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hannahgrunberg-blog · 6 years ago

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Chapter 3: Meeting the Pevensies

Everyone knew that Hitler was gearing towards France, and the war was escalating to the point where things weren't looking so well for Hannah. There was a constant aroma of fear that took over. The news of possible bombings from Germany certainly distracted her. The fact that her own country was now threatening the country she learned to love gave her mixed feelings. This wasn’t her Deutschland. Not the one she grew up in, at least.

Hannah stared down at her dinner, picking the food with her fork. A single fried egg lay on her plate, waiting to be eaten. The yolk dripped down slowly, like lava from a volcano. However, a volcano would’ve been more interesting to look at. Rationing, as a person with a big appetite, was something Hannah did not like. It was introduced as a way to save food, due to the war going on.

“Child, stop daydreaming,” Ms. Macready snapped. “If the yolk drips I’ll have you clean the entire dining room floor before you go to bed.”

Her voice snapped Hannah back into reality. She picked a bite with her fork, not wanting to make the Macready mad. A cool breeze of wind swept through the floor, causing goose bumps to appear on her legs.

The Professor shivered, “Looks like I didn’t close the windows.”

Before he was able to get up, Ms. Macready panicked and rushed to him, convincing the man to sit back down. “No, allow me. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Ms. Macready, I’m not that old,” the Professor joked, winking at Hannah. She liked his humor. The way he talked about himself in a sarcastic demeanor always lightened the mood. The door was shut with a loud slam, nearly causing the lamp to shatter.

"I wasn't joking," Ms. Macready said, in a softer tone. Hannah rolled her eyes at the way she talked towards the Professor, when she always was a bit harsher with her. "When it comes to you and that history novel you're writing, you're locked in that room for hours. Look at what it's doing to your health."

The Professor sighed, admitting his defeat. Hannah spent her days wandering alone, talking to herself and reading the books in the library. Meanwhile, the Professor was crammed in a room all by himself. She enjoyed the fresh air, kicking her football around like she used to when she played with her friends back in Berlin. This made her feel selfish. Hannah never thought of the Professor's health, and he was the man who cared for her all this time.

"My Father was a doctor," Hannah stopped to correct herself, "A dentist, but he still gave great advice about everything, even though he worked with teeth."

The Professor cocked his eyebrow, leaning in to hear her. His expression looked like an exaggerated face of the "Ponderer."

"Would you like to play some football with me tomorrow?" Hannah asked. "Not sure if there'll be bad weather though."

"These legs don't work like they used to," the Professor patted them for emphasis.

"It would be good for you," Ms. Macready agreed.

"Now if you two are agreeing at something," the Professor said, smiling. "Then I guess football it is."

The three of them shared a laugh. Before Hannah knew it, she was in her blue night gown, her hair bushy and down.

As Hannah slept soundly, German bombers flew silently. They blended in with the dark night. In just a few moments, what would be known as the Blitz would begin. When a bomb fell, the ground shook. Then came the screams. The cities of England woke with a display of murderous fireworks, while the peaceful countryside was greeted with the bright, morning sun.

It was clear that Hannah's greatest fear came true that night, but she wouldn't know until morning. She was greeted with a golden ray of sunshine piercing through her window. The leaves that were visible from the outside were bright green, and trimmed grass was perfect for running on. After putting on a light shirt and shorts, she hurried down the stairs for breakfast.

"Good morning Professor," she greeted him, cheerfully. "Did you rest well?"

Her question was ignored. Hannah looked closely as she approached the dining room. The Professor was studying a paper with a serious expression on his face. She stopped in her tracks, slowly approaching him.

"Professor?" she repeated.

"Good morning, Hannah," the Professor replied. "There's a piece of bread and some jam left for you."

"You seem like you're in a rush," Hannah said. "Is everything alright?"

"I'm afraid not, Hannah," the Professor said, quietly.

Hannah raised an eyebrow. She listened to him intently as she spread some cherry jam on her bread.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"The city was attacked last night. German bombers," he explained.

Hannah shivered. This was all too familiar. She couldn't believe what she heard. Was this really happening? Her stomach started to hurt. Slowly, she put her sticky piece of bread on the plate.

"Does it look like Germany is going to win the war?" Hannah asked, her voice shaking.

"You never know how the tables can be turned when it comes to war," the Professor stated.

He explained how the Government placed an ad about the bombing. It asked for those with large homes in the countryside to consider hosting children for safety, in case there were more attacks.

"At least you won't be so lonely anymore," the Professor said. "You'll have company. I don't know how long they'll have to stay. Attacks could go on for days, weeks! The children are nearly in the same position as yours. I expect you'll get along with them quite nicely."

"And you'll also have to help tidy the house for the guests," Ms. Macready said, firmly.

"So that means I won't get to play football with you, doesn't it?" Hannah asked.

The Professor shook her hand a bit to comfort her, looking at her with his gentle eyes. "There will be other children to play football with."

The news about German bombers attacking the English city was something that Hannah never expected would happen. She was sent here to be safe. England was supposed to be safe. Now, it was just as vulnerable as any other European country.

After Hannah finished breakfast, Ms. Macready had given Hannah a list of more chores for the day before the four siblings arrived. Hannah rushed to do them with excitement. For the first time in years, she wouldn't feel alone. Even if she was in a large house with so many things to do, finding something to entertain herself shouldn't have been a hard task. Most of the activities, such as the games and sports equipment, would've been used to play with others. They were stored in dusty cabinets and closets, not touched in years. The Professor was so busy that he never had time to play with her. On the other hand, the Macready wouldn't have been interested.

The radio rung throughout the manor. While Hannah was cleaning, the voice of the wireless accompanied the sounds of the mop-sweeping and dish-washing. "In just the early month of September, children are being evacuated to safer parts of the country due to the German bombers' unexpected attack." This was followed by some classical music played, the soft sounds calming the nervous atmosphere.

Hannah imagined what it must've been like for the children to find out that they had to leave their mother behind. This led her to think about the rage and frustration she experienced. Her mother said it was for her well-being. "A mother's greatest blessing is knowing that her child will be safe," were the exact words spoken. "Please give me that blessing, Liebling."

Blessings were very important to her mother. She strongly believed that a blessing would protect her. It was linked to the blessing being a ritual of the Jewish faith. Her mother believed that if you were blessed, then by God's Will, you would be protected. But where was God at this moment? Where was He when He was needed most?

"I need a sign," Hannah muttered to herself. "If you're real, then give me a distraction."

That distraction came in the form of the children. Hannah heard about how their father was fighting in the army. They didn't know if they were going to see him again. That feeling was one she had known for a long time.

The next day, the Manor was ready for the children's arrival. There were two extra beds placed next to Hannah's for the two girls. One was no older than sixteen, and the youngest already turned eight. Hannah wasn't going to be alone in this room anymore.

There was a sharp knock from the door. Hannah quickly got up from her bed and got dressed. She had to help Ms. Macready with the horse and get it ready for the carriage.

The horse that Ms. Macready owned was a beautiful white horse with a silver mane that looked like it could've been a unicorn if it had a horn. One thing that the two of them had in common was their fascination with the creatures. Although Hannah didn't admit it, but whenever Ms. Macready flared her nose, it grew so wide that it reminded her of a horse's nostrils. If there was one thing that the woman loved the most, it was her horse she named Adam.

The air surrounding the small barn was damp and had a nasty stench. Scraping the poop wasn’t a task Hannah enjoyed to do. She had to cover herself up to makes sure nothing got stuck onto her skin. Ms. Macready even looked sweaty by the time they cleared all the dirt.

"It looked like Adam has been eating a lot," Ms. Macready chuckled, turning to the horse. "You're getting a bit fat, aren't you?"

Watching how she cared for the horse made Hannah realize that there was more to The Macready, the supposedly evil wicked witch of the west. There was a softer side in her. The way her eyes gleamed when she looked at Adam and rubbed his back.

"I always thought he could've been a charming unicorn," Hannah laughed.

"A beauty, isn't he?" Ms. Macready smiled. "I used to take riding lessons, and when I was eighteen, my father gave Adam as a gift. Now he's getting a bit old, like myself."

"You surely don't look it," Hannah said, sincerely. "You don't look past forty!"

Ms. Macready chuckled. Her voice, for once, sounded sweet and genuine. She couldn't believe that she had a nice conversation that didn't end with her telling to do a chore. That made her think, perhaps The Wizard of Oz would've ended differently if Dorothy tried to be friends with the Witch.

"To be honest, Hannah," Ms. Macready said. "This was a nice trip."

"I always thought you didn't like anything," Hannah admitted. "It always looked like you never liked me."

"Well, now you saw a different side of me," Ms. Macready replied. "You shouldn't be so quick to judge someone," she paused to adjust the reigns on Adam, "Besides, it's best to make friends than enemies, especially in a time like this."

Ms. Macready was already in the carriage. Hannah untied the dirty wrapper that was over her formal clothes. She wore a blue dress that went down to her knees with no sleeves. Her hair was tied in a braid due to the hot weather, two curls dangled on the side. Hannah sat straight in the carriage, watching the countryside whizz past her. She even saw some cattle and bigger farms; much bigger than the Professor's. The big patches of green grass sparkled in the sunlight. Even though it was beautiful, it quickly became a boring sight after what seemed like hours of traveling.

Professor Kirke must've written a whole novel by now, Hannah thought. Adam moved quickly, but his steps were quite heavy and it took some force for him to push the wooden carriage. As the time flew by, Hannah was more anxious about meeting the children. She wondered if they really would've been a pleasant lot. Maybe there was even a boy or girl her age? There weren't many twelve year old children that lived near the Manor.

It looked like she was going to get her answer soon, however. Hannah spotted a few metal patches not to far off.

"The train tracks!" she cried. "We're nearly there! Come on, Adam! You could do it, we're just a few more feet away!"

The horse neighed loudly, as if he was answering to her. It really did look like he was moving faster. He picked up his head and neck, pushing the carriage faster.

Soon Hannah approached a familiar site. Her head slightly spun a bit, making her feel nostalgic. Adam started to slow down when Ms. Macready stopped flicking her reigns. In front of her, was the same station that the two of them used to get to the Manor from Liverpool two years ago. Hannah blinked at the four faces in front of her. They were the only people there. Tags were clipped onto their clothing. Hannah looked down, touching the left side of her coat. She remembered wearing one herself.

"Small favors," Ms. Macready muttered to herself.

The horse came to a stop, allowing Hannah to look closer at the faces. The eldest boy had blonde hair and blue eyes; the picture perfect Aryan. His hand wrapped around the youngest sister protectively. She lowered her head in submission, looking no older than eight. There was a boy with dark hair and eyes who had a moody expression. Hannah noticed the eldest sister's beauty right away, but she looked quite scary when she started to scold her younger brother.

"Ms. Macready?" the eldest boy spoke up.

"I'm afraid so," she replied, looking at there suitcases. "Is this is it, then? Haven't you brought anything else?"

"No m'am," the eldest boy said, politely. "It's just us."

Ms. Macready scoffed to herself. "Small favors."

Hannah stood up to to help the children. She couldn't help but smile as they looked at her with raised eyebrows.

"My name is Hannah," she introduced herself. "I've been staying with Professor Kirke for a long time."

"Nice to meet you Hannah," the eldest boy said, letting his hand out to shake after he fit his luggage into the carriage. "I'm Peter Pevensie."

The eldest girl pushed her suitcase in gently. "That's Susan," he continued.

The little girl with the short hair that reached her shoulders eagerly approached Hannah, "I'm Lucy!"

"And-" Peter started.

"I'm Edmund," the dark haired boy finished for him, glaring at his older brother. "I can introduce myself, and why do you sound so weird?"

Hannah stepped back a bit, startled by his comment.

"Ed!" Peter scolded.

Hannah knew right from the start that she had to be wary of the boy. He seemed to be quite rude and she felt like he didn't want to be bothered. She tried to look into the boy's dark eyes one more time, letting out her hand. Once again, Hannah was rejected.

It must've been hard for the family to leave their home because of the war. She certainly empathized with them. That boy was probably hit hard because of his Father.

The ride back to the Manor seemed to be quicker than the ride to the train station. Hannah got along with the eldest children quite nicely. The youngest was friendly and sweet, like a little sister Hannah always wanted. Edmund was just sulking in his seat. Hannah didn't want to bother with him yet.

"Come on. Good boy, come on!" Ms. Macready praised the horse. Slowly, Adam pulled closer and closer the Manor.

The way they reacted to the Manor made Hannah giggle. They had the same wide eyes and smiles, but Edmund didn't look so pleased.

"It looks like a castle!" Lucy exclaimed.

"It does look exquisite," Susan agreed.

Hannah raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

"How do you not know what that means?" Edmund piped up from the back cart.

"I think the question is, if you know what it means," Peter teased.

"Of course I do," Edmund answered back.

The five of them entered the Manor. Hannah couldn't stop watching the Pevensies as their jaws dropped. It was a common reaction; she watched tour guests gasp at the site of the artifacts, the paintings, and sculptures. Ms. Macready approached them quite rapidly, interrupting the silence.

"There will be no shouting!" she said. Hannah giggled softly, already knowing what else she was going to say. She stood in her best posture, mouthing each and every word. "Or running! No improper use of the dumbwaiter!" Lucy smiled at Hannah when she copied her movements, "No-!"

Hannah nearly jumped as Ms. Macready's voice echoed through the walls. She turned to see Susan, her eyes gleaming with fascination at a sculpture. Susan paused in her tracks, slowly lowering her hand.,

"Touching of historical artifacts!" the woman continued. "And above all," she turned to face the children, furring her eyebrows. "No disturbing of the Professor!"

With that, Ms. Macready was on her way to set up for supper. Hannah lead the four Pevensie siblings through the corridor, opening her bedroom. There were two extra beds already laid beside her own.

"This is going to be the girl's bedroom," Hannah spoke up. "Peter, Edmund, your bedroom will be next door in the guest room."

"The lady scares me a bit," Lucy admitted.

"In any case it makes you feel better, you may call her The Macready," Hannah replied, giggling a bit.

"The Macready?" Edmund repeated. "Why would you call her that?"

"It's just a joke," Hannah said. "She's not that bad once you get to know her."

"Don't worry," Peter reassured me. "He's just like that."

Hannah certainly hoped he wasn't always like that.

***

For the rest of the night, Hannah managed to get to know the Pevensies quite well. She gave them a tour of the Manor. Edmund didn't join them, but that was alright with her. She didn't want to deal with his attitude anyway.

Before Hannah knew it, the day was coming to an end. She led the sisters to their bedroom, showing them where to put their belongings. The Professor had many spare rooms for guests, meaning the boys were able to easily find one on their own. The echo of the radio accompanied them as they got ready for bed.

"German aircraft carried a number of attacks on Great Britain last night. The raids, which lasted for several hours-"

The radio was shut off by Susan. Hannah was thankful for that, since she did not want to hear anything about German attacks anymore. Each time she heard about Germany, the thought of homesickness plagued her mind. She missed the old Germany. Hannah had no idea what was going on back home.

"I was getting tired of hearing that anyway," Hannah said.

Lucy, who was already in her pink nightgown, seemed like she couldn't go to sleep. "The sheets feel scratchy."

"I always feel it too," Hannah agreed. "You'll get used to it."

Susan sat beside her sister, while Peter and Hannah stood near them. "Wars don't last forever, Lucy."

Hannah looked down, "Although, it might seem like it. You just have to hope."

"Yes," Susan nodded. "Let's hope that we'll get home soon."

"Yeah, if home's still there," Edmund piped up from across the room.

Just from the first glance, Hannah didn't like the boy, but did he have to make himself so unpleasant?

"Isn't it time you were in bed?" his sister asked, sighing.

"Yes, Mum," Edmund retorted.

"Ed!" Peter scolded. His scowl quickly turned into a gentle smile as he spoke to Lucy. "Don't worry, Lu."

"Peter's right!" Hannah acknowledged him. "This place is huge! I've lived here for a long time and I haven't run out of things to do. We'll all have fun."

"Yes," Peter said, smiling. "Tomorrow's going to be great, really."

With that, the boys left the room. The light was turned off, both of the sisters were sleeping. Hannah went back to her own room. She buried herself with her bed sheets. She was trying to force the excitement from leaping back into her heart. It was hard when thoughts were plaguing her mind. Thoughts of her four new friends. Before she closed her eyes, Hannah looked around, taking in the fact that she wasn’t alone.

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thefearlessgastronomist · 6 years ago

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Cookbooks I’m Excited to Dive into in 2019

Cravings: Recipes for All the Food You Want to Eat & Cravings: Hungry for More

BY CHRISSY TEIGEN

I used to be indifferent to Chrissy Teigen. She was that lady married to John Legend and a television personality (what exactly does she do on Lip Sync Battle anways?)... but that that was about it. I didn’t even know or remember her as a model.

Then her cookbooks came out. I don’t know what it is about her recipes, but I think everyone was just as surprised as me at the success of Chrissy’s cookbooks. And naturally, their popularity piqued my interest. While many ingredients and meal ideas are day-to-day staples (like pork chops or mac+cheese), the spicy twists and Thai turns on various foods truly are recipes for food you want to eat. Paging through both books, I’m fairly certain I said “Yum” or “I want to try that” for just about every recipe. Not to mention, her humor makes her so incredibly personable.

Pull Up a Chair: Recipes from My Family to Yours

BY TIFFANI THIESSEN

I’ve mentioned Tiffani before, but let me do it again.

The first recipe of hers that I tried in my own kitchen was the Blackberry Jam portrayed on her show, and it became an instant hit (I even gave small jars away as parting gifts for a family get together; it is amazing on vanilla ice cream). As simple as making jam may be, I knew then that I wanted to try more of her recipes. I immediately ordered her cookbook when it was released.

Some of her recipes I might consider slightly posh, but trust me when I say they still easily doable and sound absolutely delicious. Just remind me to try her Grilled Artichokes again, now that I actually know how to properly eat them. *facepalm* Also, her hostess flair comes through in the last section of the book called “Picture Perfect Parties” – which has menu, decor ideas, and other such notes for hosting various types of get-togethers (i.e. tailgates, brunches, family campouts, etc.)

The Home Cook: Recipes to Know by Heart

BY ALEX GUARNASCHELLI

Over the years watching Food Network and Cooking Channel, I’ve really become a fan of Alex Guarnaschelli. She’s a fellow Italian (Italians have an unspoken bond lol), the first female to win Iron Chef and the second overall female Iron Chef (after Cat Cora), but really... the lady just knows her stuff. When I heard that she was releasing a cookbook, I was super excited to get my hands on it. Yes, me being excited about books of any form is a recurring theme for me.

One thing I look forward to in Alex’s cookbook – as well as with Giada’s down below – is experiencing how a fellow Italian does Italian food (although that is merely a portion of The Home Chef). We all have our own interpretations of Italian dishes based on our individual backgrounds. But I suppose that could be true of many cultures and many dishes.

Also mildly prevalent in Alex’s cookbook is the sort of... “upscale” demeanor that I might associate with professionally educated chefs. It’s not many cookbooks you find recipes for bouillabaisse, unless they trained went to culinary school or studied in France – or in Alex’s case, the two combined (she attended La Varenne Cooking School in Burgundy, France).

Magnolia Table: A Collection of Recipes for Gathering

BY JOANNA GAINES

I always try to resist the charm of Chip and Joanna Gaines... but guys, it’s really hard. And, not gonna lie, a lot of the merchandise from their line at Target is SO PRETTY and on my wishlist 😍 Damn you, Gaines’s.

While I am not entirely into the modern farmhouse aesthetic showcased on Fixer Upper or loosely included in their Target line, I am really feeling the down-to-earth homey recipes that Joanna shares in Magnolia Table. Many have that “fresh from the farm” Southern feel (based on her childhood in Kansas), where a handful of others include her Korean and Lebanese heritage.

Eat What You Watch: A Cookbook for Movie Lovers

BY ANDREW REA

I discovered this book at work and I absolutely LOVE the concept! In fact, I’ve been plotting a project for myself with a similar concept (more on this later).

Eat What You Watch encompasses 40 recipes to help recreate the amazing food moments in film – butterbeer from Harry Potter, the apple strudel from Inglorious Basterds, the titular ratatouille from Ratatouille. Essentially, this cookbook is the PERFECT way to combine my two favorite things. And I’ll get to watch some new movies in the process 😋

Giada’s Italy: My Recipes for La Dolce Vita

BY GIADA DE LAURENTIIS

I have an... interesting connection to Giada de Laurentiis.

Noooo, no it’s not just because of our shared Italian heritage (she was born in Rome!), but rather a foodie experience I had a few years ago.

In late 2016, I traveled to Las Vegas with my aunt for her birthday. As a special birthday meal, we dined at Giada’s namesake restaurant on Vegas Strip. Sparing you the details, I think this was actually the first fancy-ish and refined dining experience I’ve ever really had. I spared no expense and splurged as much as I could, from appetizer to dessert. I really don’t know how to explain it properly but Giada just holds a special place in my and my aunt’s hearts thanks to this experience we shared. Later on, I even planned and together we cooked an entire meal inspired by our experience, utilizing Giada’s own recipes from her website Giadzy.

Unlike her other books, however, I felt that this one was more authentic. There are the people that want “everyday” and “weeknight” recipes for oversimplified meals, but Giada’s Italy to me just felt more... real. More Giada than her other titles. And, as I mentioned along with Alex Guarnaschelli’s book, I look forward to tasting Giada’s interpretation of Italian food, especially knowing that Giada’s recipes incorporate a Californian flare, spawning by her childhood in Los Angeles.

Bread Illustrated BY AMERICA'S TEST KITCHEN

This cookbook is part of my ever-evolving desire to cook more items from scratch. As an Italian (I know I know, I’ve already mentioned this too much in this post), there are two things we (or at least I) really love as eaters: pasta and bread. It seems only natural for me to be excited to utilize this book. And, of course, it makes the house smell amazing! There’s nothing like the aroma of baked goods. I am always so fascinated by how varying measurements of flour, yeast, and wet ingredients can create beautifully diverse loaves of bread.

Mediterranean Cookbook

EDITED BY MARIE-PIERRE MOINE

A final repetition of this concept – Mediterranean Cookbook is another way I want to discover Italian food interpretation. However, this title is also much, much more than that. The Greek, Spanish, Andalusian, etc. foods within Mediterranean Cookbook allow me to uncover the flavors of the entire region, flavors that go well beyond Italy. I just might have to get over my distaste for olives to tackle this one.

Equally as entertaining will be trying to understand and use the titles of dishes – most, if not all of them, are not in English. But, if anything, I consider it a way to immerse myself into the culture of each dish.

Regions include (listed in the index): Middle East, North Africa, Morocco, Portugal, Spain, France, Italy, Sicily, Greece, and Turkey.

HONORABLE MENTIONS: The Book of Greens: A Cook's Compendium by Jenn Louis with Kathleen Squires In a strange turn of events, I've taken an interest in *gasp* salads and vegetables and healthier foods 😝 And while I also purchased The Vegetable Butcher by Cara Mangini a couple years ago, I knew it couldn't hurt to get my hands on a book just about greens; how to select, break down, cook them AND what flavors pair well with them. Let's be real, I just love any book that is essentially an encyclopedia for chefs. Instant Pot Electric Pressure Cooker Cookbook by Sara Quessenberry & Kate Merker Now that I have two Instant Pots in my possession (a 3-quart and an 8-quart), it is now a matter of actually using them. My first meal from the Pot was butternut squash soup, and I have since experimented with hard boiled eggs, a pot roast, and chicken breast (both from frozen!) that all turned out wonderfully... but I would definitely love to add more to my Instant Pot reportoire. I may still enjoy cooking the old fashioned way, but you can't deny how well the Instant Pot works. The Kinfolk Table: Recipes for Small Gatherings by Nathan Williams I got this book as an absolute steal at a garage sale; I think I literally only paid 10 cents. I may not read Kinfolk Magazine, but I was immediately drawn to the beautiful composition and cultural aspects of it. Not only does the cookbook encompass recipes from around the world, but also the stories that inspired them from the people who shared them. Although The Kinfolk Table is divided into Brooklyn, Copenhagen, The English Countryside, Portland (Oregon), and "The Wandering Table," the book's contributors span the entire globe.

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twotravelinglanes-blog · 6 years ago

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Switzerland -- a snow-capped wonderland

Two Traveling Lanes

Szerland High There are few places I’ve visited that rival Switzerland in raw beauty and sheer wonder. Want to walk inside an ice cave with millions of sparkling ice crystals? How about cross a suspension bridge 10,000 feet above sea level and stare into the abyss below?

David and I shared a kiss at the top of the Schilthorn in Murren Surely you’d want to scramble up a waterfall inside a mountain to see and hear the roar of 5,000 gallons per second cascading into a bottomless pit mere feet in front of you? How about soaring in a rotating gondola high above snow-capped mountains, enjoying a 360-degree view as steep rock faces and deep crevasses open up below your feet? In just two weeks, we lived and breathed the beauty and culture of Switzerland, from the German-influenced regions in the north to the French and Italian regions west and south. While it truly was a feast for the eyes, we soaked up so much more than the country’s magical scenery in those short 14 days. Live like the Swiss

Ok, I was a little bit excited about reaching the top of this particular mountain. Being surrounded on all sides by incredible beauty is a bucket list moment, for sure. We learned to love cheese and muesli at breakfast, conversed with locals about American politics, marveled at the flowers in nearly every window and came to appreciate the transportation genius of the country. We felt like we belonged there, hopping easily on and off trains and navigating 10-syllable addresses with ease. We rode in swinging chair lifts, cable cars, gondolas, funiculars (railways that travel almost straight up), electric cog railways, trains, buses and one luxury bus. We soared past mountains of staggering heights, walked through alpine valleys thick with yellow globe flowers and smelled the crisp, fresh air in between. All the while, grasshoppers and cricked played their soulful melody, trumpeting the arrival of summer in a country more known for its winter wonderland than kelly green pastures. Use our two-week itinerary With a little advance planning and our fool-proof itinerary you, too, can feel like a part of Switzerland for two weeks, whether you choose to visit in the summer like us, or opt for skiing and snowshoeing in the winter. It’ll cost you a lot less than hiring a travel planner or tour company, too. If you have fewer days to visit, simply omit a stop or two. If we can do it, you can, too! We traveled to Switzerland in June 2016 with our youngest son and daughter, college students at the time. We told them it’d be our last big trip together as a family and started planning where we'd go. In a world full of possibilities, Switzerland got more nods than any other location for three big reasons: it’s overseas, vastly different from our Florida home and full of natural and man made attractions.

The views from our bus, traveling from Lugano to St. Moritz, were fabulous What’s not to like about snow in June? Indeed, our children were perhaps the only kids in their college classes that year to go sledding down a mountain near Europe's highest altitude railway. They were perhaps the only ones to walk along the sheer cliffs of a snowy mountain so high, it evoked a fear of heights in David. And our daughter was perhaps the only senior in her class to almost careen over the edge of the Alps on her foot scooter, causing major road rash but, thankfully, no broken bones or head trauma. But more about that late-vacation tragedy later. Download the train app The trip started uneventfully enough, with a long plane ride from Miami to Zurich and an earnest effort to learn the country's train system. David and I had planned the two-week odyssey on our own, using advice from a few well-known travel planners and many internet sites. We wanted to see the highlights of all regions of Switzerland so we booked six hotels in diverse areas, making sure to enjoy the German, French and Italian flavors of each sector.

One of many trains we rode during our two-week stay Though we saved money planning the trip ourselves, make no mistake: hotels and food in Switzerland are expensive, even by European standards. If you're not prepared to pay $25 for a modest restaurant meal, or shell out a few hundred dollars for an overnight hotel stay for four, don't bother going. Switzerland is an affluent country, and it expects you will be, too. Daughter Julie still recalls the shock of learning that Burger King at a Lucerne train station was selling hamburgers for nearly $10 apiece. Fries were extra. We downloaded a few smart phone apps detailing the country's train schedules, and used both for a few days before settling on a favorite. We liked SBB Mobile the most. It allowed us to put in a destination and be guided to the correct train station, rail platform and direction, along with showing us departure and arrival times. It took a few days but we finally got the hang of it -- with a little initial help from an employee at the Zurich train station. Three countries in one Switzerland doesn't have its own language, so each region's language and culture are influenced by its closest neighbor. We found it amusing to speak and read so many different languages in a single country. Stop signs and menus in Zurich (with a German influence) looked completely different from those in Lugano (inspired by Italy), both of which were unrecognizable in some areas of Bern (French). Most of them spoke fluent English, so communication was rarely a problem. One thing all areas had in common was the price of things. All prices were listed as CHF, or Swiss francs. Lucky for us, 1 CHF is roughly equal to $1, so we didn't have to do any math to convert to US dollars.

Since we planned to rely solely on public transportation and forego a car rental, we bought two-week Swiss Travel passes online and booked hotels, in advance, within walking distance of train stations. Hotels near train stations We found this information online and used booking.com to secure our reservations. The rail passes gave us unlimited rides on all trains except those to unique tourist attractions like Jungfraujoch Top of Europe, the highest altitude railway in Europe, and the Gornergrat in Zermatt. It offered discounts on those. Although we'd done our research thoroughly, there was always a little trepidation each time we stepped off a train, luggage-bound, headed toward a new hotel. Was it truly where we thought, or would we discover it's nowhere to be found? Luckily, we discovered all six hotels were indeed within walking distance of a train stop. We used Google maps on our smart phones to find the hotels and other attractions, although the language barrier and extremely long German names made it challenging at times. Packing light is key One time we had to find a hotel in the rain, making for some soggy luggage once we arrived. We packed only one carry-on bag each because we knew it'd be a chore to lug large suitcases from train to hotel each time. To manage our limited space, we took advantage of washing machines in hotels that had them and handled the 50-degree temperature difference between Lugano and Zurich just fine.

Motorcyclists gathered on the street of Appenzell After a night in Zurich getting our bearings, we took a train to St. Gallen and checked into Idyllhotel Appenzellerhof. It reminded me of a large, older home and was oozing with charm and friendly employees. I loved how Swiss German speech sounded like a song, with the notes and words rising and falling in a beautiful melody. We also savored with the food here, especially the traditional Swiss breakfasts. Many of our hotels offered breakfast buffets much more substantial than their American counterparts. There was usually a wide variety of hard-crusted bread, rolls and croissants with various jams and honey, muesli with fresh fruit and yogurt, potato fritters, a wide selection of cheeses and cold cuts and cereal along with juices, coffee, tea and milk. Appenzell is feast for the eyes After settling into our two-room suite we took a train to the nearby village of Appenzell, a quaint, car-free town with beautiful streets and a myriad of small

Gravesites were meticulously groomed and covered in flowers stores and boutiques. Geraniums, petunias and daisies bloomed everywhere, from window boxes of homes and stores to planters in train stations, roundabouts, bridges and cemeteries. We were especially impressed by the colorful grave sites. Awash in a sea of red, yellow and purple posies, each one looked like it could have graced the cover of a home and garden magazine. The facades of the German-inspired buildings at Appenzell are decorated with colorful paintings, making them all the more whimsical and fascinating. It was here that we got our first taste of authentic wiener schnitzel and Swiss sausages, many of which are white. It was a startling sight at first, but the unique taste and smooth texture of the St. Galler bratwurst won me over. Made of veal, pork, milk and spices, including sweet cardamom, the white bratwurst has been a staple in Switzerland since the 1400s. Of course, what better way to wash down a good sausage than local beer? We toured a small museum at the Appenzeller "Bier" brewery and enjoyed several samples of the ale. Jonathan was a month shy of his 21st birthday but was excited to learn Switzerland's minimum drinking age for beer is a mere 16. He arrived five years too late, by his estimation. Watch out for bubbly water One customary drink I never learned to swallow was carbonated water in bottles. It was hard to discern which bottles contained carbonated or "still" water, as they called it, so we mostly avoided bottled water as a result.

Overlooking the Chapel Bridge in Lucerne We bid farewell to the beautiful Appenzell region after a few days and headed south toward Lucerne, a city David and I had visited in 1989 as part

The streets around our hotel in Malters, near Lucerne of a three-week tour of Europe. It was fun to revisit such famous places as the Chapel Bridge and Lion Monument, and to soak up the rich architecture and vibe of this historic city. We noticed that thousands of people had written or carved their names into the wooden hand railing at Chapel Bridge, We stayed a few miles outside town at Hotel Kreuz, near the Malters train station. It was a large,

Swans are everywhere in Lucerne Bavarian-style hotel with homey furnishings and a window view of an extraordinary church steeple. We rose early the second day to get in a full day at Mount Titlis, the highest peak in the region and home to a glacial paradise with thrilling cable car rides, a zip line, ice cave and suspension bridge between two peaks. Into a snowstorm

Deep inside a tunnel that goes through the solid ice glacier there was a plant visible that must be thousands of years old. It took about an hour via train to get from Lucerne to Mount Titlis, and once there we were whisked about halfway to the top in a small cable car just perfect for our family of four. Although the weather was partly overcast and drizzling, we had several clear views as we floated up the mountainside. About halfway up, we got off the small cable car and got inside a much larger, rotating gondola for the final ride to the top. Once there, we walked outside onto the glacier and into the middle of a massive

The views from the top of Mount Titlis were breathtaking. snowstorm! It was snowing so hard we couldn't see much of the distant scenery, but it was gorgeous staring down into the crevasses below while snowflakes danced around us.

Keeping a close eye on the snow We'd read about the dramatic temperature changes at Titlis and were prepared with coats, hats and gloves. After playing in the snow until our toes and fingers froze, we sought refuge inside with a cup of hot chocolate. Once warmed, we made our way to a lower level and the ice cave, its sparkling crystals and ice sculptures illuminated by soothing blue light. We opted not to ride the zip line or walk across the suspension bridge because the snow had wiped out visibility by then. We played in the snow some more and had lunch in the mountain top cafeteria before heading back for another scenic ride in a cable car. Read the full article

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foursprout-blog · 7 years ago

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When Paris Didn’t Fix My Depression

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/happiness/when-paris-didnt-fix-my-depression/

When Paris Didn’t Fix My Depression

John Towner

I had just taken my first Metro ride in Paris. Although I relied heavily on my iPhone Metro app, I found that the system wasn’t that difficult to navigate and I could easily pinpoint the fastest route to my destination: the Eiffel Tower. It was my first day in Paris and I figured that beloved monument should be at the top of my list. I emerged onto the cold street, the sky gray and threatening above me. It was December, after all, and a balmy 45 degrees. I huddled myself as best I could into my thin jacket and scarf, trying to shield my face from the harsh wind. I looked around as I made my way along the river, and a sinking feeling began pressing itself into my gut.

This is Paris? I thought to myself. It was my first trip to France, and while I was aware of the fact that it would never look as it did in the movies, I was still conjuring images that resembled Sydney Pollack’s 1995 version of Sabrina. I saw myself as Julia Ormond (minus the incredible haircut), strolling along the Seine with my camera and my journal and attempting to “find myself” in Paris. I’ll be honest – I also saw myself kissing a 90s Harrison Ford on the Pont Neuf but who hasn’t had that dream?

I was ending a three-month long journey in Europe that began in Iceland, led to two months in Ireland, and then three weeks in Italy. Paris was my last stop before heading home from a trip that was supposed to last a year. I had arrived on a work visa in Ireland, intending to stay for my allowed six months, and one disappointment after another (along with a dwindling bank account) led to me deciding it was time to leave.

I suppose I put a lot of pressure on this great city. “Paris is always a good idea,” or so the movies told me. I kept walking, kept putting one foot in front of the other, hoping that what I saw next would stir something inside of me that I had been missing. The heavy scent of failure had been trailing me for months and it was clutching me even now. There we no lovely trees or flowers in my line of sight – the landscape was barren and that was the way I felt. Every way I looked seemed a reflection of my own state of mind.

You’re in Paris. I reminded myself of this fact over and over as if this alone was supposed to cause elation, joy, feeling.

You’re in Paris. You’ve been dreaming of Paris since you were fourteen. You’re here.

There was no dramatic music or soft lighting that occurred when the Eiffel Tower finally came into view. The buildings and lifeless trees gave way to a glimpse of its structure. I kept moving, not stopping until I was directly across the street. Finally, I stared, waiting. Waiting to feel moved. Waiting to feel anything. After a few minutes, my eyes burned and tears threatened to fall. Not from joy or wonder, but from sorrow.

I had been doing well when I began my journey. I had energy. I was managing to find laughter and enjoyment in my days and I was happy moving from one activity to another. But it didn’t take long for my depression to remind me, like an old friend, that it was still there. Soon I was spending more time inside my hostel, laying on a thin mattress with my headphones on instead of tackling the next tourist spot on my list. A quick meal and Netflix became more appealing than facing the anxiety that would leave me folding in on myself in the middle of a crowded restaurant or pub.

Depression and anxiety have been a part of my life since I was twelve years old. More than half my life has been spent with their hands on my shoulder, coloring every move I make. During the worst years of my depression, there were many days I could not find the strength to leave my bed. I would eat nothing or everything in sight. I would suffer panic attacks that left me crouched on the bathroom floor, near vomiting, unable to breathe. Through the years I found different ways of dealing with my mental illness. And yet no amount of therapy, medication, herbal supplements, lifestyle changes, and continued healing would take it away entirely.

But perhaps a new country might. Or so I had led myself to believe. I drank in the Instagram feeds that showed me colorful, perfectly posed views of this world and read the stories of people whose lives had been changed by setting foot on a new continent. I clung to the Pinterest quotes on wanderlust like they were living water sent to quench my unending thirst for being made new. I wanted a new country to fix my broken self. I wanted to step off the plane and transform into the woman of travel blogging fantasies. The woman I was assured I could be – all I had to do was go. But this was all a facade. A virtual reality.

The truth is that when I stepped off of that first plane in Iceland, I was exactly the same person. I was a still a woman with a broken past, healing and going after what she wanted in life but hindered by her mental illness. When I landed in Ireland, I was still a woman whose insecurity kept her from trying too many new things due to the fear of not being “good enough.” In Italy, I was still a woman who was fighting that crushing feeling of defeat that came with knowing nothing in life was going according to plan.

And when I walked the streets of Paris, I was still a woman who had to fight, each and every day, to open her eyes and rise up out of that bed and choose to live. Paris would not save me. As much as I wanted it to – as much as I hoped it would – there was no magic spell cast or Eat, Pray, Love moment that changed the way my brain functioned. I was still me.

I was disappointed in the fact that I was not able to simply enjoy the gift of travel that I had been given, but now I recognize that just because my experience was different than the socially expected norm – just because I didn’t fit into the mold of the “perfect” traveler – did not mean that I was failing, or that failure was even possible. The Eiffel Tower didn’t cause me to grin from ear to ear or prompt a perfectly posed photograph and it didn’t erase my sadness. But I kept going anyway. I kept venturing out even when my personal brand of traveling included just as many lows as highs, my sadness intertwined with happiness.

The next morning, I rose early and once again boarded the Metro, taking it to Le Marais to explore the district I had heard mentioned by so many. I found a small cafe away from the crowds because it’s easier for me to relax if there’s fewer people. I didn’t berate myself for this fact – I simply accepted it as what I needed. I sat down and ordered a Café au lait and, since they were out of croissants, the owner brought me half of a baguette. I was definitely not going to complain about being given a piece of bread as long as my forearm and instead slathered it in butter and strawberry jam and ate while silently watching people walk by.

It wasn’t a perfect moment, or even a perfect day. It would still involve finding myself a little lost and fighting off the unwanted advances of a man who thought helping me order tacos meant I would have sex with him in the back of the restaurant. It would still involve obsessively repeating the name of the Metro stop where I would get off of the train because I was terrified of missing it or looking like I didn’t know where I was going. But right then, I was sipping the best coffee I had ever had and the air wasn’t too cold and the buildings were beautiful and I was content to be on my own and enjoy my surroundings in the best way I could.

It’s been one year since I was sitting in that Parisian cafe, and it has taken this long for me to not look back on that trip with grief and regret in my heart. When I first came back to the States, the regret over the emotions I had no control over was enough to make me avoid discussing my trip with anyone. I am not really the person that they want to hear about traveling from, I thought to myself. I was convinced that my voice didn’t count since I didn’t fit into the mainstream mold. I thought that I would sound ungrateful and spoiled if I was honest about how difficult that journey really was for me. I felt like I had thrown away my chance of seeing the world, and wasted the experiences I did have. But my experience still means something, and my voice – all of our voices – are worthy of being heard.

I am living with depression and anxiety but the point is that I am still living.

I am still doing brave and beautiful things, conquering fears and following dreams and seeing the world exactly as I am. It doesn’t matter that there were some nights that I could have chosen to go out and see more of the city but instead stayed in my hostel, reading a book. It doesn’t matter that I could have fit more activities into my day but instead gave myself time to slow down and sit in a cafe for four hours because I needed to rest. The places I saw, the people I talked to, and the things I did were exactly what was right for me. Maybe not for someone else, but this is my story, and I have given myself the grace and space to live it the way I choose.

Maybe Paris didn’t fix what I saw as broken, but maybe that was because it didn’t need to be fixed. I may wish that depression and anxiety would no longer be a part of my story, but I know that I can keep on living, even with both of them present. I can explore, travel, dream, and adventure exactly as I am, in my own way. And I can have a hell of a time doing it, too.

So here’s to the travelers, the dreamers, the adventurers, who don’t fit the mold. Here’s to those of us living with mental illness and doing hard things anyway. Here’s to all of us who see the world on our own terms. May we never allow anyone else to cloud our stories or make us feel as if we have something to hide. May we choose to be ourselves and live, just as we are.

And if we find ourselves in Paris, staring up at the Eiffel Tower, may we recognize that whatever brought us there is a testament to our own strength and resilience and belief in the beauty of this world – and that is even more astounding than any landmark.

#Happiness

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foursprouthappiness-blog · 7 years ago

Text

When Paris Didn’t Fix My Depression

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/happiness/when-paris-didnt-fix-my-depression/

When Paris Didn’t Fix My Depression

John Towner

You’re in Paris. I reminded myself of this fact over and over as if this alone was supposed to cause elation, joy, feeling.

You’re in Paris. You’ve been dreaming of Paris since you were fourteen. You’re here.

I am living with depression and anxiety but the point is that I am still living.

#Happiness

0 notes