest, he was correct. Yes, we finished it. When in Rome right? Ah, and I almost forgot, coffee was served with a small chocolate bowl filled with the stuff. We had two. That day, I thought I might keel over. Writing about it now, I want more.

School

Sarah could not have done a better job nailing it with the kids’ school. They alternate days of speaking French and English. So, naturally, Milan now talks with a British accent (the head teacher is British)

“Dohhddy, my ponts are a bit tight. Are we having porridge for breakfast? Oh, brilliant!”

If the pupils don’t want to nap, they can meditate. And their lunch menu looks like it was created by Julia Childs. “Finish your salmon now, it’s crème brulee time children!” They also go on awesome field trips. The one shown in the photos was a sort of All Your Senses day. Hendrick – who is soaking wet and covered in dirt before we go outside in general – was in hog heaven. Milan – who may not get as dirty as the little man, also enjoyed parading about in the mud with no pants on. And then there was Maren. When the bus arrived back at school, where we waited, Milan and Hendrick got off looking dirty but otherwise chipper. Their sister stumbled off the bus, hair in full bird-nest mode, scowling and LESS than happy. This sort of thing is NOT her cup of tea.

Surreal Gruyere

MareBear on the loose

Last Day of School – 1 month after arriving

I don’t remember field trips like this

More Gruyere chateaux

Becoming Swiss

Did you know that to become a citizen of Switzerland, you need to be “approved” by your peers as worthy? If your community doesn’t think you’ve done a good enough job integrating, they can vote to keep you un-citizenized as it were. I think you need to live in the country for something like 10 years to even be considered for this honor so we’re not planning to go this route. However, we have been working on “fitting in”:

• We fed the children horse salami. This was unintentional though the logo, containing a picture of a horse, on the package should have been a giveaway. Seabiscuit is all over the menu here.
• We are punctual for the train. Locals get very antsy when the train is not at the platform at the prescribed time. And I’m sure they love our 3 rugrats doing backflips once we’re boarded up.
• We had a birthday party for Milan and invited all her school friends. When the friends arrived and were dropped off by their parents – who left – we were surprised. Not that we had a choice. But somehow, dropping off your 3 year old daughter with a pair of strangers for a couple hours doesn’t seem likely to happen in the States. Just how they do it here.
• Most importantly we are practicing the language. And for the most part being immediately identified as non-native speakers. Shocking. Par exemple:

Hamburger Food Truck

We found a food truck at the farmer’s market with legit burgers. Which is great…if you can order properly.

• Food Truck Vendor: (in French) “What kind of sauce would you like on your hamburger?”
• Me: “Oui”

Which you likely know means Yes

Repeat this exchange, verbatim, 3 times while stares from people in line get stronger and confused look on vendor’s face gets more confused. Then…

• Food Truck Vendor: (in English) “KET-CHUP?”
• Me: (breathing a sigh of relief) “OUI!!!”

End of the year school show. Note the kids wearing foil covered helmets.

Who’s more excited for the beer?

Gruyere strangeness

Tasted as good as it looks

Grocery Delivery

We get our groceries delivered because without a car, we would spend literally all day going back and forth to the supermarket.

• Me: (greeting the delivery guy): “Bonjour!”

Which means Good Morning and is not used at 8 PM – when the groceries were delivered.

• Delivery Guy: (in English) “Hi, how are you?”

Or “Not from around here are you?”

 More to come in the next post…

I haven’t posted in a while and as a result, my already limited ability to remember event dates is completely gone. I regularly get abused for not knowing how old I am. Once, at a triathlon with Dave Russ, he asked me why I had the wrong age written on my calf. Apparently I gave race official the wrong number. Sarah and Tyler just shake their heads when I ask “Have we seen this movie?” The point is, I’m not so big on the dates and times of things. So put me in a foreign country where every day is a new adventure and forget it. As a result, if you’re reading this and the events seem out of order or even completely random it’s because they are. There’s just so much going on, I’ve got to start somewhere. This will be part of 1 of 3 upcoming posts.

Nailed the whole “Look at the camera!” thing

Lake Peanut

Our little trio of lunatics

Howard at Chateau de Chillon

Saint Bernard

Along with blanking on dates, I also have blanks in my brain where I may have learned something in school that would be relevant today. Like who Saint Bernard was. Many of you probably know it all started here in Switzerland. I did not, until we visited Barryland, the affectionate name for the St. Bernard Foundation. We lured the kids there with promises of getting to pet huge dogs. They were not disappointed. Sarah and I also may have semi-promised/lied to the children that we could bring one home, along the way.

Now that I’ve been up close and see how large they can get there is absolutely no chance in hell of this happening. Did you know they can hit 200 pounds?? Sorry kids, but we just got done with diapers and I know who will get to clean up Fido’s bathroom visits. The dogs and their saint have a lot of history tied to a mountain pass in the area. All this was covered in detail at the foundation but chasing the kids around leaves little time to read up on details like this. All I know is it’s a treacherous place.

Mont Blanc basecamp

Future beast

Looks pretty solid…

Lunch with the Bear

Mont Blanc

You see, when Howard visited, we had the town of Chamonix – site of Mont Blanc – on our itinerary. We rented a minivan and hit the road for the day. And quickly found ourselves ascending to drive right through the Saint Bernard Pass. Ascending might not be the right word for it. It was more of a cliff climb to the top. Here in Switzerland, guard rails on the road don’t seem to be a priority. Which is a curious thing to learn while zig zagging up the side of a mountain. Especially with motorcycles passing you at full throttle into blind hairpins. Really gets the blood pumping. Then there is the matter of suicidal bicyclists, also going up the mountain. There is NO shoulder. It is VERTICAL. And you can’t see around the endless blind curves. I wouldn’t say my palms were sweaty as much as dripping wet by the time we got to the peak and through the pass.

Depending on your definition of the inner Eurasian border, Mont Blanc may or may not be the highest mountain in the Alps at FIFTEEN THOUSAND feet plus. I love Wikipedia. Let me back up. Sarah is the Itinerary Master, which I love. As such, there is no need for both us to work out the details of the trip. Or put another way, I generally have no idea where we’re going or what we’re doing until we get there. Upon arrival in Chamonix, I felt it was time to ask…

• “So, what are we going to do here?” I said.
• “Go to the top of Mont Blanc on the gondola” said Sarah.
• “And how big a mountain is it?” I questioned.
• “The biggest one in the Alps, or thereabouts” noted Sarah.
• “And we’re riding a gondola up to the top?” I asked.
• “Yes, is that going to be a problem?” Sarah quizzed.
• “I’ll know when I see this gondola” I replied.

Well, it was a problem. One look at the method of ascent and I was out. I wouldn’t say I have a traditional fear of heights so much as a burning desire not to hang from a cable thousands of feet in the air. So Marebear and I hung back and explored Chamonix. Which is quite a charming little Alpine ski village in the summer. We ate cheesed filled pastries. I drank coffee. Maren didn’t. She received endless shoulder rides. We had pasta and beer for lunch. Watched the paragliders. And then headed to meet with the rest of the crew at our appointed time. At which point Sarah and Howard concurred that although the view was stunning, perhaps they would not do the ride again. For one, it was FREEZING cold at the top and we were woefully unprepared. Then there was the matter of the wooden foot bridge across a chasm that required crossing to access the next gondola. If I recall, it was here the ascent stopped and the descent began.

More to come in the next post…

Switzerland continues to be excellent. We walk everywhere, or take a train. Ferrari’s regularly wind up right past our balcony. The kids sing unintelligible tunes in French. And occasionally watch Netflix in German. What else do you need?

Siblings

Tough duty

We have found the beer!

No meadow muffins to be found

Alcohol is a recurring theme here

They continue to provide entertainment. Some examples:

• When Maren wants to ride on my shoulders during an excursion, she claims it because her nose hurts.
• The director of their school is a British woman named Becky. As such, Milan is now referring to Sarah as “mum”, tells me her snack was “brilliant” and refers to her pants as “ponts”.
• Swiss etiquette suggests a formal approach to meeting new people. So when the kids say “BONJOUR!” to every stranger walking down the street, it seems to be quite startling.
• Riding the train is great for saving the planet but terrible for when even 1 out of 3 children isn’t feeling it. Nothing better than dragging Maren up onto a crowded train at 8 am while she whines about her kitty cat that got left behind.
• Milan ate a bowl of meatballs for breakfast. And yogurt with oatmeal. And toast. And fruit.
• The Parent Interrogating is completely out of hand. Milan quizzes me on addition, while Hendrick jabbers about the Smurfs and Maren gesticulates wildly about cats with a mouth full of food – all at the same time. It goes like this:

“What’s 8+6? Smurfs don’t aren’t the dragon? My kitty is named Larry? What’s 1 and 2 in the shape of an H plus 14? The Smurf dragon is not the sky? My kitty cat is stinky.”

And so on. Somehow all statements require an answer from me. It feels like having a 20 pound medicine ball bounced off my face repeatedly, with no apparent end in sight. It’s literally 50/50 whether I laugh or cry.

Beer

I recently purchased a used bicycle to get to and fro. I do use it to get to the pool and it’ll come in handy to get over to jiu jitsu. But the truth is I needed a bike to obtain beer. The supermarkets mainly stock old style German lagers. The new craft beers coming out of Switzerland and Europe are either in the bigger cities or in a rumored craft beer distributor that sells direct to the public “just up the road” from downtown Vevey.

When I Google mapped the location, it came up as a 25 minute bike ride. What I failed to note was the elevation change between My Location and the destination. We live 1 block from the lake and are surrounded by hills and mountains. So, unless you are tracing the lake perimeter, everything is uphill. In my excitement to discover beer, this fact slipped my mind.

The bike I purchased runs like a top even though it’s likely over 10 years old. It used to be painted purple judging by the chipping black paint. And comes equipped with 3 speeds, 1 hand brake and 1 coaster brake. As a young boy, we had coaster brakes on a tiny bike with red tires. I recall leaving red skid marks on the neighbor’s white concrete sidewalk with much glee. So I naturally assumed coaster brakes, as an adult, would be neat. Wrong.

I left our apartment with a raincoat on and began pedaling. In short order, I was going uphill and then more steeply uphill until I realized that I would be going straight up until I found my destination. Determined not to stop until I arrived (because I was afraid I wouldn’t start again), I made it. Peeling my raincoat off and un-suctioning helmet from head, I walked into the store looking like a drowned rat.

Walking around, I decided I had better stuff my backpack to the gills so as to avoid making this trip too frequently. Mission accomplished, I headed out and began sliding down the wet mountainside as my quads threatened to seize from the unabated coaster brake pressure. All the while my overloaded backpack slapping back and forth, threatening to shatter the precious cargo and put me on the ground at the same time. When I got home, I wondered whether my sweat-soaked, leg-cramped, dehydrated state was worth it. Then I unloaded my backpack and realized it was, OH YES, it was.

Tiffany and Howard will be visiting us in short order so I’m sure there will be more stories to come!

Can’t get enough of the flowers!

The beer festival – SALVATION!

Life in Switzerland continues to be excellent. We’re getting the food thing figured out so, uh…. Well, that’s really THE most important thing. Why you might ask?

Not a green screen in the background

We saw Julie Andrews flitting about in an apron but couldn’t quite get her in the shot

So much wine

The tomatoes and bread here are insane

Morning…

At breakfast, we feed our pack of starving children a bowl of yogurt with fruit and oats (which sounds like something you’d feed a horse) and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Then, depending on the tug-of-war between the parents’ level of morning befuddlement and the childrens’ level of demanding, eggs and meat. After this is consumed, we flat refuse to make more food despite their insistence of being hungry.

…Noon…

Lunch, thank the heavens, is served at school though we’re told they often politely ask for seconds. I wish they would politely ask at home. When they’re picked up from school, we bring a Tupperware that lately is stuffed with sliced fruit, hunks of Parmigiano Reggiano and oatmeal cranberry cookies. They wolf this “snack” down while we wait for the train (DO NOT put your fingers in the Tupperware at this stage) and then ask if I have anything else. I don’t. So they ask what’s for dinner. This is at 4 PM. I used to tell them what we would be having. It would go like this:

“Stewed balsamic chicken with rice!” I announce.

“EWW! We don’t like that”, they respond in unison. “Is it CHEESY rice?”

“Why yes OF COURSE it’s cheesy rice!” I lie in reply.

…and Night.

And on and on until I realized the better course of action was to feign ignorance on the dinner cart – “I don’t know what’s for dinner?” Now I can get them home without nuclear meltdown on the train platform. If dinner is satisfactory for the little carnivores, it becomes a contest of who did the best.

“I ate mine first!” one blurts out.

“It’s not a race.” comes my attempt at not failing as a parent.

“Did I eat the best Daddy?” is the next question.

“Well, uh, I don’t know” I lamely reply in another attempt at not creating a tableside pissing match between the 3 foot lunatics surrounding me.

Morel mushrooms as far as the eye can see

Castle hunting with the chickens

Siblings

An Alp?

Learning!

My dad tells the story of his dinner table growing up. There were 2 categories of people at this table. The Fast. And The Hungry. If you were Hungry, but not Fast, you didn’t eat. You needed to be both to survive. And his dad was the all caps version – FAST AND HUNGRY. “Are you going to eat that?” my grandfather would ask as he forked someone’s meal into his mouth.

As such, I can very confidently say Grandpa Smiley’s soul has been passed down to our children. If one gets up for a bathroom break or just to screw around, the other 2 will circle the unprotected plate. After some furtive glances, they’ll begin the inhalation process while their poor sibling is rolling around the floor making cat noises. No one gets out alive.

There are some other things that have been happening in Switzerland besides eating but I would say food dominates about 80% of a given day. I’ll fill in the other 20% next time around.