Bern Onion Market (Zibelemärit)

Being an adopted Swiss Bernese by day, Doug was strongly encouraged to attend the Zeibelmärit, the onion market that is held every year  in Bern on the 4^th Monday of November.  After spending Thanksgiving evening at a French restaurant in Lausanne (missing our family), what a better way to embrace fall and the dropping temperatures than take a short overnight get-away to Bern.

The history of the onion market goes back to the 15^th century, where the nearby Fribourgians allegedly came to the Bernese rescue after a major fire, and they thanked them by having a market to celebrate together and allow them to sell their crops.  Ever since, the Swiss capital of Bern has been having an annual celebration of the mighty onion, and also its related cousin, garlic.  On this day, it’s all things onion – braids of all sizes, decorations, every imaginable food made with onions – and to wash it all down, beer and spiced wine.

We arrived on Sunday, knowing that the festival starts at about 5am on Monday, and is in full swing by 6am.  Everyone talked about “beating the crowds”, which actually would have meant going out at 4am, because by the time we left our hotel at 6am, the streets were barely passable.  All I can say is that it was surreal – throngs of people walking around half asleep, vendors over about 5 blocks of the city center.  By early afternoon, most of the onion goods were sold, and the beer and wine drinking take a more serious turn.  So did the confetti throwing (sold by the bag) and the head bonking with a plastic mallet, which can happen at any moment.  The afterschool gangs of Swiss youths were particularly enthusiastic, and their elders not much better.  I witnessed adults grabbing arms, pretending to be mad or even chase them down.  It was mayhem…

Can't forget about the garlic!

One thing that I was struck by was the un-Swissness of the confetti that completely covered the old town of Bern.  By the time we took the train back to Lausanne, we had spread the confetti to the train, the metro, the bus, up our stairs and into our apartment.  I was still cleaning it out today.  All day I was imagining how many Swiss, German, and French homes have Bern confetti decorating their corridors.  But I’ll bet they don’t last long – that’s just not the Swiss way.

Saw this ad - feeling at home in the land of Meiers!

 Another Meier sighting!

Les Vendages!

I’m sorry for the long silence, but I’ve had a bit of writer’s block.  And I’ve been busy…yes, I’m not just sitting around eating chocolate and cheese, I’ve been busy brushing up on my French.  I was counting the years that I’ve studied French the other day…it’s literally been 42 years.  I started studying when I was -2 years old, and it’s been a long haul.

In all seriousness, I have been studying French for the past 3 months through the Swiss French School in Lausanne.  In the past I’ve always tried to keep up with my (mostly spoken) French with weekly lessons.  I’ve had so many great teachers over the years – Laurence, Maryvonne, Florence – who have helped me get to the level I’m at today.  But life and work got in the way, and for the past few years I haven’t had my weekly chat sessions, so I felt that I was a bit rusty and should brush up.  The classes have been a great jump-start back to speaking and writing in French, and I’ve received many compliments (albeit somewhat backhanded ones, more of surprise that an American can speak French at all…we have a lousy reputation in the language department, so the bar is set pretty low).

So enough excuses, my classes are over, and I’m back to the blog.  We had such a fantastic time in early October helping with les vendanges – picking grapes in the gorgeous Lavaux vineyards at Alain Chollet’s vineyard in Villette.   Alain Chollet is a third generation winemaker whose home and the vineyard are set on impossibly steep slopes with breathtaking views overlooking Lac Leman and the Alps.  I can’t imagine waking to that view every day.  They say that every day is different but just as beautiful.

We started our day at about 8am with croissants and coffee and a short discussion with Alain about his vineyard - the history (his grandfather purchased the vineyard in 1921), the 12 types of grapes that he grows and his sustainable farming methods.  It was exciting to hear about his type of farming that uses less water, and how he’s been planting some of the older grape varietals to increase biodiversity.  We were a small team that day – only about 8 of us, mostly connected in some way to La Source medical clinic where his wife works, which is also where my friend Debbie works.  We had a pompier (fireman), a retired mathematics professor, now a painter, and a few veteran vendage volunteers who made up our crew.

Alain Chollet, the vintner, in the visitor's hut

After coffee, we were shown our harvest tools – small little razor sharp clippers with a sharp point at the end.  There was a discussion about the pheromones that our hands emit that seem to attract the clippers (that are somehow well-known to secretaries who get paper cuts – is this my French gone bad, or is this what he was saying?)  At any rate, that’s what he said, and we were told to hold the cluster of grapes from the bottom, and try to keep our hands away from the clipper blades.  One veteran volunteer showed us his scars from the prior year.  I also saw that the first-aide kit was out and ready.

Our first task was to pick the white Chassla grapes from the vines that go across the hill.  It turns out that clipping the grapes is the easy part.   Luckily, they had hired workers to haul the filled crates back to the “cave” where the wine was to be pressed.  Every once in awhile we stood and turned around to see the gorgeous view. 

At noon we went inside for a delicious meal (cooked by Alain’s wife), complete with their wine.  After our hour-long break we went back to the vineyards, this time to pick the pinot grapes that were planted in steep vertical rows.  We hauled our empty crates to the top of the hill, and worked two by two going down the vine, someone on each side.  You had to be careful to not include the finger of your partner (in my case Doug) along with your grape cluster, but Doug and I worked well together once we got the hang of it.

Alain Chollet and Debbie

Alain Chollet's visitor's hut is along the tourist trail through the Lavaux vineyards.  It's a place where you can sit and relax, enjoy the view, and taste their wine (available self-service inside the hut).

At some point in the afternoon I switched to work opposite of Debbie and as we were chatting away I happened to mention that it was always big excitement for the women in our neighborhood back home when the firemen were called.  I knew the second that I said it that I shouldn’t have (Debbie hasn’t changed from our nursing school days) and before I knew it, she was telling “le pompier” my comment.  NO DEBBIE!  He modestly said that it was similar in Switzerland, but mostly for the younger pompiers... to which Debbie replied, “Yes, but women “of a certain age” can also appreciate the older pompiers.”  STOP DEBBIE!!   I was basically mortified, and avoided all contact with the man, until, still chatting opposite Debbie, the clipper found my finger and started to bleed.  I had to sheepishly ask “le pompier” for a bandaid and muttered  “Merci, je ne l’ai pas fait exprès” (I didn’t do it on purpose)”.  So embarrassing!!

When the vendage was done, we assembled at a table next to the house overlooking the lake, and the grandmère brought out cake and ice tea.   From there we went inside the winery to help press the Chassla grapes.  The press was over 100 years old, set on a large piece of granite from the nearby Jura Mountains.  After a few presses (and tasting the delicious juice) we helped to clean up and were set to leave when Alain asked if we were in a hurry, did we have time for an “apéro”.  After a glass of their delicious Chardonnay, we left with 6 bottles of wine each, and a big bunch of Chassla grapes for our efforts.  Not bad for a day’s “work”!

The team

The grandparents

The end of a fantastic day

 Separating the grapes before the second press

Helvetic Road Hazards – Bovine and Other

Winter is right around the corner.  This morning before I went out on my bike ride I checked the weather report – 2 degrees!  Holy Cow!  Ok, granted in was in Celsius, it’s still a jolt to see such low numbers.

The months of July, August, and September were exciting riding times for Doug and I.  Swiss roads are the best!  Swiss drivers are so courteous of cyclists!  Swiss countryside and scenery are incomparable!  Every bike ride was a new discovery, a new gorgeous area to explore.  We were in heaven.

The chilly weather is bringing a bit of an edge to the Swiss cycling experience.  The drivers seem a little less patient – it never fails to shock me how they will wait until I’m getting close before they decide it’s safe to pull in front of me.  Now I’m expecting it – I look for that little second of indecision from the driver, a slight rocking of their car, and then they decide … what the heck, I’ll go for it.  Luckily I’m usually out on roads without too many cars.  But that brings other hazards as well…

Hunting season must have started, because I’m hearing shots fired in the woods where I’ve never heard shots before (I have a few routes next to les champs de tir).  My average speed travelling through the woods has picked up, and I’m hoping my red jersey doesn’t somehow resemble a buck’s rump.  I feel a jolt of fear (just like I would imagine a deer feels) when I hear a rustle in the woods.  I actually had a deer jump out right in front of me the other day.  The poor thing was scared to death; he stumbled, struggled to get up as he kicked his feet in the air, righted himself, turned and looked at me for a second, and then bounded away.  I have a friend whose car has been jumped by deer three different times (she’s a deer magnet), so I’ve developed a healthy fear of deer in the wild.

Fall colors just starting in the Jura Mountains

Last weekend Doug and I went on a 98-mile bike up the Col de Marchairuz in the Jura mountains – it was a warm, sunny, fall day and a fantastic ride.  On the way down the mountain Doug pointed out that the side of the road seemed to be trampled down, and that there was a lot of “mud” in the road.   Had they just had "la désalpe" – where they bring the cows down from the mountain for the winter?  Sure enough, just as we were reaching the bottom of the mountain, we were stopped by a troupe of cows walking in the middle of the road.  The cows were decorated with flowers, large bells, and being led by a procession dressed in traditional fare – it was a beautiful sight.

Look what side of the fence this cow was on!

 Typical stone fences in the Jura mountains

 "La Dèsalpe" Procession

 The Beauties

I absolutely love cows – they are such gentle creatures with big expressive eyes.  I used to say that I don’t even mind their “eau de barnyard” smell.  I've changed my opinion on that since I've had to endure bike rides next to endless fields fertilized with the stuff.  It’s especially bad when you’re going up a hill on a hot day next to a recently “fertilized” field.   But I do admire the way the Swiss take care of their fields – they are a sight to behold – they have the blackest, most fertile soil I’ve ever seen.

I’ve also learned that if you stand with your back to a field of cows, within minutes you’ll have the entire herd just behind you.  I’ve been startled by this several times - – they don’t say a word, they are just suddenly right behind you. 

These cows came to check out Doug and I, and even sniffed my bike

New friend

Back to road hazards...some of the tiny roads that we ride on are only wide enough for one car, so when you see a tractor barreling down toward you, you know that you’re the one that has to get out of the way.  The tractors can have various sharp implements extending out from both sides.   I’ve had to jump up on an embankment with my bike just in the nick of time – it must have been lunch or quitting time for that farmer because he wasn’t stopin’.

And finally, the impeccable Swiss roads also mean that there is constant road repair.  I’ll discover a fantastic new route and then read that the road will be closed for a month due to roadwork.  They seemed to be overly concerned with drainage right now, which worries me – it there something coming that I need to know about?  And what about all those “route non-déneigé” signs I’ve been seeing?  I’m afraid that we’re going to need a new winter sport soon.

* Translation tools on the bar to the right to make sense of the franglais…

Swiss Cheese Awards

Just when we think we’ve seen the best that Switzerland has to offer we discover a new area that we fall in love with.  That happened to us on our way to Ticino, the Italian-speaking part of Switzerland (near the Italian border).  We went to Bellinzona by train via Lucerne and could tell that we have another area to see – more gorgeous Ireland-green countryside, waterfalls cascading off the steep cliffs that line the valley along the train tracks.

A couple of weeks ago Doug was so excited to tell me that he had read an article about the 8^th Annual Swiss Cheese Awards, booked a hotel in the town that was hosting the awards, and bought tickets to the evening gala (reservations limited).  Doug’s a late entrant to the cheese-lovers’ club – when we first met (over 30 years ago) he announced that he didn’t like cheese.  He’s done a 180-degree turn, and now collects cheese books, and is still trying to work his way through one book to try over 360 kinds of French cheese.

So off to Bellinzona we went, marveling at the efficiency of the Swiss transportation system that allows us to walk from our house to the bus, to the metro, to the train, and eventually to our hotel.  Bellinzona is the home of three famous 15^th century castles (Castelgrande, Montebello, Sasso Corbaro) and is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site.  The castles are lit at night and seem to glow above the city.

Just off the train in Bellinzona

The cheese contest judging was Saturday morning in the city hall courtyard, which was lined with about 30 pedestals of different types of cheese from all over Switzerland – some we were familiar with like Gruyère, Emmental, Vacherin and Raclette and others we’d never heard of Svitz, Applenzeller, L’Etivaz, and Berner Alpkase.   The judges were dressed in black vests, white aprons and red berets – with pens and clipboards in hand. Cheese judging is serious business– first the cheese is paraded by the judges so they can grade the appearance, then each judge helps themselves to a piece of cheese with their cheese knife that has a hook at the end to get a good hold of the cheese.   They sniff the cheese, pop it in their mouths, look up, look around, chew slowly, and write some notes on a form that is swiftly collected at the end of the judging.

As you can see from the photos there were only a few spectators…maybe 10-15, including Doug and I.  We were standing by a woman who was the wife of a judge, and heard him speak English to her, so we started to chat.  It turns out that they are cheese makers from Wisconsin who had won the World’s Best Cheese Award a few years back.  The next thing we knew, one of the French-speaking judges started to give us samples of the cheeses that they were judging – he must have assumed we were also former world cheese award winners (or perhaps their next door neighbors).   Luckily the cheese samples started near the end of the judging, but we were pretty sure we could never eat a bite of cheese again by the end of the competition.  We said goodbye to our new friends, and said that we would see them later at the gala. 

Seriously needing some exercise to work off the cheese bolus, we hiked up the hill to Castelgrande, the largest of the three castles.   Walking around the grounds it was easy to transport ourselves back to medieval times, imagining how the walls and ramparts protected the town from invaders.

As evening approached we were having some second thoughts about the gala. Why exactly did we think going to the Swiss Cheese Awards gala was a good idea?  It turned out that our trepidation was well-founded – the Swiss Cheese Awards "gala" is a 2 1/2 hour awards presentation in Italian-German-French, announcing each of the 30 winners of the different categories of Swiss cheese.  Since we don’t speak German or Italian, our understanding of the awards ceremony came and went as they moved through the different languages - the light would come on momentarily when they switched into French, only to go to darkness when German was spoken, and then dusk for Italian (it’s close to French, so we got about half of it).

As the night progressed we realized that we were probably the ONLY non-cheese-industry attendees to the gala.  Imagine going to a soccer awards dinner for a neighboring town and listening to the awards being presented, and three hours later getting your dinner.  Luckily our tablemates were mostly French speaking (so we could communicate), friendly and entertaining.  We hope to visit one who makes Fromaggio d’Alpe ticinese, and has a bed and breakfast above Gotthard pass in the Swiss-Italian Alps (sounds like a great bike ride in the spring). 

The French man (top left) managed to kiss all the women 

at the table at the end of the night

After our dinner was served, they made an announcement that seemed to excite everyone.  The dessert buffet was opening – a selection of each of the winners’ cheeses.  The gala attendees seemed genuinely giddy, and the line to the buffet was long.  I went through the line with Doug to give him moral support, and watched as each cheese maker looked Doug in the eye as they placed a piece of cheese on his plate.  He was incapable of saying no to any of them.  Thirty pieces of cheese later, he went back to the table to start on his dessert.

Doug at the end of the buffet looking a little worried 

At the end of the evening we visited the table of our new Wisconsin judge friend and his wife, who were incredulous that we were attending the “gala” that even the cheese makers dreaded.  “Someone didn’t research this” was his actual comment.  We were happy to be the brunt of the jovial table’s jokes, but at the end of the event, another Wisconsonian World Cheese Award winner at the table confided to me that it was refreshing to meet someone (aka Doug) so enthusiastic about cheese.  I’m sure they’re still chuckling at us in Wisconsin…

Parade in Bellinzona on Sunday

Cows coming down from the mountains for the winter (after the Alpenage)