Yesterday we packed a lunch, said “Au revoir” to France and made the two-hour drive to Bern, Switzerland. Guten Tag, Bern! Finally, an opportunity to flex my German-speaking muscles, stun Jim and our companions with my incredible bilingual abilities, and make Frau Chappel, my high school German teacher, proud. In my rose-tinted memories my German was flawless, my vocabulary vast, and my pronunciation pure Germanic perfection. In reality, however, I found that I could only remember useless, text-book phrases. I was a bit depressed when I realized that a hip, smartly dressed Bern resident was probably not going to inquire on the method of transportation I used to go to school. (To which I would swiftly reply, “Ich gehe in die Schule mit dem Bus,” OR because I am such a stellar student, “Ich gehe in die Schule mit dem Auto.”) Gradually, though, as I eavesdropped on conversations, and read every sign I passed out loud, I began to recapture bits and pieces of my former bilingual prowess. It did not help that nearly every person we encountered spoke perfect English. They would initiate a conversation in an incomprehensible mixture of French and German, take one look at our befuddled faces, and begin again in almost accent-less English. The Swiss that we came across yesterday were so nice, so polite, and so accommodating that I found myself wishing, more than once, that we lived in Bern.
Our main objective in Bern was a trip to the zoo, but as I look back upon our outing, the zoo was really the least exciting part of the day. It served as a convenient spot to rendezvous with our friends who had also made the trip to Bern. There was also a lovely playground, a wooded picnic spot, and the requisite animals to entertain the toddler set. We saw an array of reptiles, some penguins (always a crowd pleaser), a moose, a snowy owl who hypnotized Maggie with her head spinning abilities, and some monkeys to delight our friend Eva, who was adorably clad in the sweetest monkey dress (making her, in my opinion, the cutest mammal at the zoo). As soon as the children grew sleepy, however, we plopped them in strollers, high-tailed it out of the zoo, and set off for a nap inducing stroll into Old Town.
Leaving the zoo, we walked along the Aare River, a gorgeous, fast-moving water way that snakes around the Old Town. For a little en route entertainment we watched crazy Bern youths jump off bridges into the chilly (think fresh Alpen snow melt) blue/green river. They wouldn’t have seemed so crazy were it not for the amazing speed at which the river was flowing. People would land in the water with a splash (and a yelp as their blood froze in their veins) and immediately go zooming down the river in the strong current. We were concerned, at first, as we watched these people practically body surfing down river, but a friendly Swiss man assuaged our fears by describing the net-like apparatus that gobbles up straggling swimmers and saves them from a close encounter with a damn. If a swimmer were unable to make it safely to one of the many staircases that are situated along the river bank, the net would surely save him.
The view of the old town from the River Aare. On the left is the last exit point for adventurous swimmers before they are swallowed up by the net.
We followed the winding waterway into Old Town, leaving the daring river surfers behind, and began to climb the hill up into the old city. It took my breath away, not the hill, though it was steep, but the cobblestone streets, the alpine detailing on the houses and apartments, the colorful flowers decorating window boxes. The beauty in Bern is truly in the details. We saw elegantly curved shutters, brilliantly painted awnings that stood out against gray stone buildings, circular windows that contrasted to the clean lines and symmetry of orderly apartment buildings. We rewarded ourselves with a beer in a street-side cafe after the hot hike up to the city, a dalliance that would have been infinitely more enjoyable had our napping children stayed asleep.
Fortified by our beers we set off to explore the city. I discovered that Bern was a mecca of cute kitchen stores, and because I am a firm believer that one can never have too many brightly colored bowls or adorably patterned ceramic pitchers, I found myself in shopping heaven. (When shopping for kitchen wares you are guaranteed to have a good time because, in my experience, a bright orange colander, or embroidered dish towel, can never, ever make you look fat.) Aside from being a treasure trove of overpriced decorative items, Bern was, more notably, the home of Albert Einstein when he wrote his Theory of Relativity. While this means very little to me, it is of course, very exciting for my physicist husband. We explored Albert’s apartment, which has been made into a museum, and spent a few minutes looking at pictures of the famous scientist, trying in vain to keep Maggie from lounging on the actual couch upon which Einstein once sat. (Which had a large sign with bold letters, imploring people in four different languages to please refrain from sitting on or touching the furniture, presumably, especially if they have sticky, cracker encrusted fingers.) We also paid reverence to the clock tower that Einstein stared at every day and that was the inspiration for his revolutionary ideas about time. Here is the part where I should probably elaborate on Einstein’s theories, but I won’t, because as I have unfortunately discovered over the years, marrying a physicist does not magically make physics less mystifying.
Present Physics Geek
Future Physics Geek
We had a wonderful time exploring the city. Bern on a beautiful, hot summer day is glorious place to spend time with friends. We capped off our urban walkabout with kababs in a small, grassy park with safe places for the girls to run, and gorgeous views of the river and city limits. I am glad that the zoo brought us to Bern, but equally happy that we ditched the caged animals in favor of cobblestone streets, cold wheat beer, a physics pilgrimage, and joyful wandering with good friends. There is still a great deal of Bern we did not have time to explore and I am already excited for our return trip. Maybe next time I will be brave enough to join the locals in floating down the Aare River, perhaps a few more Weissbiers and some floaties would be in order.
Most. Beautiful. House. Ever.
The weary traveler finds respite in the welcoming arms of a Swiss giant.
Emma’s love of all things medieval hit a crescendo today as we attended the Grandes Medievales d’Andilly, an enormous Medieval festival in a nearby village in France. Though I love a good castle, am fond of princesses, and think that knights are pretty cool, I am not a connoisseur of Medieval Festivals, and perhaps not a fan of the actual Middle Ages. Medieval times were dark, dirty, and smelly. Today as I tramped through fields, past sweaty men in chainmail I thought, why can’t somebody put on a Jane Austen Festival? Wouldn’t those men, heaving heavy swords around and sweating in their metal hats, rather be comfortably sitting in a drawing-room at some large country estate, watching an accomplished young woman play the piano forte? I know that I would enjoy a reenactment of the ball at Netherfield infinitely more than I enjoyed watching grown men pretend to sword fight each other in a hot and dusty sand pit.
Faun on stilts
Pardon my French 