Wednesday, February 9th, 2005

Here it is… the final chapter in the incredible saga of my epic voyage to Switzerland. In this episode, our hero risks life and limb by hurtling down steep mountains, imbibes strange drinks that make his cheeks numb, and feels great shame after barfing on a street at two in the morning. Read on, dear viewers…

Heheh, enough of that. Anyway, one of the most incredible things we did in Switzerland was a trip to the mountains. Andi and I had meant to go visit a nice little town called Lucerne, but we never made it. (The pub was calling our names!) So when Anja had a day of we decided to really make a go of it. We took the train to Lucerne, then headed up into the mountains. I can’t remember which mountain we ended up spending our time on. I know one nearby was Ingeborg, or something… a little help here Andi?

The Swiss Alps are gorgeous. Just look at the photos. In describing them to Iowans I would say, “Think of the exact opposite of here. That’s what the Alps are like.” I was simply amazed. I love how mountains just pop up out of nowhere. The land is flat, and then there’s this giant chunk of rock just jutting upwards. Fantastic. Man… you can tell I’m a country boy, can’t you!

We headed up our mountain, through the touristy town, up a little sky-tram thing that bucked and swayed like nobody’s business, and finally found ourselves at high altitude. After a lunch of gigantor bratwursts that were oh so good, we went off and rented ourselves some sleds. “Sleds? Why not ski? You were in the Alps and didn’t ski?” Friends, skiing is all well and good, but you honestly haven’t lived until you go sledding down a 2 kilometer course on a Swiss mountain.

This was wild, wacky stuff people. I’m serious; I haven’t had so much fun in ages. You sit on a dinky little sled and steer by digging your heels into the snow at the front of the sled. The thing is, you build up so much speed that you’re constantly sticking your heels in to (a) prevent yourself from flying off a hairpin curve, (b) stop from running into someone else (or a fence, or a tree, etc.), or (c) just prevent yourself from going so terrifyingly fast! And every time you dig in, snow flies up into your face. Which is fun and crappy all at the same time. If you wear glasses like I do, you end up with nice clods of snow wedged in between your glasses and your eyes. So I was constantly taking off my glasses and waving them around to remove the slow, all while traveling at what must have been 30 miles per hour. Well… it was fast anyway.

Come to think of it, with my eyesight there really wasn’t much difference between snow encrusted glasses or no glasses at all. I wonder why I bothered?

Once I decided to just bomb it down the mountain and see what happened. I rounded the first bend, narrowly missed the snow fence and then completely wiped out. Instantly, laughter rang out over the snowy slopes. I look up and saw four different groups of people on the ski lift, all pointing and laughing. I nonchalantly picked myself up, straightened my little sled and continued on my merry way. After getting to the bottom, I told Anja and Andi about it when they showed up. “Well,” Anja laughed, “they may have actually been laughing at me.” Oh really? “Yeah, you know that snow fence at the beginning?” Yup. “Well, I ran into it. And then went under it. I almost died!”

Phew. One can only hope they were truly laughing at her almost loosing her life, and not me. Hee hee hee… I’m just kidding really. We were all pretty safe; I even launched off a curve and went down a slope I wasn’t supposed to be on and was fine. No big deal.

After our wondrous sledding adventure, we headed back to Lucerne and met up with Anja’s friend Esther. I think that was her name… my poor memory. Anyway, we went to her flat where we enjoyed homemade pizza, martinis, coffee, and played with the cutest baby I’ve seen in quite some time. It really was a great day. Actually, I think it was the best day I had on my holiday.

One of the other really fun things I did in Switzerland was drink a lot of beer. I don’t get to do that in Turkey very often for a multitude of reasons: The beer sucks, people don’t seem to drink as much (at least the ones I hang out with), and most people who are practicing Muslims don’t touch the stuff. Since Andi and I truly got to know each other through a combination of working together and nursing pints of Guinness at our local in England, we decided to keep the tradition alive. And with the power of the one hundred or so cans of Boddingtons Andi was given by some DJ staying at the hotel he works at, as well as a few trips into the depths of Basel’s nightlife, we did a pretty good job of it. I was “Simon to the max,” which is something I have not been in quite some time.

One particular evening we really went at it. We started out at Pickwick’s, which is Andi’s local. It’s a nice place, they serve a lot of British beer, and everyone speaks English. I was in heaven! They also have Boddington’s on tap, or should I say did have Boddington’s on tap. They ran out during my stay, and elected not to order anymore. Needless to say, Andi was heartbroken. After letting out a mournful Wookie cry, one of the barmen gave Andi a black armband to wear, to help him process his grief.

Anyway, we started out at this place, then went to some crappy club where a “New Year’s party for people who had to work on New Year’s” party was occurring. Finally we headed off to a random hole-in-the-wall that I thought was really big until I noticed that one of their walls was completely covered in mirrors. Gosh.

Andi and I were joined by a really nice Dutch chef that Andi knows. This guy was super friendly, joked around a lot, and spoke English better than I do. I wish I remembered his name. But anyway, we found ourselves at this last place drinking lager at some ungodly hour. I was sitting there with my eyes closed, nursing my pint, when Andi says, “Simon? Are you… sleeping???” Nooooooo, I slurred. I’m listening to the muuuuusic.

I should have known better. That was my warning sign.

We finished our beers and grabbed a taxi. On the way home I started to quiz Andi on his thoughts on marriage. I was very curious about what he has experienced during the almost four years that he’s spent married with Anja. And we hadn’t talked in person since his wedding, so really there was much to hear about. Anyway, Andi gave a great speech on the wonderful things he has experienced while being with Anja. It was truly heartwarming; I just wish I remembered it.

After climbing out of the taxi, we hung around by the gate to Andi’s flat while he finished his thoughts. I loved it. I also started to feel funny. It all culminated in the moment when Andi said, “And that, basically, is why I love my wife so incredibly much.” I smiled at his wonderful story… then wobbled… then burped… and finally turned and projectile vomited onto the street.

Classic.

Andi loved it. He kept busting up. “Oh man, that was great!” he cheered. “It went at least two meters straight out before beginning to fall!” Cool. Only a friend like Andi could make a moment like that into something positive. And that is why I love him. Two days later, when I strolled into the pub with Andi, the entire bar staff (who I had been getting to know over the past week or so) turned and gave a mighty cheer. Apparently the story had been enjoyed by many.

At least I know that a few people in Switzerland will never forget me!