Christmas in High Places

The way the blizzard was howling outside the window of our Austrian hideaway the night before, the calm on Christmas was a bit surreal. There was not so much as a whisper of wind, and the sky was a deep cloudless blue, hawks grazing the treetops on a day so quiet we could hear the flutter of their wings.
After a breakfast fit for a team of lumberjacks, we strapped on snowshoes and made our way up the mountainside, sinking into ankle-deep powder at times, poling the snow to make sure that we didn't step into a hidden cave.
There was drama, to be sure, when I stopped on a high point to take in the sweeping view of the mountains and T, eager to keep moving, began the walk back. I'm right behind you, I told her, and don't get lost. She promptly walked past the turnoff for the trail and the last I saw was her black coat disappearing around a distant curve in the mountain. I shouted, but she didn't hear, so I made my way back down the trail, figuring I would signal her from the lower slope and point her back to the turn.
Meanwhile, to hear her account, things quickly turned ugly. Stopped by a wall of snow after her slog in the wrong direction, she began to consider survival strategies, briefly considering gnawing her arm off until she realized she was beside a farm with a cow that she could slaughter if things got truly desperate.
Luckily, she looked down to see me waving my poles, and retraced her steps to the turn. She arrived with both arms intact, but I noticed a small patch missing from a corner of her hat.
We managed a turn in the gym in late afternoon. While T paced the treadmill, I spun the Bike to Nowhere, the view of the snowy peaks and a tiny distant church on the mountainside to keep us occupied. It was a long, long way from the Dallas suburbs.
There was time for the sauna before dinner, and if you're not careful in a place like this, you will find that your appetite can suffer some serious hurt. Let's just say there are people who should keep their clothes on at all times, particularly during pre-dinner hours. It's not the way you want to see the people who will dine a few tables away from you later in the evening. And, really, how safe is a sauna for a woman eight months pregnant and the old codger in the corner who's liable to keel over from a heart attack if the naked supermodel he's waiting to ogle actually shows up?
That night, we left open the curtains along the 15-foot wall of glass that faced our bed, and watched the night sky become a dome of diamonds, the little dipper among a scattering of Christmas jewels.
The next morning there was a jolt of back-home reality, a report on German TV about the murder of seven people in our old neighborhood back in Texas. We've been gone just a couple of weeks, but it seems like a very long time ago.
Another day of snowshoeing, some hiking and a few glasses of Christmas wine, and, suddenly, we are back in Zurich. We walked along Bahnhofstrasse on the way home, and felt the thriving spirit of the city in the post-Christmas shopping crowds.
At home on Kurfirstenstrasse, we found ourselves a little antsy in the early evening. No blanket of stars tonight, but a last glass of Christmas wine sounded like a fine idea.

It's Beginnng to Look a Lot Like Switzerland

With exquisite timing, we managed to arrive in Zurich just before the city's first snow of the season began to fall in flakes the size of cotton bales. Coated white after a long walk in the early night to a warm pizzeria, we fed ourselves until becoming sluggish, then trudged home to our temporary flat that is the size of walk-in closet back in Texas.
It has been an interesting few days, to say the least.
We have been bombarded by winds so fierce that we find ourselves spending most of our time lining up to buy new umbrellas. After a long walk to the UBS on Bahnhofstrasse (the only location that is allowed to open accounts for Americans, thank you U.S. tax authorities), we arrived wind-blasted to meet with a banker so knowledgeable about finance that it was hard to believe he was only 12 years old. Actually, he was a bit older, but still young enough that he had not yet begun his university studies. We advised him to loosen up a little, enjoy his time at school and worry about career later, knowing full well that he would not take our advice on such an American approach to higher education.
Lest it seem as though we have touched down in a land of gloom and grey skies, let me be clear that Bahnhofstrasse is one of the world's most beautiful Christmas streets. There is a gigantic Christmas tree that sings and strands of lights blaze from the shopfronts. Music from carolers drifts around corners and men huddle inside wooden stands that sell roasted chestnuts. A woman dressed as Santa hands out bags of oranges. It is supposed to be cold and snowy for Christmas in Switzerland.
Our neighborhood is situated just behind Rietpark, a sprawling greenspace with a stately museum on the grounds. We cut through it when we walk to the grocery with our duffle to buy supplies, and along the way we talk about how nice it would be if the weather was warm and dry and we were tooling along on the tandem with a couple of sandwiches in the daypack. Winter takes patience and understanding in Switzerland, especially if you're from the southern part of the United States.
The heat in our flat comes through the floor and the thermostat is on the outside of the building. As the outside temperature changes, the sensors click on and our floorboards become warmer or cooler. We have been warned by the landlord to keep our frozen mitts off the thermostat. We have complied til now, but if the snow continues, well, we'll see.
The mountains are spectacular when the sun bursts through the grey and we get a glimpse of the bluish peaks beyond the lake. The forests on the hillsides are flocked with Christmas white. At dinner, with the wet flakes billowing just outside the window, T said it feels like we're inside a snow globe.
We manuever through the cold and think about our cycling buddies back in Texas, stripping off their arm warmers halfway through the Saturday morning ride. Good for them. When it's 110 degrees and the pavement is buckling back in Texas, we'll think of them again as we're soaring down the hillside from Hirzel on a bright 70-degree day.
That will come later. For now, it's Christmastime in Switzerland.