Distractions

This week was recovery from the big disappointment of not getting the IUCN job. Meanwhile I found out why I didn't get it:I have been unemployed for too long. This is very discouraging news. I have now applied for jobs both in the US and in Switzerland. I am getting interviews, once in a while. My age is a major strike against me and now I also have an issue because of the length of my unemployment. What am I supposed to do about it? All the hours spent on the computer, all the hopes, all the uncertainties, all the anxiety, will nothing ever come of it because I am too old, and now, on top of it, I have been unemployed for too long?

To add insult to injury, this morning, just after I booked my trip to Oregon, I got a call asking me to teach an English class starting in September! Since I won't be here for 4 weeks I was not able to accept. This is another major problem with unemployment: it is very difficult to make plans. One is constantly in limbo, never knowing what is ahead. The only way to get certainty is to give up - and I am not ready to do so.

Meanwhile I have started to look for someone interested in buying the apartment. For now it's a rational undertaking for something that will not happen until spring. At the same time I am very aware that this will be a difficult and painful process.

After the IUCN news I was anticipating a difficult weekend and so I packed it with activities to keep busy until my friend Rachel from Portland arrived - on Sunday afternoon. All week we had glorious late summer weather. It was once again warm enough to wear shorts and quaff a beer at the end of a hike. I had been anxiously waiting for Rachel's arrival because she is an excellent hiker and I had kept a few challenging outings for her. As I do with all my guests, I picked hikes that would allow her to discover the key areas of the valley. The best hike was to the Coaz Hut, in the back of Val Roseg. It was a long day (we were gone for 12 hours, 6 of them hiking) but possibly one of the most beautiful hikes I have ever done around here. We spent the whole day facing glaciers and surrounded by the roar of the torrents gushing out of these glaciers. I was so grateful for Rachel's company, as I still believe that it's not a good idea to do such hikes alone. Rachel brought a Scrabble board and it was an opportunity to test my English skills. I didn't do great, but I think the daily online crossword puzzle from The Oregonian helped.

As part of my recovery plan, I spent Saturday helping to build a stone wall. This was organized by the birders, in conjunction with the hunting candidates. Indeed, before you can get your hunting license you have to undergo a thorough training that includes marksmanship, a theoretical course with an exam, and required volunteer work. The whole program can take over one year. This cooperation between birders and hunters made for a curious group, the birders being mostly seniors and the hunters strong young men. Stone walls, which in many countries all over the world mark the boundaries between pastures, are considered important wildlife habitat. They harbor lizards, snakes, frogs, many insects, mice - all prey for birds. The farmer on whose property we worked ended up with a beautiful new wall and to thank us, his wife fed us - both mid-morning snack (substantial sandwiches) and a hearty lunch with many cakes for desert. Since she is the author of a cookbook it was the farming equivalent of gourmet food!

On Sunday I hiked up to Alp Belvair with the Zuoz folks. An "alp" is a meadow above the treeline where the cows spend the summer on communal pastures. Each town has its own alp, or several. It hires a caretaker (cowboy?) who lives in the alp buildings and keeps an eye on the livestock. The Zuoz town Council invited all the inhabitants as well as the tourists for a lunch up on the alp. About 40 of us met at 10am in the upper part of the village and hiked for some 90 minutes in the blazing hot sun to the alp. The very old, and handicapped were offered a ride in a Jeep. Fortunately one of the gym ladies was part of the group - so I had somebody to talk to. This is one of the weak points of the Swiss. There is no icebreaker, no welcoming of single or new people. Everybody else had come with the family or part of a group, and these entities are not open to newcomers.

Alp Belvair is perched high up above town, overlooking the valley and affording a stunning view of the string of villages below and the snow-capped peaks to the south in the Bernina area. We were greeted with white wine - at 11:30am! At noon we were served a variety of grilled meats and sausages, along with a mushroom and saffron risotto.


I stayed until 2pm - sitting in the full sun. Anticipating the effects of alcohol, sun and heat, I limited myself to water, except for a glass of red wine with the meal. I couldn't believe how much drinking was taking place and I still wonder how some of the folks managed to hike back to town. Despite my restraint, I returned with quite a headache. It was a very colorful event. Young fathers pushed strollers up an elevation gain of some 500 meters and were congratulated with rounds of applause upon arrival. Kids were running back and forth, inventing mysterious games requiring only imagination. The dogs had fun too, chasing each other between tables and kids. A Swiss folk music band played (accordion, clarinet, upright bass), and some attempted dancing on the uneven and sloping ground.




Rachel left this morning. The weather has turned rainy and the forecast is not good - possible snow early next week! I hope it is wrong because next week Ernst is visiting and I have a few good hikes in store for him.

Pictures:

1. Chamanna Coaz, a hut belonging to the Swiss Mountaineering Club
2. Building the stone wall
3. Lunch on Alp Belvair
4. Video of band playing Swiss folk music.

Subtext

What I couldn't write last week was that my impromptu trip to the Geneva area actually was to Gland, to an interview with IUCN - International Union for Conservation of Nature, for the position of administrative assistant for their global marine program. It would have been a very interesting job, with a decent salary. It would have required me to relocate to the Geneva area, which I was ready to do. It would have been the swan song to my career. Today I got the news that I wasn't the chosen candidate. I am very disappointed. While the work and the money would have been great, I also very much need to settle somewhere, to have an idea of what my life is going to look like over the next few years.

At least I now know what I'll do over the next few months. While my IUCN application was pending, I was offered the job at the St. Moritz bakery for the winter season. I'll start on Nov. 1 and it will go until sometime in April. That means that I'll stay here in my Dad's apartment in Zuoz until then. Of course, I don't have the faintest idea of what I'll do after that.

At least now I can move on and make some plans. And I do have a plan: on Sept. 15, as per my original ticket, I'll fly to Portland for some fresh air. I am planning to stay for about 4 weeks, go to the dentist, get new glasses, etc. I am hoping to take a trip to the desert, probably taking in the Desert Conference, which would allow me to sniff some sage and to see all my desert friends. I might also take a side trip to San Francisco to spend some time with Claire. I'll try to dive into my storage unit and retrieve my downhill skis and a few other essentials like my brand new Sorels that I decided were too heavy to take along...

Given the above uncertainties and the reflections, as per my last posting, last week was filled with some trepidation and anxiety. I was very grateful for the visit of Christiane and Gilbert. I met them both in Geneva in the 70s but they moved to Neuchatel shortly after I left the country. Since they were in the same town as Dad, it was easy for me to keep in touch, catching a quick cup of tea with Christiane between cooking meals for Dad. I don't know how I would have survived the week without them. They did the thinking for me when I was too spaced out to think straight, Christiane planned and executed meals, they treated me to fine dining, chauffeured me around and made me laugh. In return I acted as hiking guide, and they seemed to be satisfied with my choices. Surprisingly, the weather cooperated reasonably well.


With Gilbert, in the National Park.



















Graves of Benedictine sisters in the Saint John Convent of Mustair, founded in the 8th century.














Art in Pontresina

D.P.

Tonight I returned from a quick impromptu trip to the Geneva area. While there it was somewhat summer-like, on the 3rd train (out of 5) I had to trade my shorts for jeans, and when train #4 pulled out of the tunnel and into the valley, it was pouring. I had to add the parka to the other two layers. It's raining, cold, the clouds are hanging down the sides of the mountains and I am having a tough time.

I am alone for the first time since July 17. I guess I am a sociable being after all. Tonight feels lonely. I miss Claire and my sisters, and I am sorry I could not attend Martin's 60th birthday party where, I am sure, so many of my friends were. I am a D.P. or a Displaced Person. Of course I am very mindful that I have nothing to complain about. The weather is lousy, but I am safe with a good roof over my head and food in the fridge. My heart goes out to the Pakistani. Yet, the fact that millions of people are so much worse off than me, doesn't make my predicament any easier.

I had been impatiently waiting for my sisters to visit so we could make decisions with respect to the apartment. And we did. We are going to put it on the market and hope that it will sell by spring. I know it needs to happen, but it signals the end of my stay here. That of course raises the big question of what will come next. I have decided to again rent my house when the current tenants leave because it's welcome income. It means, however, that I cannot return to my house in Portland and it forces me to be creative about my next steps. I cannot envision returning to Portland with an unemployment rate of over 10% and therefore basically no hope of finding work. Once the apartment is sold I cannot stay in the valley either, because I cannot afford to buy anything else with my share of the sale. Which is the reason for my trip to the lowlands. I need to explore other options than Portland or Zuoz.

So, although I am still here in my cozy apartment, I am already grieving for it. I am grieving for my life in Portland, I am grieving for my lost job, for my dad, and starting now, for this valley and the new life I have created here for myself. How can I be a D.P. at my mature age?

I thought I had it made. I had it all. Good job, great kids, cute little house, nice garden, health, friends, a beautiful natural environment. I liked my life and was acutely aware, especially since my return from Africa, how privileged I was. And yes, much worse could have happened. But still, I lost the life I loved and was so comfortable with. I lost the job and voluntarily gave up the remainder. I thought it was a temporary time out, an adventure. Yet, in the back of my mind, I knew that I was playing with fire. Can one ever go back to things as they used to be? Everything I was taking for granted is now uncertain. The raspberries I planted before abandoning my garden, the humming birds going back and forth between the feeder and the plum tree, the sea breeze on summer nights, dropping in at my neighbors for a cup of tea, running into friends at the Hillsdale farmers market. Should I completely give up on skiing on Mt. Bachelor with Marianne, and the mochas at the end of the day? When will I again load up a good rig to drive across the mountains into the sagebrush country with a friend at my side providing exciting conversation and healthy perspectives on life? How important is it for me to head out into the Coast Range in the fall to collect enough chanterelles to concoct a yummy meal for a friend? Can I be happy without the hope to spot a cinnamon teal? Will I miss the frenetic December baking and then doing the rounds of my friends with the cookie plates, thereby acknowledging who is important in my life and adds value to it? What about the environmental community, these old friendships cemented by our common hope to save the planet despite all odds? And how can I live so far from the people I love the most, my kids? Can I be without Thanksgiving and the family Christmas, the comings and going of kids, and partners, and friends, and relatives of all of the above? Will I fall apart if I destroy the canvass of my life?

Here I am, all by myself, with nothing to hold on to, except my sense of myself. Everything that defined me has receded into the past. I thought I would easily recreate it all after a hiatus in Switzerland but now I fear that nothing will ever again be the same. I don't have a choice. I have been swept away by a current and I don't know on what island it will deposit me. I trust that it will be beautiful and that I will grow to love it and to accept it as my new home and life. But there is much pain and grief in letting go of a life that I used to describe as perfect.

All this would be exciting if I still were in my twenties, a time in life when I wanted to see new places and discover both the world and who I am. I have already been around the block a couple of times and now I'd like to reap the fruits of the life I have so carefully constructed. Nomads travel with their tribes. I have to do it alone.

These are painful questions and thoughts I am facing as I am trying to figure out the next step in my life. I could take it the easy way and return to Portland with the hope that my savings will last for the rest of my life. But what would I do with the rest of my life? As much as I loved my life in Portland, I will not be able to rebuild it as it was. Worse, I don't think I can rebuild it in Portland - at least not now.

Just in case you thought I spent the week moping around, despite the above reflections that was not the case. Here are a few pictures to reassure you that I am still having fun:

1: Summer hike with my sisters. This is not mountaineering, but what should have been a walk in flower-studded fields. We hiked for 3 hours in a foot of fresh snow. Brigitte (living in Switzerland) is on the left, Francoise (now splitting her time between Australia and Switzerland) in on the right.

2: The next day we got soaked in a thunderstorm above the tree line.

3: Parasails on Lake Silvaplana.

4. The sweetness of a summer night on Lake Geneva.

Flying cows

Today's high is 9 C, or 48 F. It's pouring cats and dogs, non stop, and the clouds shroud most of anything there's to see from our big window. I dread the moment when they will lift and we'll see all the fresh snow. Claire and Colin are leaving tomorrow - they will have been here for a little over 10 days, during which we managed only 3 hikes. Two of those were downgrades from more ambitious hikes because they took turns being sick, Claire with a cold that won't go away, Colin with digestive issues. Between their illnesses and the generally bad weather, I feel lucky that we had those hikes. At least the weather forecasting is getting more accurate and when they are announcing a good day, we pounce, ill or not!

So today is another quiet day at home, recovering, nursing our ailments, and doing some basic cleaning for the apartment to be presentable for my sisters who are arriving tonight. For those who don't know my family: Brigitte lives in Switzerland, near Lausanne, and we have been seeing each other quite regularly since my arrival here, despite the many hours on the train between Zuoz and her place. My other sister is Francoise who lives in Australia. I haven't seen her since last August, when we were up here together. She recently retired and she and her husband are currently spending several months in Switzerland. It will be fun to spend some time the three of us. We also have business to do together, among others we have to make some decisions with respect to this apartment.

Last Sunday was August 1, a big deal in Switzerland, since it's Swiss National Day celebrating the founding of the Confederation in 1291. Representatives of the three original cantons (our "states") organized an uprising against the Austrian occupiers and the signal to start the rebellion was bonfires lit in a prominent place in each of the three territories - where they could be seen by the other rebels. Today August 1 is celebrated in each town and village, with tables set up in the village square, music, food and drinks. The elected officials make long and inspiring speeches. When it gets dark there's a parade of the children carrying paper lanterns, which always causes much anxieties for the parents because the lanterns are lit by candles and prone to catching fire when the wind doesn't blow out the candles. It all is more fun when it doesn't rain - which this year it did not, fortunately! The parade leads to the site of the local bonfire and everybody then assembles around it. From that location you can then see the fires of the surrounding towns, and some others lit on various mountains. It's very beautiful. Cities also offer official fireworks while people buy their own and blow them off pretty much wherever strikes their fancy, without much regard for anybody's safety. Even those that are illegal in the state of Washington are legal here! It's quite scary!

The above paragraph was written from memory, because this year I didn't see any of it. The Zuoz celebration is organized by the Ladies' Gym Club, of which I am a proud member. I was asked to bake a cake that was then sold on the village square. Here there's no such thing as a commercially certified kitchen! Some of you know of my reputation as a master baker, and despite the strong competition of the Swiss women, my cake went so fast, I actually never saw it offered for sale. I still suspect the organizing ladies to have eaten it themselves. I wouldn't blame them - for putting this celebration together is an extraordinary amount of work. I was also asked to work for a shift - and I opted for the late one. And so it is that from 8:30pm to almost 1am I played waitress on the village square. It actually was fun and the time just flew. When all the revelers had gone home we still had to take everything down, put everything away, from the flags to the coffee makers. And the next morning at 9am (after some 6 hours of sleep) I was back in the village to help clean the grills (we had been grilling and selling sausages and kebabs).

When it was all done, the four of us went to the cafe. We were joined by the friend of one of the ladies. She was quite a bit older than me, and politely introduced herself - Katrin Baschnonga. I asked her if she was related to the former butcher, Herr Baschnonga. She opened big eyes and said that she was his wife and co-owner of the shop. (Herr Baschnonga died and the shop closed at least 30 years ago). I told her we were former clients, that her husband always greeted us by announcing "here come the Neuenburgers" (Neuenburg being the German name for Neuchatel, my home town). She opened big eyes and said that she remembers us very well. She remembered my mother dying young and declared that I look like her - in which she is correct! So here I had made another amazing connection with my distant past. The other ladies around the table couldn't believe what they were hearing. They have all lived in Zuoz for over 20 years, but none has the very distant memories and connections that I have!

On another note: Claire and I went on a walk near town on one of those afternoons when the weather was just so-so and Colin was not feeling good. At one point we heard a helicopter. They cruise up and down the valley quite frequently, either to rescue mountaineers, or people injured in car accidents. This helicopter, however, was coming over the mountains, and hauling something quite large dangling underneath on a long rope. Since I always carry my binoculars, I whipped them out and couldn't believe what I was seeing: a cow, strapped to the rope by a harness. It was quite a sight and I was feeling very sorry for that cow, hoping she had been tranquilized before takeoff. Claire was relieved that the cow was not being flown right above us, as she has a long history of being pooped on from above by all kinds of animals, until now primarily by birds and squirrels.









Pictures:

1. Claire and me hiking (picture by Colin).
2. Prepared bonfire (picture taken by Colin).
3. Waitressing on First of August (picture taken by Claire).
4. The flying cow (picture taken from the internet because I was too dumbstruck to think of getting my camera out. Turns out it's a common mode of transport for Swiss cows. The farmers have insurance paying for it.)