Some serious yodeling

Question: Did the Hausfrau go to the Yodeling festival in Luzern?

Answer: Is the Hausfrau a Slave to the Rhythm?

Of course she did!

Every three years this festival is held and, having listened my fair share of bluegrass and yodeling Americana I figured it was about time I heard the real thing. (Pics above are of flag-throwing, by the way, another traditional 'sport'.)

Naturally, the excursion was coloured somewhat by the moaning and squabbling of two offspring who were less than enthused to be trucked in on a boiling hot summer's day to hear... yodeling. DH at least disguised his underwhelmedness behind sunglasses and the map.

However, there was a breeze coming in across Lake Luzern and - once we had found a position to watch the parade - the running of the cows (and their, ahem, urine) turned sour faces into grins, and we were in for a treat, including... oh yes! Alphorns!


Even the local music shop appeared to sell these amazing instruments. My question is: How on planet earth were these things invented? They are easily three metres long. Though I guess if you live atop of a three kilometre high mountain you wouldn't be so concerned about space restrictions.

The thing that surprised me about Alphorns and the yodelling was how gentle and harmonious it was. Perhaps this was due to the fact that the yodelling we heard was all choral rather than solo. I will have to search out some solo yodelling action before we leave this amazing country, just to hear the difference.

I do know that traditional style folk music is taken fairly seriously here. I recall, on our arrival, mirthfully discovering a television station which played folk music in earnest. By that I mean hours of 2-shot camera work in one tiny, traditional-style room with a small and serious group of singers and instrumentalists in traditional costume. I suppose they were enjoying themselves, but it did look a little like an endurance test for some.

I sense this is a good place to wind up with a couple of pics of the Aussie yodeling contingent in Luzern, who threw little koalas into the crowd - one caught by DD, who was most chuffed.

I will also add that the Hausfrau has been invited to sing again with the Project Choir: this time Bach Cantata 169.

Yodel-ay-hee-hee!

Castles and the forest

Lately, I've been hearing criticism from Dear Local Ex-Pats about the 'hideous' new buildings - apartments, schools - which are being built alongside the older Swiss houses in the area.

It may be something to do with being on a continent which has a long architectural history that the emergence of these new buildings might appear so blatantly insensitive to their historical surrounds.

I personally like to lean casually on nearby buildings and make mental notes about the joys of... well, leaning casually on buildings which were built in the 15th Century, so I can understand those who feel the need to preserve the uniqueness of the past.

However, I admit to being kind of attracted to the non-apologetic approach when it comes to building one's home and castle. The modern buildings appear highly functional and original in design and, in my humble opinion, while some buildings may seem a little out of place, most often the contrast between the old and the new serves to highlight both: whichever way your taste goes, I'll bet you stop to notice.

Alright, I've had my rant. Obtusely, what I'm warming up to talking about is a place where there aren't any architectural complaints - the forest.


Twice in the past week I've found myself lucky enough to be a-wandering through a quiet forest. The first instance was on a mild and rainy day at our very own local forest (or 'My Wald', as DS - who is a monthly visitor with the Kindy class - likes to claim). The waterfall had been frozen the last time I passed that way, but this time I was happy to see clear water and the promise of summer swims.

The second forest venture was with the whole family after another splendid lunch (home-made bread, home-made pasta, tuna, rocket, lemon, garlic, capers... lots of drooling from the Hausfrau) with our Dear Aussie ICE and SPICE, after which we headed out into the scorching afternoon to trek from Adliswil across the ridge down to Rüschlikon.

The fabulous thing about these Euro forests is how easy it is to imagine a gingerbread house, or a loitering wolf, or a random elf or fairy. Perhaps I'm comparing this to good old Snugglepot and Cuddlepie and evil Mrs Snake and the Banksia men wilting in the midday heat, but the imagination can work overtime as you wander deep into the forests around these parts.

Nothing else to say on forests, but - speaking of fairy tales - the theme at DS's Kindy at the moment is castles. We await with eager anticipation the Kindergarten Theater, which will feature DS as the König (king) and his Dear Little Kiwi Pal as the Königin (queen) (you know: the one who when she comes over has been known to say, 'Gosh your house is messy').

Mainly I can't wait to see DS with his special hobby horse. We made this horse at the Horse-Making Convention at the Kindergarten a few weeks ago, and I must say DS's horse is spectacularly un-horse-like, with its Father-Christmas wispy mane, huge blue button-eyes and long yellow leather ears. But the best bit is witnessing pure, unfettered joy on the face of DS as he neighs and gallops his horse and its massive jingle-bell-bridle around his castle and his forest - our apartment and surrounding gardens.

Mindball

After a tasty pizza lunch in Winterthur the Hausfrau and family headed to 'Technorama'. (For any Canberrans out there, it's like Questacon except much bigger.)


Suffice it to say, we were in seventh heaven with the amount of fiddling and button-pushing and dial-twirling to be done.

One of the highlights has to be Mindball (wow, I just found a site where you can buy your own game for US$23,900), a combat of the calmest minds: the lower your Alpha and Beta brainwaves, the higher your score.

The Hausfrau was entirely whipped at this game, by everyone in her family. I like to think it was partially due to the running commentary from DS.

DS: You have to stop thinking, mummy. Just stop. Try and think of nothing. Just nothing. Are you thinking of nothing yet?

A very Zen DH was the proud winner of all games he played, and I could suggest that in order to win you need to be the most brain-dead of the contestants, but that might sound a bit like sour grapes. I really should have tried the game again at the end of the day, though, because by closing time the Hausfrau was suffering from off-the-scale brain meltdown having tried to keep track of DS (who had been zotting here and there in an entirely random fashion for most of the day) and his shirt - both of which she lost in the heaving mass of children and robotic limbs and other swinging devices.


Thankfully, the announcement came over the loudspeaker that DS was in fact waiting for his parents at the front desk. We of course bolted down to find DS chatting in Swiss-German to the staff while he played with a motorised millipede.

Me: I'm so glad you have him! Thank you! And, er, I think we also lost a shirt as well... white? with blue stripes?
Staffer: [Looks through Lost and Found box.] Oh yes, we have that too.

Conquering the world

Looking at this photo now it's hard to believe only a few weeks ago we were at the top of Jungfrau - the 'Top of Europe' - with the extended family.




Sometimes life feels like there are only a few seconds to breathe before the next event takes over your brain. This is just part of life when you have to - for example - take a certain DD to the Kinderspital (children's hospital) on the other side of town, or - for example - run around like a headless chicken when you at the last minute learn that you have to organise guacamole for the school concert (!), and so-on.

But back to breathing (something I personally like to do), it so happens that there is a third less oxygen at the Top of Europe, which made for some spacy stair-climbing. But we had a perfect day for it - the view was unimpeded by cloud, and of course spectacular.



From Grindelwald (with a massive score on the Swiss-o-meter) we chugged slowly up on the mostly-tunnel Jungfraujoch railway, built at the end of the 19th Century. (Apparently they accidentally exploded 30 tonnes of dynamite when they were building it, and you could hear the explosion all the way to Germany. I personally wouldn't want to have been that guy who set it off...)




The trains were packed to the rafters - and it wasn't even peak season - and, having read the guide books, I wasn't surprised to see that a good proportion of tourists were groups from India, having come (one presumes) to see the new favourite Bollywood film location. If that's hard to believe, I'll just mention that there was a Bollywood film crew shooting on location while we were there, complete with stars adjusting fake beards and brightly-sari'd women scurrying between locations. The restaurants at the top also served Indian-style foods although, having experienced the pickle-filled falafel in Zürich, one wonders what Dear Swiss surprises were in the curry.


We wandered up to the ice-palace, where it looked like every single tourist was scooting around on the ice-floor viewing ice sculptures - and their breath: it was minus 10 degrees outside with what I would guess was a massive wind-chill factor on top of that.

As I said, hard to believe now, as we roll into summer, and are running to catch up with the next round of events.

Maybe that's why I love photographs. When I'm in a wheelchair you'll be able to find me poring over photos and wondering if we were really there. Sounding reflective? Definitely. I saw an exhibition of photographs by filmmaker/artist Chris Marker at the Museum für Gestaltung yesterday, and was blown away by the volume of work. OK, he must be about 90 any minute now, so perhaps it's no surprise that he's had time to cover the ground that he did, but you have to hand it to people who - to coin a phrase - just do it.

In the exhibition, Staring Back, Marker quotes Valery Larbaud who laments not being able to contact some of the subjects of his old photographs.

For, I don't know why, it seems to me that with them I could conquer a world.

Looking now at photos of her family at the Top of Europe, the Hausfrau can fully understand that sentiment.


PS. I'm not sure we'll ever discover who, but I am proud to report that some valiant Aussie had clearly conqured the local recycling depot/dump - and planted a flag - at Rümikon, near Zürich airport. Olé!