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Mulled Wine and Love

November 2000

Winter is setting in with a relatively dramatic impact, dramatic to me at least, not having seen a winter for three years now (bar what the Scots call their summer). And the temperature differential is more than I'm used to, bringing with it a sudden on-set of brilliant autumn colours and a quick change to a new round of fashion for most of Zürich .... while I just resort to anything that looks like polypropylene, fleece, or a Swan-dry. Realising it was the height of summer when I last wrote makes me marvel at the speed of life and in fact, so did the birthday I've just had. Thirty years old and lost in delirium. For the next two months, I am informed, there is a cold wet lull in Switzerland before the snow season kicks in proper and everyone starts moving again. A perfect time of year for mulled wine and love, and I've been getting a bit of both. I'm not sure which one it was but I think it was the love that made me propose marriage to Claudia, and she said yes. So a few changes in the wind, a little less globetrotting perhaps and a little more of the Swiss life.

Climbing would be the word to best epitomise how most of my weekends have passed since July. Slowly I find myself defying the natural flow of gravity, leaving the ebb of rivers and trying to work my way back up the mountains instead. Of course Switzerland is a paradise for anything 'off the horizontal' which suits my psychological disposition as well as it suits my recreational endeavours, and climbing is no exception. In fact it is possibly the foremost alpine past-time in Switzerland after skiing and is catered for with a similar decadence. Climbing venues are prolific and often situated conveniently close to alpine huts which could only be described as 'more than comfortable' with kitchens to shame most of the flats I've lived in; cupboards stocked with everything from a worldly collection of herbs and spices to local beers and wines. The kitchens provide catering in the weekends and an honesty box for during the weeks. I can't think of another country in which this system would survive.

Watching faces on the train has become an unavoidable past-time and this journey in a hot crowded carriage incited some 'less-than-their-best' expressions on a few peoples faces which set my imagination rolling.

The man opposite looked as though the lines on his face had been drawn by decades of a predisposition to worry about everything, frustrated by an unfortunate lack of intellect that would enable him to do so effectively. Expressions of futile resolve washed over his face at random moments sometimes followed by a scratch of the head or a rub of the chin. While the woman next to me seemed to ooze an undertone of bitter resentment at loosing the romantic essence of her teenage life with none of her dreams fulfilled. When I caught glimpses of her face in unguarded moments I thought she looked haggard from long wasted days spent trying to save the crumbling remains. I doubt her love for a man would now go far beyond his material wealth but, it seems, this is where she still hunts for scraps of those lost dreams. Even though, she almost showed resignation to a realisation that the world's debt to her happiness has grown too large and it is getting too late for it to be fully repaid.

A tainted and pessimistic view no doubt but I think the whole atmosphere in the train that day had been tainted by a heavy grey sky and an over crowded carriage. An interesting little project in creative writing anyway.

I spent the night on a ferry then hitch-hiked in pissing rain to nearer the bottom of Corsica where I met up with Tuckie and Nika (more NZ friends) to wait for the weather. The next several days on the islands heights saw gray clouds that seemed to zoom around the peaks like an electron around the nucleus of its atom, often passing to leave a clear evening then returning again by the morning. In between and amongst these clouds we managed to find enough dry rock to climb and we even managed on one day to climb an eight pitch natural pro route (about 300m) .... into the dark of the evening. Our timing was a little ill considered but with great thanks to Daniel and Britta, a Swiss couple on the route ahead of us, and two cigarette lighters, we avoided a cold night on the top of the peak. Watching the sunset as I belayed Nika up the second to last pitch was pretty magical and abseiling down the back of the peak in the dark added a little adrenaline to the end of our days project. Although it was not the end of our day as it still took us two more hours to navigate our way around and between many bluffs to reach the road. This we achieved through glimpses of moonlight, cigarette lighters and finally by torch light when Britta, who had gone ahead earlier, came back to rescue us.

I finished my week with a little sight seeing around the island, swimming in the ocean and perfect weather.

Actually, I had been to Italy once before my fleeting passage en-route to Corsica. Four of us walked over a mountain pass into Italy to eat a lunch that all the walking could not have prepared us for. We visited a mountain refuge (restaurant) serving the traditional polenta (a high carbo corn-meal thing). Helpings were dished out liberally and relentlessly with the accompanying stew and sausage things for which I chose to temporarily abandon my vegetarianism in the interest of a rich cultural experience. Constantly reminded by Claudia that it is rude not to finish your plate (an Italian custom devised seemingly without concern for the average internal dimensions of an human stomach) so I helped it all down with numerous cupfuls of house wine 'til I was near to exploding. I think next we might have been served some special dried meat although everything was a bit of a blur by now but I remember the pie for dessert which required all my remaining wits to avoid being served the customary 'two' large slices. The coffee was thick enough, black enough and strong enough to be called Mike Tyson and it was laced with a generous dose of liquor. After this I was oblivious to most of what was going on around me, I just remember another large steaming kettle filling up my cup, this time with mulled wine. It was just the day for it though, cold wet and windy and I felt it warming the cockles of my heart as I slogged my way back over the mountain pass to Switzerland.

I couldn't walk past the alpine lakes twice without a swim so, at risk of sinking to irretrievable depths then being frozen into the coming winter ice, I stripped off and plunged in. But not before coercing pronouncements of "I will if you do" from Claudia and Marcus whom proved true to their word.

A few weeks ago now, before it started getting cold, I had an excellent three day weekend kayaking the Vorderrhine with Claudia and the rest of the Zürich Kanu Club. This trip, if nothing else, proved to me once more that kayakers worldwide, even in conservative little Switzerland, are usually endowed with an average or better intellect and, likewise, physical stature. But when gathered together they form social environs well below any congruous standard of moral decorum. Well done KCZ (Philip especially – with umbrella) for embodying the essence of kayaking debauchery in great style with an appropriate absence of class.

Another event worthy of note was the real Swiss wedding I went to of Claudia's secretary. It was catered for with as much generosity as an Italian lunch (with only a little less emphasis on food), with almost as much style as a kayaking weekend but certainly with infinitely more class. Haven't been to too many weddings but this was a goodie. Haven't made any plans for such ourselves yet either but will do so in due time.

Love and Vanilla Pudding (that's what they call Custard over here),

Dave