Back-blog: A Visit to Lionel/ On to Italia

Saturday morning, Erin and I headed up to Praz-vully, a small village somewhere between Bern, Fribourg, Murten and Neuchâtel. Our plan was to spend the night with a good friend we'd made last time we were in Europe together--Lionel. We were going to meet his baby girl and wife, and have long talks with him about the church in Switzerland and France (Lionel is a pastor). And of course, get a free couch for the night *wink*



The views along the way were, again, breath-taking.







[travel buddies!]

Our rental car was a zippy black Ibiza hatchback

It was all kinds of fun to drive through the hills, Erin and I singing Lauryn Hill or The Sound of Music (how can you not? The hills are ALIVE! With the sound of MUSIC!) or Gillian Welch.




We ate dinner in Fribourg and had an argument about whether or not it was THE Fribourg of the Gutenberg Press. Then we drove past the history museum and it had a huge exhibit on Gutenberg.
So either it was in fact the correct Fribourg, or the curators of the museum were making good on the ignorance of tourists who couldn't remember which Fribourg it was, and what had counted as "Germany" at that time in the 15th century anyway.

Notably, Fribourg was also a center for the Counter-Reformation. I could feel Calvin's residual wrath still weighing on the city.

But no matter. Erin and I ordered delicious food ("Je vous tres le plat du jour, s'il vous plait!") and watched people coming and going from a Scottish festival happening downtown. Then, since it was getting dark, we thought we'd better try to find Lionel's little village and our home for the night.

We got lost. Utterly, completely, amazingly lost. We stopped in a restaurant to call Lionel's cell phone. We tried speaking in French to the host, then in German (man I need to learn more in German than just quantum mechanics... knowing how to say "The probability of the particular measurement outcome is derived from the Schrödinger equation" in 1930's German wasn't exactly going to help us get a free phone call)..but then we overheard the staff speaking to each other in Spanish! Ok... so Erin and I tried again in Spanish. This time we made some progress, feeling rather smug with ourselves for squeaking by in three languages (hardly... but at this point of the evening we were taking any victories we could get).. but Lionel didn't answer! So much for our multi-lingual extravaganza. We tried one more restaurant down the street, but it was owned by a Vietnamese family. We didn't every try to speak to them-- just turned around and left!
Well, eventually we found a phone booth and called again-- this time, a voice! LIONEL! He said we were (by now) quite close, and he would drive out to meet us where we were. We were elated, and really excited to see our dear friend from 4 years ago-- we'd met while singing with a small choir from Calvin during a Reformed Ecumenical Council which met for two weeks in Utrecht, Netherlands. The Americans (i.e., those of us in the choir from Calvin) became fast friends with the three French delegates to the conference, one of whom was Lionel.

We stayed up to the wee hours discussing the church in Europe, and Lionel's work in Switzerland, and also what it's like to be a new father. (Pictures is Lionel with his beautiful daughter, Dania, who is the most sociable of 1 1/2 year olds!). At one point he began to cry, telling us the story of a few weeks ago when Dania had picked up a glass from the table and showed him and Monica (his wife), but then dropped the glass and fell on top of it. She wasn't cut badly, but they both freaked out-- Lionel explained how helpless he felt, and how he would do anything for this little person, and how even her smallest suffering caused him incredible grief. It was a beautiful picture of what I know my father feels for me (most days, right dad?).

The next morning, Lionel took Erin and I for a tour of the village and the area near Lake Neuchâtel. It was lovely-- rolling hills, white wheat against green trees, blue lakes...









And then, we said a sad goodbye, at drove on to Italy.



We took the "scenic" route (which is a bit of a misnomer, since ALL routes in Switzerland qualify as "scenic") through Interlochen, which was magnificent. The next two pictures are from that drive. If you have a hiking itch and you find yourself out the Switzerland way, this is one of THE places to explore. I MUST get back there...



Italy was cool, too-- though driving through Milano was a bit of a harrowing experience, which included turning around and going through the same toll oh, three-ish times. But lucky for us, we found the correct route to Genova (on the way to Cinque Terre, our final destination for at least two days) just as we turned over the final Euro in our coin collection to the toll booth dude. But even past Milan, we learned veeeeery quickly that there is no decency on the autoroutes in Italy--or anywhere, for that matter. Apparently in this culture, all is fair in love and driving and standing in line for stuff.

By this time it was dark, and we didn't get to see much of the Italian countryside stretching between Milan and Genova, but we had great conversation anyway. Old college buddies are the best and rarest of treasures.

We reached Genova 'round about midnight, and decided to keep driving the scenic route down the coast of the Mediterranean to look for a camp site for the night. The drive, though in the dark, was magnificent-- lights all over the hills reflecting on a deep, dark mass of water-- which you couldn't see so much as feel the presence of nearby.

Well, I guess it's our own fault for inadvertently touring the industrial district outside Milan thrice-over that it was too late to rent a campsite by the time we found one. All the gates locked at 11 pm, we learned. No such thing as 24-hour in Italia! Instead, we found a hotel and buzzed the intercom (again, no 24-hour reception). A grumpy, disheveled Italian man who was balding but amused by these late-comers gave us a room on the second floor, and much to our delight we found this:

A real gem-- it was absolutely adorable. Not bad for a 1:00 am arrival at some hotel in some small village whose name neither Erin nor I ever learned.

We slept like babies, preparing ourselves for our first full day in Italy, when we'd drive to and then explore/camp at Cinque Terre: five little cities built into the ancient hills and vineyards on the Mediterranean.


I'm not entirely certain, but I think I dreamt that night of eating raspberry gelato out of a small white cup and floating aimlessly in a sparkling sea...