As I mentioned before, we recently returned from a delightful two weeks in Europe, visiting Janet in Switzerland and some friends who live in France. There were other friends we wanted to visit, but there's only so much you can do in two weeks and remain sane, so we'll just have to make a return trip.
It was nearly as perfect as such a vacation can be. We had a tense moment or two in Paris, for which I take much of the blame by not having planned the program sufficiently. It is very hard to leave the agenda open when you're trying to take into account the desires of three people, none of whom enjoys making decisions and each of whom will only be happy if the others are happy first! But we got over that, and the rest of the trip was idyllic. Much credit goes to our hosts in Switzerland and in France, and most especially to Janet. As in Japan, she was an excellent tour guide and rarely showed how worried she was that she hadn't done enough to prepare. It was enough! It was perfect! Now she can start worrying that our next trip can't possibly live up to the high standards set by this one....
As you can tell, I've been posting a lot of random stuff lately—mostly because it's much easier than buckling down to the job of editing pictures and preparing this trip journal. But here's a start, with more to follow. Be sure to check out Janet's version (this post and following), if you haven't already. And remember that the pictures are only previews that do not show the complete scene; click on the preview to get the full picture.Our trip began at the Orlando International Airport, and for a while it appeared as if that's where it was going to end, 15 days prematurely. We had nearly two hours to make our connection in Miami, but our flight from Orlando was delayed, and delayed again…by an hour and a half. You can't make up that kind of time in the 200-odd miles between Orlando and Miami. Desperate, I called Heather and Jon to ask them to pray, and to e-mail Janet, who was as anxious as we were that we not miss our flight.
Then came an announcement: Would two adults be willing to give up their seats and move to an emergency exit row? Porter leaped at the chance, because it meant moving from the back of the plane to the front, a critical advantage when you must race to make a connection. And race we did, arriving at the next gate before the boarding process had completed. Whew!
We flew American Airlines this time. If the service was not quite as delightful as on our Continental trip to Japan, it was good enough, and a much nicer (i.e. roomier) plane. Porter, airplane veteran that he is, slept well, but I only dozed. I tried to distract myself by listening to my Pimsleur and Hippo recordings, and I could tell I'd slept some when I awoke in the middle of the Louvre. (Rick Steves' audio tour of the Louvre was next on my mp3 player.)
We landed safely in London, at Heathrow. We had two hours to make our connecting flight, and it's a good thing. First a long walk from our arrival gate: up, down, all around, then outside the terminal, where we caught a bus that took us to Terminal 4 via Wales, I think. All that took us out of the secure area, so we had to repeat the screening process. For those of you who haven't flown through Heathrow lately, this involves stuffing one's purse into one's carry-on bag, because only one carry-on is allowed. (Or, as the British Aviation Authority so politely puts it, of course you can have a personal item in addition to your hand baggage, provided the one fits inside of the other.) Fortunately, we knew about the restriction ahead of time.
The next hurdle was checking in, and that went much better than it might have. For reasons unknown, we were not able to check in on the London-Basel flight ahead of time, and didn't even have seat numbers. The kindly security guard ushered us to a much shorter line (for problem people, I suppose) and we were able to correct the situation with no difficulty at the check-in counter. (They have a check-in counter on the far side of the security screening, so I suppose we weren't the only ones to have need of it.)
The flight to Basel was only half full and very pleasant. Soon we landed in the small and friendly Basel-Mulhouse airport, where we encountered a small glitch: the luggage carousel duly produced my suitcase, but Porter's never appeared. We joined perhaps a dozen others with problems, telling our tales of woe to a friendly, if busy, French lady who fortunately spoke English (and no doubt German as well). She determined that there was no point in waiting around any longer, as the suitcase was still in Miami, but assured us they would deliver it the next day. We gave her Janet's address, and fretted a little because they wouldn't leave it at the door, but required someone be home to receive it. We had plans to spend most of the day sightseeing, and didn't relish staying home all day for a suitcase that might (or might not) come at any hour. We had a lot to learn about the Swiss.
Suitcase or no suitcase, all troubles were swept away when we saw Janet! Here she is with Porter at the tourist information booth, which is half in France, and half in Switzerland. The airport is physically located in France, but part of the airport, and the road leading across the border, are legally Swiss.
As in Japan, Janet guided us onto a bus, but the resemblance ended there. The ride was more like 20 minutes than four hours, and we were not falling asleep. I'll have more to say about Swiss transportation elsewhere, but 8CF for an all-day tram/bus pass is a great deal when public transportation is so clean and convenient. We soon learned to say, "Zwei Tageskarten, bitte" each morning—but I'm getting ahead of myself.
Our first stop was home, for lunch of wonderful bread, cheese, fruit and läckerli, a Basel specialty cookie that reminds me of Christmas, and to meet Stephan and Anu, Janet's hosts, who most graciously allowed us to stay with them as well. Little Tamino was shy at first, but soon accepted us as another set of crazy adults who can't speak either German or Hindi. He's every bit as cute as Janet says he is.
Janet was determined to keep us busy so we wouldn't give in to jet lag, and she succeeded. We did a lot of walking around the center of Basel, and I have to say it was hard to remember that we were in a city, one of the largest in Switzerland. If it was not as clean as the Switzerland I remember from my visit in 1969, it was certainly the cleanest city I've been in since then. I found it quiet and beautiful; there were no hurried crowds and very little traffic—though that was partly because it was a Sunday.
Janet has covered our adventures of this day quite well, but here are a few more comments. We saw a lot for half a day! It helps that Basel is so far north it has a long day this time of year.
The Rein (Rhine) is beautiful, as was the walk across the Mittlere Rheinbrücke (Middle Bridge) from Kleinbasel to Grossbasel. Here we are with the statue of Helvetia, on the Kleinbasel side.
The Historical Museum at the Barfüsser Church is free on the first Sunday of the month, and we were not done exploring its wonders by the time it closed. Barfüsser means "barefoot," and the church was so named because of the barefoot Franciscan monks who were its first inhabitants in the 13th century.
I couldn't resist taking this picture of Chief Sitting Duck.
The Rathaus, or city hall, is beautifully decorated, and all those paintings are unprotected in the open air.
The Spalentor is an old city gate that was nearly torn down in the 19th century because the tram wouldn't fit through its arch. Cooler heads prevailed and the tram tracks now curve around the gate.
Here's what it looks like from inside the Spalentor if you're aiming an arrow at your enemies outside.
This delightful fountain is in at Theaterplatz, and was created by Basel-trained Jean Tinguely. Little did we know then that this would not be our last encounter with hitherto-unknown (to us) Tinguely. The only thing wrong with this fountain is that children are not allowed to play in it. I'm told, however, that children do, despite their law-abiding Swiss heritage. I like to think Tinguely, whose art often encouraged audience participation, would approve.
As delightful as all these sights were, for me the most special visit was to the Musik-Akademie der Stadt Basel and the Schola Cantorum Basiliensis, its early music division. One of the things I like best about traveling, whether across the world or merely to another city, is that I feel so much closer to those who live there if I have been there myself. It was very good to stand on the grounds where Janet has discovered so much that she loves!
We had hoped to meet Stephan and Anu for dinner, but that didn't work out, so we had to come up with a Plan B. What made that especially difficult was the fact that Switzerland does not have many non-smoking restaurants. We'd pick one out, walk in, and walk right out again, overcome by the smoke. Finally we found Zum Alten Stöckli, which had been recommended to us. It, too, allowed smoking, but for most of our meal we were the only customers in the small restaurant, so we were able to enjoy our meal. Röschti is a traditional Swiss potato dish and we all agreed that the variety made with cheese was our favorite.
Before collapsing into bed we hand-washed some clothes for Porter to wear the next day. Stephan lent him some clothes to sleep in, and I was able to provide a toothbrush, because after my experience with delayed luggage in Connecticut, I'd learned to pack one in my carry-on. We sank gratefully into bed, while Janet manfully stayed awake to report on our first day to her loyal blog readers.
Whew! I have all new respect for Janet's faithfulness in writing up her adventures. It takes a LONG time!
