This weekend went from being beyond wretched to absolutely wunderbar!
I ventured to another canton, Wallis. This adorable region is nestled in the southwest part of switzerland, is surrounded by sky-high snow-capped Alps and bleeds into italy (just in case you need your fix of gelato). Think Heidi land. I did a gig with a wind ensemble (blasorchester) in the town of Brig. The highlight of the drive there was going through a tunnel that slices through the Alps: in a car, on a train, in the pitch black. It beats the best Disney ride any day! Right before you drive your car onto the special train, the cars line up as they wait and they turn off their engines. Drivers get out, stretch their legs, take a smoke break, use the restrooms or buy a snack from the kiosk conveniently set up at the entrance. It was quite strange seeing people randomly lingering outside of their cars on a highway!
The head honchos organizing my gig were not the nicest and quite surreptitious and stubborn. They tried to cheat me of my money in the end and pay me less than they agreed to in my contract. When I expressed concern about hauling my harp back with me on the train, they insisted that this means of transportation would suffice and refused to find me a car instead. Always read the fine print! Then, they expected me to pay for my hotel, and other random costs accrued. I found it quite amusing that in this region, apero's (scmoozefests before concerts) involve drinking alcohol *before* playing...they offered beer and wine in the middle of each of our rehearsals. No wonder the orchestra's intonation was majorly on the low side!
Luckily my wonderful friend, Marielle, saved the day and turned around my whole experience.
Marielle is a flutist...we've done chamber music together. She was also in this upcoming concert, and offered for me to stay with her during the few days that I was there. She's from a neighboring pocket-sized village called St Niklaus. Wow, was I treated to a royal experience. We're talking the real deal. We wined and dined on a plethora of dairy products and I was initiated and inducted into the Swiss club. I felt like I was in a fairytale. We even had a soundtrack of her brother's phenomenal pan flute playing in the background. This was a true Märchenland.
Her cozy house and her parents house reminded me of Hansel and Gretel. Tucked in remote parts of the mountain, each house was decked with intricately carved wood, had such charm and flair and was incredibly gemütlich. They both were complete with rococo fireplaces, cuckoo clocks, birdhouses, vegetable gardens, outdoor brick ovens, and other cute bells and whistles. Her parents had a giant top notch slicer which shaves meat. They could use their kitchen as a butcher shop! During each meal, glorious exotic specialties from the20region leaped out at me from the table...homemade berg kase (alps cheese), homemade wild raspberry 'breemar" , strawberry (apaer) and apricot preserves, fresh bread, fresh milk, fresh butter, farmer's croc, wine from the region, absynthe, trockenfleisch (air dried meat,) walliser hauswurst (tiny special sausage)..The dialect is as creamy as the cheese. Marielle sometimes helps her dad and will get up at 6 in the morning to milk her baby cow...she then must milk it twelve hours later. Or she will spend hours tending to her vegetable garden. She's so cute, she adores animals so much that her cat has its very own bed!
Marielle told me that I passed my 'entrance exam' into swiss culture ! A main component consisted of cow involvement. After seeing cows live in action, she served me cow meat prepared in three different types of ways! I've never had fresher meat in my life. It tasted quite special. In one dish she cooked it with milk, wine, bouillon, curry powder, tomato paste, maggi, and it was accompanied by croquettes, and mini macaronis...Definitely woke my tastebuds!
Riding cows. Eating cows. Feeding cows. Cooking cows. Dreaming cows. When i sleep i bet I will count cows instead of sheep...
I met the Matterhorn this morning. It was the inspiration for the special shape of Toberlone! We took a train to Zermatt and poked around before my train back to Basel. This bite-sized village has breathtaking vie ws of the mountains.
And the big bang at the end of my journey was lugging my harp onto a train where I had to park it, tie a rope around it (no tumbling allowed), and sit on the floor to watch it. I am happy to report that no bandaids were needed!
1. I was at Randy Pausch's last lecture (in the sixth row) !
2. I had glasses, braces and headgear (the whole nine yards) but never chickenpox and never had to remove my wisdom teeth
3. My mom once found a journal from when i was little saying I wanted to live in Switzerland when I grow up
4. I was hypnotized to stop biting my nails (and it worked) !
5. My fingers and toes are double jointed
6. I'm chronically early
7.I've been to the homes of: Mozart, Monet, Renoir, Degas, Anne Frank, Gaudi, Benjamin Britten, Harriet Tubman...
8. My fave perfumes are: Bvlgari Rose, Escada Ibiza Hippie and Dolce and Gabbana Feminine
9. Was locked recently in a bathroom in a cinema and had to pull a string to get the help guy to come rescue me and another time was trapped in the refrigerated department of the Peruggia chocolate factory in Italy
10. I have incredibly flat feet and narrow heels
11. Went to the palio in siena, my neighborhood 'snail' team won and they poured wine in the fountains and kissed horses
12. If I had been a boy, I would've been named Jed.
16. I've been to the following factories: Fragonard Perfume factory, Gruyere, Ghirdelli, Peruggia, Nestle Cailler, Ben and Jerrys, Hersheys, Guinness, American Girl, Freitag, Lyon and Healy, Artcraft Blazers
17. I hate bacon, lox and croissants
18. Garrison Keiler once wished me well on the radio when I was sick in the Interlochen Infirmary
19. I always read the Vows in the sunday styles section of the new york times
20. My fave cafes: Javas (Rochester,), Mitte (Basel), Hawelka (Viena), Cafe du Monde (New Orleans)
21. I relate to Olive Hoover
22. Someone once dropped my harp and broke its neck
23. My legal last name is not Stern
24. I was so homesick during my very first week of summercamp that I didn't eat for a whole entire week
25. I touched Baryshnikov in a bookstore in Nyack, New York
Chopsticks are traditionally held in the right hand only, even by left-handed people. Although chopsticks may now be found in either hand, a few still consider left-handed chopstick use as improper etiquette. Some historians believe this rule of etiquette originated from a Chinese legend.
Rice, which would be difficult to eat with chopsticks if prepared using Western methods, is usually prepared in East Asia with more water, which leads to "clumping" of the rice conducive to eating with chopsticks. The sticky characteristics of the rice also depend on the cultivar of rice; the cultivar used in East Asian countries is usually japonica, which is a more naturally clumping kind of rice than indica, the rice used in most Western and South Asian countries.
*ETIQUETTE*
Chopsticks are not used to make noise, to draw attention, or to gesticulate. Playing with chopsticks is considered bad mannered and vulgar (just as playing with cutlery in a Western environment would be deemed crass). Chopsticks are not used to move bowls or plates. Chopsticks are not used to toy with one's food or with dishes in common. Chopsticks are not used to pierce food, save in rare instances. Exceptions include tearing larger items apart such as vegetables and kimchi. In informal use, small, difficult-to-pick-up items such as cherry tomatoes or fishballs may be stabbed, but this use is frowned upon by traditionalists. Chopsticks should not be left standing vertically in a bowl of rice or other food. Any stick-like object pointed upward resembles the incense sticks that some Asians use as offerings to deceased family members; certain funerary rites designate offerings of food to the dead using standing chopsticks.
I waltz through the classy European skies. The opulent jet moves in 3/4 time. Sways and twirls gracefully with the clouds. Meanwhile, I get wined and dined by Austrian Airlines. Any unexpected delays are quickly compensated by rewarding the passengers with chocolate bars and mini bottles of wine. I'm envelopped in red velvet curtains and my fingertips become gilded. My hair's in pin curlers. Chandeliers make my eyes glisten. I wear a ballgown.
I will spend the next 24 hours soaking up my senses in Vienna, the refined land of punch and parlors. And getting up close and personal with my map. Otherwise known as: the holy relic..
My feet become very familiar with the fussganger zones. My camera captures the classy sets.My bags become stuffed with brochures. I drink peach juice for breakfast. My mouth and mind are mad about those mean melanges.
And what exactly is a melange, you might say?
Melange : A small Espresso ("Kleiner Schwarzer") prepared with the double amount of water and mixed 1:1 with hot milk, served with milk foam. This is the coffee most similar to the Cappucino and probably the most popular among the Viennese varieties.
And now I shall introduce to you the colorful cast of Viennese café characters:
*Cafe Demel...
founded in 1786, chandeliers, marble, mirrors, luxurious, nestled along the viennese 'rodeo drive, exquisite sugar plum window displays, sacher surgeons hard at work slicing and assembling the coveted cakes. Tasty mélanges. Decked out patrons.
Glass cases inhabited by dainty cakes leaping out at you. Posh and particular.
*Cafe Hawelka...
This quirky family run gem was born in 1939. It's an intimate humble venue that attracts bohemians, serves as a refuge to locals and is probably a turnoff to typical tourists...Smoky, dimly lit, and living room-like, it's filled to the gills with mismatched furniture, and creaky wooden tables scrunched closely together...it's time to rewind in time,...walls are naked or dressed up with posters. a waiter in a tux waltzes around, catering to customers...He calls me Madam...there's no menu...the soundtrack consists of spoons chiming on porcelain and the hum of chatter in various languages. The place used to be frequented by Henry Miller, Arthur Miller and Andy Warhol. Go with the Melange and you'll be the happiest camper in the stadt. The feature presentation is presented on a shiny silver tray and accompanied by a glass of water and a bowl of sugar cubes. This is the real deal. People perch in striped velvet booths and their coats hang on curly wooden coatracks. Students congregate along with their instrument cases. Cigarette smoke wafts through the air and people puff clouds...I feel like Im in a secret underground social club...I'm attracted by the starkness. No frills. I feel like I'm in the backstage of a theater. I'm behind-the-scenes.
*Café Sacher…
Classic. Most famous for inventing the original Sacher Torte. Go just to say you’ve been there. Pretend you’re at the Plaza. Decadence. Divinity. Check your coat. Old school waiters dote on you and treat you royally. Observe the guests. Enjoy your impeccably presented slice of Sacher with a generous dollop of whipped cream. (to dilute the dryness).
Murakami's Birthday Stories are so scrumptious that I gobbled them up in a day!
I found an interview with one of the book's featured short story writers, Andrea Lee...she offers a fascinating perspective on cultural identity...
"Do you still feel like an ex-pat in Italy? How do you feel when you visit the states now that you've lived in abroad for so long?
AL: I have been living in Turin, Italy with my Italian husband for over a dozen years, but I don't feel like an expatriate. Nor do I feel in any way Italian. In Italy, though I feel completely at home in my family and my household, I feel like a mindful sojourner—someone with deep knowledge of and few illusions about the country around me. Affectionate, but always slightly detached, always foreign. The more I live in Italy, the more passionately American I feel, though in a very profound, not visible sense. Outwardly, I've taken on a protective coloration of the society around me—wearing the clothes, eating the food, adopting superficial customs—but inwardly I'm engaged in a continuous meditation on the curious mixture of libertarianism and Puritanism that makes up America, and how that contrasts with the burden of tradition in Europe. When I come=2 0back to the States—which I do at least four times a year—I feel the combination of blessed relief and critical detachment one feels when coming back from college to your childhood home. America seems gloriously big, rich, sprawling, extravagant, bursting with energy, creativity and convenience. At the same time, it seems oddly provincial—unaware of the world outside—naively moralistic, materialistic and race-obsessed, in a way that seems oddly frozen in time. I revel in America when I come home for my two months each summer, but I walk around feeling slightly foreign. All in all, I live between two worlds, which is not al all a bad thing for a writer. It enlarges and enriches your intelligence to know there are different realities."
And at one point she goes on to say that the ' short story can offer a sharp concentrated insight like a stiletto thrust!!!"