All things must pass

In theory, the focus of this blog isn't "what I did while my parents were in town," but rather "let's make fun of Switzerland," so with that in mind, this will (for the most part) be my last post about my parents visit. Fortunately, it involves a good deal of Swiss oddity, so I think everyone will be happy.

Let's see, last we left off we were watching community musical theater in Rennes. After that, we drove down to the Loire Valley, checked out a troglodyte community, went to a couple of castles, and saw a huge swath of the French countryside. Our final stop in France was the former Roman town of Autun. If you are in Burgundy, I recommend stopping in Autun: it's a neat little town which still has it's original Roman wall, an awesome Romanesque cathedral, and ruins of an impressive Roman temple outside the walls. Although the most famous part of the cathedral -- the tympanum -- was closed off for restoration, you could still see the awesome capitals from the original columns in the front.

Fig. 1: This one goes out to all my Harry Potter peeps. Y'all know who you are.

Fig. 2: A capital from the cathedral in Autun depicting Cain slaying Abel. OK bible experts, I bet you didn't know that Cain did it by shooting Abel with an arrow! In the neck!!

Autun was our last night in France, so after nine nights en France, we finally headed back to the welcoming bosom of Switzerland. At this point, we only had a couple days before my parents had to head back to the states, and I felt as if they hadn't really had the true Swiss experience. As any real Swiss person could tell you, if you want to see the real Switzerland, you have to go to Valais.

The canton of Valais forms most of the southern border of Switzerland with France and Italy. The name comes from the French word vallée and, indeed, Valais consists largely of the impressively large Rhone River valley which carves its way through the Alps. Although there are a couple of fairly large town s on the valley floor, most of Valais consists of small towns tucked way up into small alpine valleys. Due to the weather, geography, and history, these villages tended to be quite isolated and the people of Valais are therefore known for their rugged, independent nature. Serge described it to me as "like the Texas of Switzerland," which I don't think is entirely true or false. At any rate, it is one of the most scenic parts of the whole (quite scenic) country and it is filled to the brim with traditional, Swissy things. The most traditional and most Swissy of which is, without a doubt, fighting cows.

Fighting, yes. They ram up against each other and butt horns until one gives. Cows, yes. The female of the species is more deadly than the male, or at least more into butting horns. Known as Le Combat des Reines (the combat of the queens), every year the cow herders of Valais bring their strongest Herens cows together to determine which will be crowned La Reine des Reines. Not at all bloody or cruel, like Spanish bullfighting, Swiss cowfighting is a much more family friendly event. The big matches are held in the spring, but during the summer, there are a series of "scrimmages" called Inalpes, in which roughly a hundred cows are put together in a large pen and allowed to challenge each other as they please. Although the top cows don't typically compete in these, they are organized so that cow herders can determine which of their queens might have some potential for the next year's big event. Fortunately for my parents, an inalpe was scheduled for their final weekend in Switzerland. So, we woke up early Saturday and piled in the Skoda for a trip to Valais.

Although I didn't admit it to my parents at the time, I really had no idea exactly where this event would be held. Since it is held on a small alpine pasture, high up in the mountains, it is hard to put the location into the GPS. The internet instructions just told you to aim for a small valley near Sion and then just follow the signs from there, so that's what we did. From Sion, you take a narrow, barely 1.5 lane road up the mountains to Nendaz. From Nendaz, we took a nearly 1 lane road to Siviez, where we finally saw a sign for the Inalpe, which would be at the alpage of Tortin. From Siviez to Tortin, it was a narrow, rocky road/path up the mountains. Here is a picture of one of the nicer parts of the road, near the top:

Fig. 3: Not pictured: lots of cars parked directly on the road, traffic going in both directions. Nearly everyone else had four-wheel drive. I had a Skoda.

This picture really doesn't do it justice, but at least you get an idea of how wide it was. Normally, a road like this wouldn't have been too much of a problem for the mighty Skoda, but of course things are never that easy. As there was no real parking lot anywhere, most people just decided to leave their cars halfway on the road wherever they found a convenient spot. This meant that at many points, you had only about half a lane to drive on and your outside wheel would be going along big rocks, creek banks, mud, etc. In a couple of really idiotic attempts to park the car on the side of the road, I manage to get one (maybe two) wheels up into the air and it was only my Steve-McQueen-esque driving skills that allowed me to escape unscathed. Driving back down the mountain was even worse, as by that point there was a considerable amount of traffic going in both directions which meant a lot of stopping and backing uphill to let someone pass. Frequently, we would have to fold our rear-view mirrors in so that someone could sneak by us. I think the whole experience took about two years off of each of my parents lives in grief. Sorry, Mom and Dad.

As bad as the drive there and back was, I'm sure my parents would agree that it was worth it for the sheer thrill of seeing the majestic beauty that is the Valaisian fighting cow. Just look at their faces!

Fig. 4: He may not look all that happy, but deep down he's thrilled to be so close to such greatness.

Fig. 5: As it was almost 80 degrees at sea level, I assured my Mom that she would only need a light coat. Unfortunately, it was a bit chillier at altitude than I predicted. Nanook, here, survived the cold admirably.

In our final days, I also took the parents to some much more conventionally Swiss things. Here's me and Dad in front of the famous "lion" statue in Lucerne, the touristing capital of Switzerland.

Fig. 6: Me and Dad in front of the famous "dying lion" sculpture in Lucerne. I don't know when it happened, but sometime a few years ago my Dad turned into a teenage Asian boy and refuses to smile for pictures. Way to look rough, Dad.

And, of course, no trip to Switzerland is complete without a visit to the man.

Fig. 7: I want to start a folk story/urban legend saying that unless you take your picture with Freddie Mercury, you'll be doomed to never see Switzerland again. Kinda like the three coins in the fountain thing, but Freddie-Mercury-based.

That's all for now. Coming soon: who knows! I'll post something when I get the urge. Odds are good that it won't be parent-related (sorry Mom and Dad).

Mont Saint Michel, Druids, and Community Theater

After leaving Paris, we headed north toward Normandy and Brittany. As none of us had ever been, we decided that our first big stop should be the mystical Mont Saint Michel. As it is one of the most touristed destinations in France, we decided to book a hotel room on the opposite side of its famous bay. Our first view, therefore, was quite impressive:

Fig. 1: "A shoreless bay stretched before me, as far as eye could see: it lay between opposing coasts that vanished in distant mist; and in the midst of this vast tawny bay, under a gleaming golden sky, a strange hill, somber and peaked, thrust up from the sands at its feet. The sun had just sunk, and on a horizon still riotous with color was etched the outline of this fantastic rock that bore on its summit a fantastic monument." -- Guy de Maupassant, "The Horla".

As awesome as it looks from across the bay, Mont Saint Michel is even more impressive from close up.

Fig. 2: The dynamic duo, almost totally occluding the entirety of Mont Saint Michel.

As mentioned above, Mont Saint Michel is basically a huge rock that sits on a very large and flat bay. The bay is so flat that it has some of the biggest tides in Europe: when the tide is out, all you can see is sand. Slowly, the tide moves in and the entire bay (along with some of the parking lot, if the moon is right) is submerged. Here are some "before" and "after" pictures taken in roughly the same direction, about an hour or so apart.

Fig. 3: Just before high tide.

Fig. 4: Just after high tide, looking even further inland.

As there are tons and tons of tourists, there are of course tons of gift shops and snack shops, many of which were at least a little bit amusing (to me). For example, if you were feeling a little bit peckish, why not try the franco-american monstrosity that is the "double hot-dog fromage"?

Fig. 5: Traditional French cuisine meeting tourist demands. It's the new new economy.

Or, if you were looking for a gift, you could try the "Fairy of the Shores" or, depending on how you translate the word grève, the "Fairy of the Labor Strikes"

Fig. 6: I think the "Strike Fairy" would be a good thing to get French kids to believe in. When they ask difficult questions like, "Why do the trains stop running roughly every month?" you can just tell them that it's the magical Strike Fairy working her mischief!

After Mont Saint Michel, we took a look at our guidebooks and decided that it might be fun to check out the small town of Bécherel. a so-called "Village of Books." Basically, it's a small town that has way more used-book stores than it needs and a weekly book fair that draws sellers from all the nearby communities as well. As my mom is a big book fan, we figured it would be a decent place to check out, at least for an afternoon.

We typed the name into our handy Garmin GPS (on loan from Warren and Nancy) and ... it came up with two separate entries. Both were in the same region of France, and according to the GPS, both were roughly the same distance and direction from our current location. So, I figured that either of the two would work and happily started following directions. After many confusing, seemingly wrong turns, a little bit of backtracking, and many small, unmarked roads, we finally reached "Bécherel" -- at least according to the GPS.

Fig. 7: Lively downton Bécherel, at least according to the Garmin GPS. Yes, that's a dirt road. We went about 100 ft further, then it became more of a dirt foot path, at which point we turned around.

After choosing the other Bécherel, we finally made it to our destination. Apparently, the whole "book village" craze was sooo 2004 (check out the url of the link above) and since then, the town had suffered some bad times. Half the shops had "for sale" signs on them, the streets were absolutely deserted, and the few bookshops that were left were depressingly desperate for business. There might as well have been a sign, "Site of a future ghost town!" The one positive thing that came out of the trip, though, was that we saw this advertisement:

Fig. 8: I saw this advertisement and thought, "How unusual!" My parents saw it and said, "That looks great! Let's go!"

After leaving Bécherel, we had a tough time finding accommodations. Although we had a car, and thus could stay pretty much wherever we wanted, we found that most of the nearby places listed in the book were already full. We finally ended up staying in a small converted farm, southeast of Rennes, the regional capital. The hotel was nice enough, but the location turned out to be (not by accident, I note) incredible.

The hotel was located right next to the neolithic monument, La Roche aux Fées. La Roche aux Fées is the longest "covered alley" in France -- the massive rocks form an enclosed room nearly 20 meters long. Built roughly 2000-3000 years ago, La Roche aux Fées is a mystery on par with Stonehenge, yet with about one millionth the tourist attraction. You can walk right up to the rocks, climb on them, whatever, and the only sign of other tourists is a small information booth that is only occupied on weekends and when school field trips are present. I would say that it is one of the more impressive things that I've ever seen in my life, given its size, age, and general weirdness.

Fig. 9: If you think you are in love with someone, the two of you are supposed to start at opposite ends of the alley and count the number of rocks separately. If you both get the same number, then you know it's true love.

Fig. 10: The rocks were quarried nearly 5 km away and dragged across hill and dale to this location. Think about that: It's insane!

At this point, I had no choice but to admit that it was indeed possible to go back to Rennes and find the Institut Franco-American, and thus attend the "Medley of Musicals" advertised earlier. Although I was not particularly keen on the whole idea, my parents seemed really excited about the concept of seeing French people singing American musicals. We didn't really have any idea how professional the operation was going to be until we arrived at the aforementioned Institut and saw that the free performance would be given in an auditorium the size of an elementary school classroom. Things looked grim.

Clearly, this would not just be "musical theater" but rather "community musical theater." I told my parents to expect something out of "Waiting for Guffman" -- full of enthusiasm, but not much talent. As we started talking about "Waiting for Guffman" and bemusedly checking out the other audience members as they wandered in -- we were the only people there who weren't related to one of the performers -- all of a sudden, my Mom says, "Oh my goodness. There's Corky."

Just as the community theater troupe of Guffman was lead by the valiant Corky St Clair, our musical group had their own overly flamboyant leader. It was tough to get a good picture of him, but I hope that this captures just a fraction of his coolness.

Fig. 11: Our very own Corky St Clair, center, in black. He doesn't look too unusual from this view, but that's because you can't see his tight, tight leather pants. For real.

The singers themselves were not bad at all and performed with heart and enthusiasm. Occasionally, their lack of familiarity with the English language would show through, but for the most part they did a great job singing in a foreign language. And, of course, their rendition of "Mamma Mia" was not too bad either.

Fig. 12: Our fearless singers donned sparkly headbands for Mamma Mia. And, although it's not saying much, they were significantly better than the Motion Picture cast.

Next update: last pics with the parents. All I have to say is: Combat des reines!

2 Parents 2 Paris

After hanging around Switzerland for a couple days, I decided that it was time to hit the road. As we have some friends of the family in Paris, that was our first destination. First, though, a couple general notes about driving in general.

We rented a car from Europcar for about a week and a half, and although I requested a VW Golf (I thought it would be about the right size), what we got was oh so much more. Imagine, if you will, the ultimate driving machine -- the ultimate conduit between driver and road. Now, make it a station wagon. And have it built in the Czech Republic. Behold: the mighty Skoda.

Fig. 1: The Skoda keeps a cat cool on a hot summer day. What can't a Skoda do?

Power windows, power doors, power mirrors, an adjustable armrest, two (!) glove compartments, and a bucketful of class made this car a pleasure to drive for the nearly 3000 km that I put on it in 11 days. Really, my only complaint was that it had a diesel engine. On the one hand, this was pretty cool as it was a turbo diesel engine with a reasonable amount of pick-up and a PGS-estimated 45 mpg. On the other hand, it meant that we had to find diesel in France. Oddly enough, in Switzerland, the word for "diesel" is "diesel." In France, though, diesel is one of those verboten words that the Acadamie Francaise has made an attempt to expunge from popular use. Thus, you occasionally see signs for diesel or similarly super-diesel or somesuch variant, but much more common is gazole. It took me a little while to figure this one out. Of course, in a way that can only be described as extremely French, there is also gas-oil and gasoil. As the prices for these were generally significantly cheaper than diesel or gazole, I presumed that they were primarily for farm-equipment use. Still, Wikipedia seems to think they are the same thing. But, I digress.

Paris is quite a place. Lots of stuff to see, lots to do. Plenty of cafes, museums, buildings, etc. Although our primary purpose in visiting was to see some friends, we did manage to hit a few of the main sites. First, the Louvre.

Fig. 2: Just outside the Louvre is this awesome sculpture by Roy Lichtenstein. Lichtenstein is one of my favorite artists, and sometimes it's difficult to explain why, but in this case, come on! Just look at it! It rules!

Fig. 3: The Mona Lisa, tactfully displayed in a totally not ridiculous room which was donated by Nippon TV. Who says you can't buy good taste?

Fig. 4: Thunder, Thunder, Thundercats! Hooooooooo!

We also checked out the official Paris Underground tour, which wasn't too bad either. I should note here that there is a very extensive system of caves and tunnels underneath Paris and that the official tour only covers a small part, which includes the public Ossuary. Our friends Laurent and Carole (featured later in this very same post) have been deep into the unofficial parts which sounded way cooler. Maybe next time.

Fig. 5: Stop! This is the empire of death! Pretty cool.

Fig. 6: Basically, the cemeteries in Paris were overflowing and they had to do something with the bodies. So, they dug up the bones, hauled them off in carts in the middle of the night, and artfully stacked them in amusing patterns in the newly christened Public Ossuary. There were a ridiculous number of bones.

Our main reason for visiting Paris was to meet up with some friends of my parents. Olivier knew my father in graduate school back in the day, and he and his wife Sophie live just outside of Paris. After rotting in a Hotel in Paris for a couple of nights, they were kind enough to let us stay with them for our last couple days in town.

Fig. 7: Dad, Olivier, and Sophie chilling.

Through some sort of complicated relationship, Olivier and Sophie know Laurent and Carole, who by a weird coincidence ended up in San Diego for a couple of years and then moved back to Paris. They often came over to our place in San Diego for parties and dinners to it was nice to visit them on their home turf enjoy their hospitality.

Fig. 8: Carole, Laurent. One of these people is a well-respected biological researcher. The other one really enjoyed surfing at La Jolla.

Fig. 9: A small part of Laurent's amazing collection of succulents and cacti.

Finally, I just want to throw in a couple of pictures of the beautiful Parc de Sceaux, which is right around the corner from Olivier and Sophie's house in Sceaux, a suburb of Paris. I just want everyone to see how ridiculously large and grandiose this is. I remind you that this is in the suburbs of Paris and isn't even considered that impressive compared to all the other royal parks and gardens in the area.

Fig. 10: Like 10% of the Parc de Sceaux. It is that huge.

Fig. 11: Mom, Sophie, and Dad enjoy a stroll down one of the many manicured pathways in the gorgeous Parc de Sceaux.

That's it for Paris. Next update: Brittany (with druids)

Meet the Parents, Part 1: Switzerland

As mentioned before, the 'rents were in town for about three weeks (although it certainly felt like longer), and as we did so much traveling, I think I have enough photos and such that I can milk it for at least a couple of blog updates. First up: our time in Switzerland!

Fig. 1: From left to right: Dad, Mom. You can tell it's early in their visit as both are still smiling.

After arriving Thursday afternoon, my parents spent Friday and Saturday largely hanging around Lausanne and recovering from jet lag. Sunday, we took the train out to Bern, which was nice but not particularly exciting. Although I have a bunch of pictures of the city, well, unfortunately none of them are particularly exciting either. As I was too dumb to bring a towel or swimsuit, I did not get to partake in that highlight of any Berne trip, swimming in the Aare river. Maybe next time.

Monday, we did something that I've been meaning to do for a very long time: take a ride on the Train du Chocolat!

Fig. 2: Le train du chocolat!

The Chocolate Train is an small, old-fashioned narrow gauge train that takes tourists on a full-day excursion of cheese and chocolate.

Fig. 3: Vintage, belle-epoque wagons added to the charm of the trip. Unfortunately, the lack of air-conditioning added to the discomfort of the trip as well.

Leaving from nearby Montreux at 9:25 AM, the chocolate train winds its way up the Vaudoises pre-alpes into the hills of Fribourg. The first stop is in the (modern) town of Gruyère for a visit to a model cheese factory (La maison du Gruyère), which although largely aimed at tour groups of children was still fairly interesting. They give the statistic about how much grass and water it takes to produce one kilo of cheese, and although I can't remember them exactly, I assure you it is more than you would ever guess. Let's just put it this way: cows are just not very efficient cheesemakers. Oh well.

From the modern town, a very short shuttle ride takes you up the hill to the ancient village of Gruyère. Pretty much the closest thing to an all-tourist affair that I've ever seen in Switzerland (it sort of reminded me of San Gimignano or one of those other Tuscan towns that doubles its population whenever a large bus pulls up), Gruyère is your typical hilltop castle town.

Fig. 4: Main street, Gruyère. Off in the distance is Le Moleson, fairly impressive and badass mountain in its own right.

Besides cheese, Gruyere is also famous for producing a special, extra-unhealthy cream, called (obviously enough) crème de gruyère. Usually used for extremely heavy desserts, I was a little surprised when it arrived with the espresso I had after lunch. It was so thick that you couldn't pour it -- it had to be scooped out with a spoon.

Fig. 5: Espresso with real crème de gruyère. Not pictured: adorable little wooden defibrillator.

Lots of other cool things in Gruyères:

Fig. 6: The Hostellerie St. Georges. Where does one find such a cool sign? That would look perfect in my apartment.

Gruyere is also the home of the H.R. Giger Museum. Born in Chur, Switzerland, Giger is a visual effects artist, painter, sculptor, etc., best known for his work as art director of the Alien movies. Although it seems a little bit out of place in the middle of a quaint, quasi-medieval town, the museum is quite popular. We didn't have any time for a visit (the chocolate train stops for no one), but I did manage to get some pictures of the artwork outside.

Fig. 7: Giger's Wikipedia page tells me that this particular piece of art is called "Birthing Machine."

After a bit more travel time, the chocolate train finally arrives in beautiful Broc, Switzerland, home of the Cailler chocolate factory. Cailler wass the inventor of milk chocolate (amongst other innovations) and the factory has been in continous operation since 1911 (it became part of Nestle in 1929). The factory itself is not particularly scenic, but inside ...

Fig. 8: Terrie and the Chocolate Factory.

After an interminable ten minute tour, you are finally let loose in the "sampling room." Every single chocolate the Cailler makes (maybe around 30 different kinds?) is available to taste, thus finally putting the "chocolate" in "chocolate train." Admittedly, I found it hard to really enjoy the chocolate after about piece number 15, but a second wind allowed me to push through almost to the end. In what can only be described as a brilliant marketing strategy, the next stop is the Cailler gift shop, which sells everything you just enjoyed for prices slightly below what you would expect to pay at the supermarket. Not a bad deal.

After a long, sun-drenched, and un-air-conditioned ride, the chocolate train pulls into Montreux around 6:00 PM. All in all, it was a pretty fun activity, but I think it could be improved. The train really is interminably slow (it frequently stops to allow other trains to pass, makes numerous detours and direction changes, and generally doesn't operate under the same efficient operating conditions of the rest of the Swiss train system), and the whole pace of the day means that you're rushed some times and bored at other times. Fortunately, though, all of the individual activities that make up the trip -- the cheese factory, the town of Gruyère, the Cailler factory -- can be enjoyed independently of the chocolate train. I think that future visitors to the Hotel San Giorgio might look forward to whatever portions of this trip strikes their fancy without worrying about slogging through the things they might not enjoy so much. We aim to please.

Next update: France!