How to Calm the Raging Torrent
The Writing Life

How to Calm the Raging Torrent

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The last few weeks have been strange and unsettling as we hang in the interval between what has happened and what might happen. We worry about how closely the virus will come to us and the people we love. We do what we can — wash our hands and keep our distance — but that doesn’t calm the anxiety and fear boiling just below the surface. 

The coping mechanisms we’ve used over the years are off the table. We can’t meet a friend for a cup of coffee or a drink. We can’t go to the gym to workout. Or head to the mall for retail therapy. Or take a trip. There is nowhere to hide from our emotions. 

It’s scary because we’ve invested a lot into not having to deal with ourselves. Whenever things are difficult, we look for something to ease the pain or distract us. But what if we used this time to embrace where we are and the emotions we feel? What if we learn to sit with discomfort and uncertainty? 

It’s not easy, especially when we can feel the anxiety coursing through our bodies like a raging river. We do whatever we can to feel safe and secure. We want to be in control. 

But I’ll let you in on a secret — we’re not in control, even when we think we are. 

So what if we ride out the torrent, trusting that we’re not in this alone. 

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
    and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire, you shall not be burned,
    and the flame shall not consume you.

Isaiah 43:2 (ESV)

The discomfort and unrest aren’t going to kill us. We can trust God, even in chaos, to see us through this. 

Worrying isn’t going to change the trajectory of the virus or the effect it will have on the world as we know it. We can, however, use our energy to create a sense of calm all around us. Here are some ways to get started:

  • Start the day in prayer or mediation. 
  • Limit the amount of time you spend reading or watching the news.
  • Do one thing each day that gives you a sense of normalcy.
  • Get outside, even if it’s only to get the mail.
  • Connect with friends and family through video conferencing.

And most importantly, do what you need to do to stay healthy.

Rioja Day Three
The Writing Life · Travel

Rioja Day Three

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Our first stop today was to the Bodega de Artadi. Three of their wines are in Robert Parker’s top five Riojas. We didn’t have an appointment. But according to Google, it was open.

Two trees marked each space in the parking lot. There was just enough room for a European sized car. Most American cars would have taken the trees out.

The doors to the tasting room were locked. There were cars in the lot, so we walked over to the winery offices. We shared that we were interested in tasting some wine.

“We are not busy. So no problem,” said the woman at the desk. She grabbed her keys and jacket.

As we walked back to the tasting room, Christina explained the history of the winery. I missed most of the explanation but did hear that the winery started in 1985. I was occupied with my camera. Christina also told us about the vineyards planted by the owner’s grandfather in 1945 and how he wanted to make a wine that honored his grandfather. This old vine wine (I don’t remember the specific year) received a 100 point rating from Robert Parker. They no longer make that particular wine. Instead, they make single vineyard wines. These wines consistently earn 95 + ratings from Robert Parker.

Christina asked if we had time because she wanted to give us a tour of the vineyard. We had an appointment at 1:30 but figured an hour would provide us with plenty of time between wineries.

We rode out to the vineyards in this London style taxi. The vineyard was set apart from the rest of the property. Once we passed through an old rusted gate, we walked along a path in the middle of the vineyard. The vines were all between 10 and 75 years old. Christina shared that in a good year, this vineyard will yield 6,000 bottles of wine. That was such a contrast to the millions of bottles produced by Marques de Riscal.

The vine on the right is 75 years old. The one on the left is ten years old.

Another interesting fact about this vineyard is that they plow it with horses. It’s believed that horses are better for the vines because the horses don’t stand in one place too long, like trackers.

Once back at the tasting room, we waited as Christina cured the glasses for our tasting. Then we found out why Robert Parker rated the wine so highly. We even got to taste the old vine wines that they no longer make. At some point during the tasting, Christina mentioned the special events they do for wine club members.

Michael looked at me. “You know where this is going?”

I nodded my head and laughed. “Of course,” I said. But to be honest I knew the moment pulled in the parking lot, he was shipping wine home.

We left Artadi a few minutes before our next appointment. Fortunately, it was only five minutes away. Christina had warned us that the next winery, Ysios, was more famous for the architecture of the building than the wine. Calatrava designed the building.

We quickly parked and walked the long dramatic path up to the building. I took several pictures but felt hurried because we were almost ten minutes late. When we got to the door, it was locked. As we went to walk away, someone came to the door. Michael explained that we had an appointment at 1:30. The woman at the door said they were in a meeting. They were aware there was an appointment, but it hadn’t been confirmed. This was contrary to the information we had received for the concierge. The woman stated that they were in a meeting so we would have to come back tomorrow. We explained that we were leaving town the next day. Her response was, I’m sorry.

As we walked back to the car, it was striking how differently Artadi treated us. We concluded we would never buy Ysios wine. I noticed the Javier San Pedro Odega winery across the street. We pooped over and tasted three of their wines. I liked the white, so we bought a couple of bottles to take back to the hotel. Noel, who helped us with the tasting, suggested a place for us to have lunch over in Laguardia. She wrote a little note for the owner, who didn’t speak any English.

We had late lunch at Cueva De Lobos restaurant, as suggested. We ordered a bottle of Vuida Negra, which we had tasted at the winery, and roasted lamb chops, which were absolutely delicious.

Rioja Day Two
The Writing Life · Travel

Rioja Day Two

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Having learned our lesson yesterday, we started a bit earlier today. The plan was to visit a few wineries and then have lunch. We had to be back at our hotel by 4:00 PM for a scheduled tour of the Marques de Riscal winery on the grounds.

We drove out to Haro, where there are several wineries on one street. It was sort of like Champagne Avenue in Epernay. The most well know winery was Muga, so we started there.

The staff wasn’t exceptionally friendly. She briefly explained our choices, gave us a menu, and told us to let her know what we wanted. We opted for the traditional testing after I started with a glass of Conde de Haro. The test included five wines beginning with a white. None of the wines stood out to me. But in all fairness, I wasn’t a fan of Muga wines before our visit.

We walked further down the street to a small winery, Gomez Cruzado. We were greeted as we walked into the tasting room and invited to sit at a little table for a tasting. Our host not only explained the specifics of each of the wines we tasted, but he also explained how wines are classified in the Rioja region. He explained that only wines that have a Rioja sticker are true Riojas and that the labels indicate the amount of time the wine has spent in the barrel.

The last wine we tasted was a bold white that was different than any other white I’ve ever tasted. Our host claimed that in a blind taste test, it was difficult to tell if it was white or red. I’m not sure that’s entirely true. It very much tasted like a white to me. Nonetheless, we enjoyed it enough to have some shipped home.

When we left, we thought we’d hit another winery, but didn’t want to miss lunch before our 4:00 appointment.

The hotel concierge recommended a restaurant not far from the wineries. We figured it would be another chance to sample some of the best food in the region. When we got to the restaurant, the parking lot was empty. We didn’t let that deter us. But as we walked up to the door, it was clear they weren’t open. It turns out, they were closed until the 12th for vacation. Imagine that — the whole restaurant on vacation.

We decided that we would be adventurous. We drove into the next town, parked, and walked to what “the google” said was a four-star tapas bar. The looks from outside of the restaurant weren’t very promising, but we went in anyway. All the food they had was displayed on the counter. It looked as if it had been sitting there for many hours, if not days. We decided it would be better to grab lunch at the hotel before or appointment.

Here’s the view of Elciego from lunch at the hotel restaurant.

The winery tour of Marques de Rsical wasn’t much different than other mass-market wineries. The major difference was the inclusion of the Frank Gehry hotel we were staying in. We walked to the top of the hill to get a better look at the hotel.

The one thing that blew my mind was the sheer volume of wine they had in the room where they age the bottles before labeling. There were three and a half million bottles of wine in that one space, floor to ceiling. That didn’t include another four million housed at another site.

After our tour, we drove into Logrono to visit La Laurel street that has a bunch of tapas bars. We didn’t get there until almost 9:00 PM. But most of the restaurants don’t open until then. Walking down La Laurel reminded me of my first experience with tapas bars forty years ago in Madrid. Back then, I didn’t feel any nervousness about the food or the language.

We settled on Letras de Laurel, the restaurant suggested by the hotel. It was a bit touch and go as they didn’t have an English menu. However, our waiter did a wonderful job translating what he could. I feel in love with the Pisto, which is a Spanish vegetable dish. But the most amazing thing about dinner was that it cost less than 70 euros, including a bottle of wine and dessert.

The ride back to the hotel was a bit scary. Google took us a different way than the way we came, and there were no street lights. Though we didn’t say anything to each other during the drive, we were both relieved when we pulled on the grounds of the hotel.

Rioja Day One
The Writing Life · Travel

Rioja Day One

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At breakfast, I told our server we were planning to visit the town of Elciego. She informed me that we would be able to circle the entire town twice in twenty minutes. So, we stopped at the front desk to ask the concierge for advice on how to spend the day.


She recommended we visit the walled town of Laguardia about a 15-minute drive from the hotel.

We got a late start to the day and didn’t consider the Spanish tradition of siesta in the afternoon. Consequently, the shops in town were closed when we got there. We walked around the outside of the walled city so I could take some pictures. Michael found an ATM, and then we went to Los Parajes, the restaurant the concierge recommended.

The restaurant hostess suggested we take a look at their sixteen-century wine cellar while they prepared our table.

The cellar had a wine bar of sorts set up. You could grab a glass and walk through the caves. We passed on the wine. To be honest, cellars freak me out. I always have these worst-case scenario thoughts.

The cellar had three smallish rooms, so we saw the entire space in a few minutes. Once we come back up to the restaurant, our table was ready.

We decided to share several starters rather than ordering any entrees. We ordered croquettes, Iberian ham and toasted bread with tomato and grilled octopus. We also had a bottle of Remirez de Ganuza Rioja Reserva. I was too busy enjoying the food and our conversation to take any pictures.

We hoped that once we were done with lunch, the shops would reopen. But no luck. It was also Monday, and most things had limited hours.

So we just walked around looking at the views and architecture. There was a really cool sculpture that consisted of one table with a variety of shoes and another with bags called Escultura Viajeros(Sculptor of Travelers). The description of the meaning was in Spanish. I looked it up later but couldn’t find anything about it. Nonetheless, I took several photos.

Our next stop was the even smaller town of Elciego. We popped into the pharmacy to pick up a few things. The pharmacist didn’t speak English, but we were able to put together enough Spanish to make it work.

We both needed to use the restroom, so we went into this bar called Restuarante La Florida. We thought that was pretty funny since we live in Florida. Michael bought two glasses of wine as a “restroom tax.” The wine wasn’t very good. No great loss. Both glasses only cost 3 euros. While we sat and drank our wine, I noticed a Spanish version of Sweet Home Alabama playing on the radio. We got a good laugh because we didn’t see how the translation made any sense.

Before leaving the town, we walked over to the cathedral that’s visible from our hotel. It wasn’t open. I tried to take a good picture, but it’s difficult to capture such massive buildings up close.

While we were standing in the courtyard, a little boy about seven or eight approached us and asked our names. When Michael responded in Spanish, the little boy began to talk to us. Michael told him we only spoke a little Spanish. The boy nodded and started speaking to us in English. We told him his English was very good.

“I know,” he said as he road off on his scooter.

It made us both laugh. It also made us realize we needed to up our Spanish speaking game.

The Writing Life · Travel

Travel Day Mishaps

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Nothing makes you feel more American than dragging a heavy carry-on through a European airport. Everyone else moves faster through the corridors with bags half the size.

Such was the case for Michael and me as we maneuvered our way to the gate at Zurich airport. We were fortunate that Swiss Air didn’t make us check bags before we went through security. But we knew getting them on the plane was going to be a challenge.

Sure enough as the gate agent checked us in, I saw her eyeing our bags.

“We’ll have to check your bags. They are too heavy,” she said.

That puzzled me because if they were too heavy in the cabin, how would they work below? Well, once we got on the plane, it made perfect sense. The overhead compartments were barely large enough for four standard-sized backpacks.

It was a small plane with two seats on either side of the aisle. The last time we flew on a tiny plane to Bilbao, we rattled and shook the entire flight. Granted, that was 20 years ago, and this was a newer plane.

The view from my window seat was amazing.

Once we landed, we rented a car and headed to El Ciego in the Rioja region — about 120 miles from Bilbao. It was Sunday, so there wasn’t a lot of traffic. Michael put the two-door convertible coupe in sports mode and “did some driving.” We listened to smooth jazz and enjoyed the scenery as we wound our way up the mountains. Then seemingly out of nowhere, there was a sign about the coming toll road.

It changed the mood of our drive. All either of us had was Swiss francs and American dollars. When we arrived at the toll plaza, we only had to take a ticket. For the next forty-five minutes, we worried about how to pay the toll. We finally stopped at a gas station in hopes of finding an ATM. But unfortunately, there wasn’t one. However, we learned from the attendant that we could use our credit card. The last ten minutes of our ride was much more relaxing.

We arrived at Marques de Riscal — a Frank Gehry designed hotel — around five o’clock. After checking in, we retired to the wine bar. We tried a glass or two of the wineries wine and had an early dinner before calling it a night.

I’m embarrassed to share how early we went to bed. But if we have learned anything, it’s this — travel is always better when you get enough rest.

A Day in Zurich Part I
The Writing Life · Travel

A Day in Zurich Part I

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Today we traveled from Lausanne to Zürich. We walked from our hotel to the metro and headed to the central train station. We arrived just in time to hop on our train.

The ride was more scenic than the one to Lausanne because we selected a route that went along the lake. I’m such a water girl.

As I stepped off the train in Zurich, I felt as if I had walked into a scene from a WWII movie. Maybe it was German on the intercom or the huge clock hanging from the ceiling, but I felt out of sorts. It took me a moment to get acclimated.

Driving through Zürich wasn’t very picturesque. It felt much more industrial than Lausanne. And when our taxi driver turned down this one street, I thought where and the hell is he taking us. There was nothing but precast concrete apartment buildings on either side of the street. Hardly, the place for the nice hotel Michael had promised me. It wasn’t until later that I would find out Michael thought the same thing. The hotel appeared on top of the hill as we rounded the curve.

After we checked in, we headed to the hotel restaurant for lunch. I ordered chicken soup because I didn’t want anything too heavy. The server brought this square-shaped bowl with a few springs of green and kennel-sized pieces of chicken on the bottom. Then she poured broth over them. I was disappointed there was no additional chicken. Michael’s chicken Caesar looked way better. What my chicken consommé lacked in volume it made up in taste. Thank goodness Michael shared some of his salad with me.

Shopping was next on the list. We took a fifteen-minute shuttle to the city center. It dropped us off across the street from The Limmat River, which also has a view of the Alps. I didn’t bring a camera, so I took a few shots with my phone.

We walked down Banhoffenstrasse, where all the high-end shops like Tiffany’s, Gucci, Chanel, and Dior are. Several of the stores were closed or closing. We went into Doir in hopes of finding specialty perfume that is hard to find in the States. Of course, they had it. Michael bought it while I continued down the street to see if I could catch any more open stores.

I had an epiphany as I walked from window to window. Every high-end shopping district looks precisely the same. With that thought, I abandoned the idea of going in any more of those stores.

I could see more shops and restaurants down these pedestrian paths between the buildings. They looked so cute. I had to investigate. In the middle of the square was an organ grinder. I pulled my phone out and snapped a quick shot. I also took a photo of a plain-looking church along the way. I wish I had brought my camera.

Most of the little shops were closed, but I managed to find one that sold scarves, hats, purses, and gloves. I needed a hat because it was supposed to be colder in Spain.

To my delight, the winter hats, scarves, and gloves were 50-70% off. I bought a burgundy cashmere hat and the most beautiful leather gloves for less than $200.

Michael and I met at this rooftop bar for a drink. There were no seats inside, so we sat outside but drank pretty quickly. It was too cold for both of us.

We took an Uber to Belvoirpark, a Michelin rated restaurant. My chicken consommé had completely worn off. The meal started with a lamb salad with fried bacon. It seemed interesting, so I ordered it. I confess I thought it would have lamb in it. But I guess the lettuce is called lamb lettuce.

I had Guinea fowl breast and polenta. But for my taste, dinner was too long. Everything was a dramatic production. But I suppose the real issue was me. My ankle was throbbing again, and I just wanted to go to bed. We skipped the grappa and the coffee and headed back to the hotel.

Tomorrow we head to Spain.

Crepes and Photography by the Lake
The Writing Life · Travel

Crepes and Photography by the Lake

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02_08_2020

When we travel through Europe, we’re tempted to pack as much as possible into each day. We don’t want to miss anything. But staying in the same city for an extended time allows us to experience the place. That’s what I did today.

First, I headed back to the Creperie d’ouchy — a little local restaurant across the street from Lake Geneva. Michael and I had dinner there our first night in Lausanne. They make two types of crepes: salted crepes that are 100% gluten-free and sweet crepes that aren’t. My stomach wasn’t feeling all that great. So, I thought it would be best to avoid gluten, at least at lunch. The salted crepes are made with buckwheat flour. I don’t understand exactly how that makes them gluten-free. I will have to look into that more carefully when I get back to the States.

There was a little boutique with bags and jewelry on the corner a few doors down from the Creperie. It wasn’t open when I walked by Saturday. I popped inside. They make these cotton tote bags that I couldn’t resist. I also bought a beautiful handmade beaded bracelet as well as a gift for my daughter. I can’t tell you what it is because she reads the blog, but I’m sure she’ll love it.

The creperie had several people sitting at outside tables drinking coffee and eating. They seemed to want to take advantage of the warmer weather and the sunshine. However, my I-now-live-in-Florida-bones opted for a table inside close to the window. After the first few times the server walked in and out of the door, I considered moving further back into the restaurant.

I ordered a cup of rose hip tea and a salted crepe with mushrooms and cheese. I felt very much like a local.

After lunch, I set off to see the Thailand Temple one of the women at the front desk suggested. I stopped along the way to take more pictures of the Alps and the lake. I was struck by the number of people out strolling with their dogs and children. A few women were sitting on benches reading. It made me wish I had brought my book.

As I passed the Olympic museum, I contemplated walking through the sculpture garden again. It had been raining before. But I was anxious to see the temple.

When the temple came into view, it looked out of place. It was on top of a hill with a playground on one side and an open field on the other. It hardly seemed worth the effort to cross the street. I choose instead to continue walking along the lake path. I took several great pictures of the Alps and the lake.

On my way back, I thought I should at least walk over to the temple. A woman was sitting on the steps of the temple looking at her phone. Her dog was running back and forth. Then he brought her what looked like a tree branch. It was unclear where he found it, but he was so excited. She said something to him and waved him away. I stood there and watched as he tried to get her to play. All that to say, the temple was kind of a bust.

I walked about four miles along the lake, just enjoying the sunshine. There was a part of me that wondered if I squandered my time by not going back to the city to see more sights. But I had a fabulous time taking pictures. I even got a few great shots of a swan. The lakes in Europe always seem to have swans.

When I got back to the hotel, I noticed that a few people at the bar enjoying an ice cream sundae. I figured why not and ordered a chocolate banana sundae. I relaxed there with my book until it was time to meet Michael for dinner.

A Day of Rest
The Writing Process · Travel

A Day of Rest

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02_07_2020

Today I stayed in because I felt run down and tired. Also, my ankle was throbbing. I twisted it the Saturday before I left Tampa. Walking 6.9 miles and climbing the equivalent of nine flights of stairs the day before in Montreux didn’t help. While it felt as if I was missing out, I knew it would be better for the rest of my trip.

Part of me thinks that the pace here in Switzerland invited me to slow down. There seems to be tranquility here that I can’t quite explain. I feel it when I walk along the lake paths or through the city center. I even feel it on the trains and metro between five and six o’clock. There isn’t the same type of hustle and bustle felt in New York or London traveling at the same time. It isn’t that the Swiss people aren’t in a hurry to get wherever they are going. It’s as if they are just calmer about it. It made me think about the stance of neutrality that Switzerland has always taken. Perhaps the people who live here are more at peace with themselves in general. Of course, it’s hard not to be affected by the beauty of the Alps and Lake Geneva.

There are several things I’ve noticed since I have been here.

The public toilets are extraordinarily clean. Each stall has its own little room with a cleaning solution that you can spray on toilet paper to clean the seat and a toilet brush. It’s strange to be writing it, but it’s such a contrast to my first experience with a European toilet almost forty years ago. Back then, our school recommended we bring toilet paper on our trip. That didn’t prepare me for the one time I walked into a public restroom and found a place for your feet and a drain of sorts. Of course, I’ve been in other toilets in other European countries, and they have had varying levels of cleanliness. But here they seem to be very consistent.

Another thing I noticed is that I feel more personally relaxed. I actually took a two-hour nap, which is very unlike me. If I had been at home, I probably would have spent that time watching Netflix. Or I would have felt the need to do something in spite of my body telling me it needed to rest.

It may also be strange to note that I have felt comforted by how many people of color I’ve seen. As a person of color, you don’t always know how you will be perceived or treated when you travel. In the States, you have an idea of what to expect in certain places. You are better able to read your surroundings. But when traveling abroad with a language barrier, it feels as if you’re at a disadvantage. But I’ve felt very welcomed here. It also helps to see several people that look like me even though we don’t speak the same language.

All in all staying in was a good idea even though my meals were a mix of highs and lows.

For lunch, I ordered the pan-seared perch. I wanted to see if there was a significant difference between perch from Lake Geneva and the Great Lakes. I was a little disappointed. The perch tasted oily. At first, I thought it might have been because of how it was cooked. But growing up, we eat fried perch, and I don’t remember the fish itself having an oily texture. It was unpleasant enough that I didn’t finish it and eat my salad instead.

Dinner, on the other hand, was a delight. I had a pizza with Prosciutto and mushrooms. The smells alone sent me swooning. I was a bit worried about whether or not I was going to be able to eat gluten. But neither the roll I eat at lunch or bread I eat the night before made me sick, so I pushed the food envelope a bit further. Biting into the crisp crust made every gluten-free, diary-free pizza I’ve eaten in the past few years seem like a cruel joke. Even though I know it’s only a matter of time before it all catches up with me, I love being able to eat pretty much what I want.

Accidental Trip to Montreux
The Writing Life · Travel

Accidental Trip to Montreux

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The plan for today was to hop on the train and visit Lavaux, an area known for its wine. The woman at the tourism center told me that it would be a beautiful walk through the vineyards. I pictured quaint cottages sprinkled along the trail where you could stop at the winery and taste wine — Swiss version of Napa.

I stopped at the tourism center at the train station to find out which train to take, and to get a recommendation on which winery to visit. The woman at the desk explained there weren’t any wineries to visit. It was just a beautiful walk. I was a little disappointed but decided to take a look anyway.

I grabbed a carry-out container of beans and rice that cost me twenty U.S. dollars. It seemed excessive, but I didn’t want to get caught between lunch and dinner like the past two days. I figured I’d eat them on the train, but it turns out the train moved pretty quickly through the stops. I didn’t feel relaxed enough to eat. I kept waiting for a little village or something. But there were only vineyards and individual houses. The vines didn’t have anything on them, which I should have expected seeing as though it’s February.

The woman at the train station informed said my ticket only took me as far as Epesses. The train I was on didn’t stop at that station, and I had already passed it anyway. I decided to get off at the next stop, but there wasn’t a station there. There was no way I was standing on the tracks for a half-hour waiting for the next train. Montreux, a city I had visited before, was a few stops ahead. Even though I didn’t have a ticket, I took my chances. I figured if the conductor came by, I could buy a ticket from him.

Montreux was as beautiful as I remembered. Lake Geneva is more narrow there, so the mountains feel a lot closer. For some reason, there seem to be more snow caps. The sun was out, and it was a lot warmer than it had been. According to the guide I received at the tourism office, Montreux enjoys pleasant and mild microclimates all year round because it’s nestled between the lake and the mountains.

About a block from the train station was an Autograph Collection Marriott. I went inside to ask how to get down to the lake. Standing in the center of the lobby, I noticed a stunning view from their restaurant. I abandoned my expensive bowl of beans and rice for a more formal lunch with a view.

It was easy to get lost in my thoughts because the conversations around me were in French. The voices become a white noise of sort. And interestingly enough, I didn’t feel lonely. I felt more able to be entirely in the moment.

I ordered long-roasted lamb with sage sauce, potatoes, and mushrooms. The lamb was so much more tender than the ribeye I had had the other day. And the mushrooms were exceptional. The potatoes felt unnecessary.

After lunch, I walked down a ton of steps to get to the path along the lake. It was reassuring to see an up escalator next to the stairs. I didn’t want to have to walk back up.

The path along the Lake Geneva was breathtaking. There were lots of people out enjoying the weather. It was a blessing that my earlier plans didn’t work out. The beauty of God’s majesty and variety of His creation was overwhelming. I felt an indescribable sense of peace and calm. Funny, I remember feeling the same way when I visited Montreux in 2017.

There’s a statue of Freddie Mercury on the path that I hadn’t meant anything the first time I saw it. But after seeing Bohemian Rhapsody, I stopped and took a few pictures. I even decided to visit the Queen Studio Experience further down the path at the Casino. It used to be Queen’s studio. It opened as a museum in 2013. It was so cool to see Mercury’s handwritten lyrics on looseleaf paper and note pads. There was also a mixing board where you could try your hand at mixing one of Queen’s songs. I didn’t try it. I took a picture of a spot on the ground where Freddie Mercury had recorded his last song.

By the time I left the museum, it was almost 4:30 PM. I wanted to get back to Lausanne before it got dark. I walked along the street to see if any shops called my name. But when I saw a pair of children’s leggings in the window that cost $245, I realized I could safely head straight back to the train station.

I bought a ticket back to Lausanne, which I’m pretty sure I overpaid for it. But at least this time, I had one. On the train, I sat across from this lovely woman who was chatting with me. I felt terrible because I didn’t even know how to tell her I didn’t understand French. So, I just smiled and nodded my head. It made me think about how awful it must be for people in the U.S. who don’t speak English. We don’t even try to meet them where they are. Perhaps more of us need experiences where we don’t speak the national language.

Michael invited me to join his team for dinner. Unfortunately, I was wearing the same shirt I had worn to our dinner two days ago. I quickly tried to find a sweater or something before I went to the restaurant. But as fate would have it, the stores were all on the top of the hill. On more than one occasion, I almost abandoned the whole idea of buying another shirt. But I pressed forward and found a rather cute sweater from the same store I had purchased the tee-shirt I was wearing. I changed in the dressing room and headed to the restaurant.

It turns out I could have worn something I already had. I ended up meeting Michael back at the hotel before walking together to the restaurant. Oh well!

We went to Café du Vieil Ouchy right across from the lake for fondue. There’s nothing like melted hot Gruyere cheese and bread. I ate way more than I should have. I only stopped because I thought there was a meat course coming. There wasn’t. But it was just as well, because I know I would have continued to eat even though I was totally full. The fondue was amazing!

Spa Day
The Writing Life · Travel

Spa Day

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Today started cold and rainy. I grabbed an umbrella and headed to my appointment at the Royal Savoy Hotel for a massage. The hotel was only two metro stops away, so there was no danger of any mix-ups like yesterday.

Across the street from The Royal Savoy Hotel was a cute little church that looked more picturesque than the cathedral I visited the day before. It was raining pretty hard, so I decided I’d take a picture after my massage.

As I walked through the hotel to the spa, I noticed that the rain had changed to a snowy mix. It was a great day to stay inside.

The spa was on the lower level of the hotel. It had an inside pool and an outdoor jacuzzi. The spa receptionist informed me that the jacuzzi was 32 degrees Celsius, which is about 90 degrees Fahrenheit. It looked so inviting as the snowy mix showered down, and the steam from the pool floated upward. I wished I had brought my swimsuit.

After getting changed in my robe and slippers, I waited in the relaxation room to meet my massage therapist. I worried there would be a language issue, but she spoke English.

Melania escorted me to the treatment room a few doors down. The room was so large it could have easily fit another massage table. It also had a water closet, sink, and shower, which was convenient. I always realize I have to go just as I’m getting on the table.

When Melania entered the room, she took off her shoes at the door. She performed the entire massage barefoot. I couldn’t help but wonder why. I thought about it way longer than I care to admit. I finally decided that it was her way of honoring the space.

On the questionnaire I filled out before the massage, it listed the stomach as one of the places the therapist can concentrate on or avoid. I thought it was an odd question. Well, when I turned over, Melania placed a folded towel on top of the blanket. Then she slid the blanket down and exposed my stomach. It was kind of weird, but I was curious about this stomach massage. Melana moved clockwise around my stomach. I wondered if that was the direction of our colon. After several rotations, she moved from right to left. I kept telling myself to enjoy the process instead of trying to figure out the reason for her methods.

The truth is, I spent most of the massage thinking about the process, which I know is besides the point. I didn’t allow myself just to let go. I’m not quite sure why that is. Perhaps it was the newness of the experience with that massage therapist. Going to a spa isn’t like seeing your regular therapist who knows your body. There is probably an element of familiarity and trust needed to let go entirely.

Don’t get me wrong; the massage was incredible. I felt like silly putty afterward. I couldn’t do much for the next half hour but rest in the relaxation zone. I thought about getting in the hot tub in the lady’s locker room, but I felt bad getting in with no clothes on when the woman who was already in had on a suit. For a split second, I considered buying a swimsuit, but I have an entire drawer of swimsuits at home.

It was 2:30 PM, and I feared I had once again missed the opportunity to eat lunch. Fortunately, the hotel bar served food all day. I had butternut squash soup served with a delightful cream on the side. For the next hour and a half, I sat at a small table in the bar, reading my kindle and enjoying my lunch with a glass of Prosecco. I was so engrossed in my book that I finished it. It seems that reading a good book while eating great food is just as relaxing as the hot tub.

When I left the hotel, it was still raining. I took a picture of the little church anyway. I decided to walk back to my hotel. Despite the rain, I enjoyed being outside.

Michael and I went to the Italian restaurant in our hotel for dinner. The Amatriciana was worth the price I paid later for eating the gluten.