Swiss Delights.

My first stop in Switzerland landed me in a stone railway station with arching windows and dozens of suitcases marching about like ants.

My train arrived two hours earlier than expected, and I wasn’t sure how to reach my friend. But since I was no longer in Europe (Switzerland opted out of the European Community years ago), I had to exchange some money and find a phone.

But once again I was in Swiss-German territory. Who would understand me?

If I had paid better attention in geography class, I would have known I could speak French to the locals but I didn’t. Instead I blabbered away in English.

Bea and Me in Basel.

It wasn’t until much later that I learned that Basel --Switzerland’s third largest city-- marks the spot where France, Germany, and Switzerland meet. As a result its locals are quite fluent in all three languages.

With time I found a phone, called my friend, and arranged where to meet. My dear friend and fellow Newlife graduate, Bèa, met me at the tram station with warm hugs; we dropped off my bags and immediately headed into the city center.

Basel has a beauty and tranquility that is hard to describe; its rich past bleeds through picturesque views of the Rhine; its worn, cobblestone steps hint at an antiquity full of lore.

We only had a few hours to catch up, so we set out at it with gusto. Bèa and I laughed and reminisced over pasta and pizza, then I sent her off to work while I tumbled into bed. She works nights.

The next morning, I climbed back aboard a train for Zurich where another Newlife graduate, Medea, met me with her 9-month-old belly. She’s due any day!

Meda and Andre near Zurich.

Together we laughed, took pictures, crocheted, and ate our way through her house. I kept hoping she’d deliver while I was there... but it didn’t happen.

Our time together was blissfully restful though, and I’ve come to realize that weary travelers and term preggos need about the same number of naps each day!        --I love naps!

The following day after visiting another amazing Christmas market in Zurich, I caught the last train of my trip.

Now I sit at my sister’s house in Geneva, sipping on my forth cup of coffee and listening to the house wake up on this sleepy Sunday morning.

An fun handmade Advent calender.

I love my sister and her family so much. What a blessing to come to a home where hugs are meted out liberally, and the conversation bounces from French to English in the blink of an eye.

Their home is laughter and joy, warmth and love. Thank you Jesus for giving me such a wonderful family and so many extraordinary friends! I’m blessed... so very blessed.

Next stop... Kenya.

I fly out in the morning. Please pray for traveling mercies. Thanks.

Lucerne.

German has a nice guttural sound that reminds me of mountain lions purring. The vocal gymnastics you must do to make the right sounds is fun in a gurgly kind of way.

The low rumble required to spit out works like ‘Danke’ and ‘shpitzel’ is oddly comforting-- like a hug.

All week, I enjoyed the baritone rumbles of this dialect while trying to sound out the ridiculously long words. Consider: ‘Himbeermarmelade’ (aka: raspberry jam). Admittedly, it’s a bit intimidating. My friend often laughed at my mispronunciation; I laughed with her.

The best part of my trip however wasn't the language, but the fact I didn’t need to think.

If anything was in English or French, I would have found myself endlessly reading and translating. However, not speaking more than two words of German, freed me from this burden. Instead, I let my friend organize and plan.

We went on walks, slept in late, and ate like royalty. (Oh, how I love fondue!)

One day we traveled by bus and boat to Lucerne for a walk about the city. Smaller than Zurich, it’s full of brutish swans, sparkling waters, and ancient wooden bridges.

I learned that the bridges there were set on fire a few years back, incinerating most of the countless murals painted in their rafters. In a span of minutes, priceless masterpieces were lost. It was a sad day for Switzerland.

However, not all of the paintings were ruined. Some were rescued, and today testify to the heritage lost -- one side of the painting depict rural Swiss life, while the other side is charred beyond recognition.

Walking around the city, we took our time leafing through books stores, sitting on museum steps, and sunning ourselves in yellow shaded tea gardens.

Then toward the end of the day, we went to the Kunstmuseum Lucern (or the Museum of Art Lucerne) for a quick look around. Normally, I’m not a huge fan of squiggles and splashes-- I tend to prefer a bit of form to my fancy-- but this museum surprised me. 

There were four small exhibits of artists I’ve never heard of before. One artist built a wooden door that looked like bricks which opened to an empty room with another similar door on the opposite end. It was disconcerting being the artwork instead of the art critic, but I liked it and had to laugh.

Another artist disturbingly tried to paint death and hell. It wasn’t so much the images as the somber colors. He looked like he was trying too hard. A third artist was all about taking blurry pictures of herself in store front windows.               --Not a fan.

However, the last exhibit made up for everything.

Her name is Patricia Bucher. She is a Swiss artist in her 30’s who painted a 30-meter circular panoramic of battle scenes since the dawn of time. It’s called the Schlachtenpanorama. (Please don’t ask me what that means... ha ha!)

My Swiss friend tells me that battle panoramics are very common in Switzerland, however, this was my first.

Bucher mixed Aztec Indian warriors with Napoleon's troops; she painted the Indian goddess Shiva among Egyptian hieroglyphics; she placed Star Wars battle troopers against cave men and revolutionary soldiers. It was epic!         --Simply AM-az-ING!

I am now definitely a fan of epic battle panoramics... and Patricia Bucher!

All in all, my time in German-speaking Switzerland was fabulous. I loved seeing my friend. I loved discovering these new places. It was just what this tired midwife needed.

Thank you, MT! I sure do love you!

‘Mid-Missionary’

When I arrived in Zurich, I was greeted with warm hugs and delighted screeches of joy! In a whirlwind of excited chatter, two of my Swiss classmates from Newlife Midwifery School, welcomed me to their picturesque stomping-grounds.

My first time in German-speaking Switzerland, I was glad for personal ‘tour guides and translators’ who expertly walked me through the city’s cobblestoned streets.

Since it was noon, we made our way to a gourmet sandwich shop, joining one friend’s new husband for a pic-nic by the lake. Easy laughter and excited questions continued all afternoon as I slowly realized the privilege of having such friends!

Topics bounced from babies to weddings to life in Sudan. Being surrounded by women willing to talk about the hard stuff, moved me to tears at times. These women know what it’s like to be missionaries. They know the realities of births. Unflappably patient, they took the time to listen. 

They mercilessly asked the hard questions, and then waited for me to find the right words.

Stories, that had become mundane to me, astounded them even though they read this blog. Only then did it occur to me that I only write a fraction of my life in Sudan. There is still so much I struggle to describe-- mostly emotions and impressions.

How do you blog about turmoil? How do you explain a tone of voice? How do you depict loneliness and isolation? These are things that if voiced somehow become real.

Such impressions are the white noise filling the gaps of everyday humdrum. They are the details of life in the mission field. Not everyone is interested in white noise, but these precious women were. They listened to me share, drawing out stories I’ve never shared with anyone. For that... I cannot thank them enough.

That day remains a blur of hugs, sunshine, and compassionate love.

These midwives helped me labor the hardest emotions; they loved me through the transition of culture shock, and even dislodged the mental blocks of debriefing.

For me, they can now add the title of ‘mid-missionary’ to their many degrees!

I love you ladies! Thank you!

The symphony of trains.

I love trains. I have always loved trains.

My first time riding the railways, I was 11 years old. My father got tickets for my older brother and I to go from Las Vegas to Vermont on the Transcontinental railways. The three day journey took us on rickety tracks that switched back and forth through the Rockies, only to rocket through the Midwest planes. I remember going to sleep with views of corn fields and waking 8 hours later to views of corn fields. It was amazing.

When I got a bit older and came to Europe, I reveled in traveling everywhere on trains. Here it’s the easiest way to travel, unlike in the States.

In Europe trains leave on time. They are timed with such precision that if you are not paying attention you can miss it by seconds. More than once, I have found myself running breathlessly to catch a train as the last whistle blows. Boarding microseconds before the doors slide shut with an air-pressured ‘whhoosh’, I smile in solidarity at all the other passengers sweating and grinning breathlessly, like me.

It’s intoxicating! 

Plus, you get to people-watch! I love people-watching.

Staring at strangers is not impolite in France. My American-ness resisted the urge at first, thinking it was rude, but a year in Paris cured me of that. Now I love it.

I love to stare. I love trains. I love staring on trains.

So this week, as I boarded the train for Zurich, I excitedly found my way to the upper level (Yes! It was a double-decker train!). Wandering around a bit trying to decide where to sit, I stumbled across the dining car.

Each table was neatly set with a bright, linen table cloth with burnt-orange leather chairs. Even though every table was occupied, there were still a few empty chairs. Smiling inwardly, I remembered that in Europe you can share public tables with strangers where seating is limited. Scanning the small car for the best place to sit, I found a large table with an elderly gentleman reading the paper.

-- ‘Do you mind if I sit with you?’ I asked in French.
-- ‘Not at all,’ he said with a smile, and slowly inched his newspaper out of my way.

He had a neatly trimmed beard that was graying in all the right places. His finely tailored suit screamed ‘business-exec’, and his sparkly watch flashed money. I guessed banker. Small thin-rimmed glasses perched on his flawless face, hid the smile tucked in the corner of his eyes.

He ordered tea which was served in a loose-leaf tea bag, on real china! DE-luxe!

Behind him sat two men in their thirties, drinking espressos. One kept glancing over at me with interest, perhaps trying to figure out why this jean-sporting-backpack-carrying woman was in first class. Or perhaps, he was just people-watching, too.

The view from my lofty seat revealed acres of newly-budding grape vines on tightly-wound wire frames, stretching for miles. Behind them, as the hills melted into mounts, the vines were replaced by spots of tan and red with brightly colored shutters.

Even further beyond, sharp, rocky cliffs jutted from seemingly nowhere, pointing to the snow-capped peaks above. The flashes of whites, browns, and greens blurred by as I tried to take it all in.

What world is this?

Pulling my thoughts back to the train-car at hand, I continued to look around. The clink of metal spoons stirring coffee, the whirring of the espresso maker brewing sludge, and the gentle voices of distant lands collided to make me swoon with delight. I had to close my eyes to get a grip.

Coming back into focus, my eyes glanced sideways at the petite woman to my right ordering an espresso with a German accent. The couple behind me read the paper-- one engrossed in the financial times, the other skimming cartoons and looking bored.

Mellow, accented voices floated passed, keeping time with the tickety-tac of the train. It was a symphony of indulgences and sensory delights.

“Un autre espresso, S’il vous plait, M’dam,” I ordered from the server walking passed.

... the second act was just beginning.