Picture Perfect Swiss Souvenirs

These things caught my eye:

Cupboard carvings.

Lacy linens.

Rustic restaurants.

Breakfast buns.

Funky fountains.

Cozy corners.

Decorative doors.

Gorgeous gastronomy.

Quaint Kitsch.

Ancient architecture.

My main man.

Photo Tour of Switzerland

Arrive Zurich, Switzerland

8:05 AM.

"Oh my gosh, you guys!

Are you here, too??"

Zurich Hauptbahnhof.

Hannah freaks.

Mack fades.

"You won't believe this train ride."

Two hours of alpine villages ...

Swiss meadows and lakes before we arrive in Luzern.

Right across from the train station is the Chapel Bridge, built in the 1300s. Paintings representing Christ line the ceiling. The oldest part of town is on the other side.

"Come on!"

The architecture is my favorite part.

How old do you think that roof is?

We can't give in to jet lag—

Keep walking!

The whole city of Luzern is an art museum.

"Are we there yet?"

Süsse Träume!

Message from München

We're on the trip of a lifetime, showing our favorite places to one of our favorite families. Our son Josh, his wife Christie and their three kids McKay (14) Chase (almost 13) and Hannah (10) met us in Switzerland. (I put a bunch of photos of Lucerne on Instagram, and wrote on Facebook about our stay in Salzburg, Austria.)

Now we're in Germany, and the WIFI in our hotel is $25 a day! Luckily there's a computer in the lobby so I can keep this trip journal going. On a daytrip from Munich Stie, Hannah and I toured the original Sleeping Beauty castle (Neuschwanstein) and Linderhof, another of Mad King Louis' fairytale castles.The weather was perfect and the crowds were non-existant! We stopped and shopped in Oberammergau, a tiny town famous for its painted buildings, wood carvings and Passion Play.

The guys spent three hours looking at historic BMW motorcycles and watching BMW cars being made. Chase and McKay are now planning to build themselves a car. They searched online all evening for ideas. The only thing that could pull them away from car websites was a huge selection of Bavarian pastries. The food so far has been a major attraction! Tomorrow we fly to England where the restaurants aren't so tempting.

It's amazing how well this family gets along. No arguing, complaining, pouting, tension. Even when it's hot and there's a wait, or a long-ish tour with a strange-ish tour guide, nobody whines. There is constant laughter and good-natured teasing. I'm not exaggerating. We're into our second week together and I haven't heard a cross word.

Travel, especially foreign travel is stressful--close quarters, constant togetherness, no privacy, unfamiliar conditions and different kinds of people. These guys are all great sports, patient, looking for fun, ignoring irritations. Every night a different kid shares our room and it's a party. We split a coke and a cookie from the minibar, and try to be the last one awake.

We're Off!

TravelinOpa

Switzerland, Austria, Germany and England,

here we come!

I'm going to Instagram my way through Europe.

Since I don't know how to do it yet, I can't tell you how to follow me.

But somewhere in the vast webosphere there will be awesome pictures!

See you later!

Herr Bruderer

"Get him talking," was the whispered advice in our German class. Everybody knew Herr Bruderer would forget to give the promised test if we asked a question about his beloved Switzerland, and let him ramble. When he put his feet on his desk, leaned back with his arms behind his bald head and started reminiscing we all relaxed. Grammar and word order issues were set aside in favor of culture and history. We played right into his hands—it was on those days we learned the most.

I caught his enthusiasm and passion for different lands and I wanted to experience it for myself, although I wasn't sure what it was. I recognized it when I got there.

Colmar, France

It's a feel, an aura: cobblestone paths, unsalted butter, the fragrance of cheese in tiny shops. Buildings built before Columbus, restaurants owned by one family for hundreds of years,
folklored fabrics on carved wooden chairs, flounced light fixtures, embellished gables, dripping umbrellas in painted stands, fur-trimmed baby buggies: this is European art in its natural setting.

Salzburg Festung

Sitting in Herr Bruderer's class at Olympus High, I fell in love with Europe as he talked. A student teacher showed slides from a semester abroad in Salzburg, Austria. I asked her for details, wanting to go, too. "Set a goal," Herr Bruderer said. "Start saving." I did.

If you'd asked me last night if Herr Bruderer was still alive, I wouldn't have known. This morning I saw his obituary and I can't stop thinking about the impact he had me. Everything in my life is because of him.

(To be continued . . . )

Vienna Flea Market

First we had langos,
a scone dipped in garlic butter and salt.


I spotted a display of vintage dirndls.


Marty in Vienna, 1969

I happen to be that exact vintage!

Soon Dee was leafing through books,



And I was browsing through buttons.

I accidentally bumped into the lady standing next to me, and she fell over! Horrified, I looked down, apologizing profusely, and saw that her arm had come off and was laying next to her body! Another woman was helping her up . . .

and I realized she was a mannequin.

(It was time to flee the market.)

Irish Immigration

Portaferry, Northern Ireland

In the 1800s all of Ireland was part of Great Britain. English barons owned the land and allowed Irish tenant farmers to live in small huts on their land and grow food, most of which they gave back to the landlord for rent. When the landlords decided they could make more money raising cattle and sheep, they evicted the tenants, tore down the huts, and sent the excess food to Europe for a good profit. Starving children watched ships leaving the ports loaded with food, while they were eating grass to survive.

Highways filled with farmers and their families, wandering aimlessly about begging for food just to keep alive. They lived almost exclusively on potatoes. In 1845 a fungus known as blight caused the potato plants to rot in the ground, giving off an appalling stench—the whole countryside smelled foul. By early autumn famine was imminent, not because there was no food—there was plenty of wheat, meat, and cheese—but because the peasants had no money, and no way to earn it. To add to the misery, that winter was the harshest in living memory.


One and a half million people died of starvation and disease in The Great Famine, and waves of immigrants fled Ireland. Never before had the world witnessed such an exodus; a million people sailed across the Atlantic in leaky, overcrowded ships to Canada and the United States.

Ferry Street, Portaferry

We went to Portaferry in Northern Ireland to trace one of them: James Mullin. Back in the day, local public records were sent to offices in Dublin for safe-keeping, but those buildings were destroyed in the rebellion of 1922. Now the information available is from diaries and letters sent back home by immigrants; the history of Irish immigration was hidden in attics and basements.

Portaferry librarians

One man's garbage is another man's treasure. Luckily, Portaferry historians collected and organized some of the local records. Two of them were expecting us, and pulled out a box.


We could visualize the experience of James and his family by reading letters and journals written by others at the same time, in similar circumstances. Twenty-year-old Hugh Quinn was about the same age when he left Portaferry within a few months of James. This is from a letter he wrote:


Tuesday, September 9, 1847

Dearest Honored Mother,
The wind so long looked for is at hand, and I’m ready to leave Portaferry. I dread as death the moment of my separation from you.



He wrote this in his diary that same day:

I found myself surrounded by my mother and sisters, having my coat buttoned, unbuttoned and buttoned again by each of them. The walking stick fell from my trembling hand and was handed to me by little Alice. I could not move from the spot nor could I get out a word. I turned hastily from my mother to hide my swelling tears. ‘It will be forever,’ I said. ‘It is still not yet too late,’ she said. ‘Stay at home.’ I looked back through my tears to see my little brother crying on the dock, and I stepped onto the boat.

Axel Lundgren 1913

My grandpa left Sweden at seventeen, and it was forever. Like James Mullin, he married, had children, made a life in a new land and never returned.

I can't imagine what it was like for the mothers.

Murals of Belfast, Northern Ireland

Two Irelands

The Island of Ireland is actually two different countries. Dublin is the capital of the Republic of Ireland, which is independent. Belfast is the capital of Northern Ireland and part of the UK. This bit of geography had eluded me. I had no idea they used different money (euros vs pounds) street signs (Gaelic vs English) measurements (meters vs miles; liters vs gallons). Belfast was a shock to me.

Dee and Jo

We met my sister Jolyn and her daughter Kerry at a lovely B & B in Belfast called Tara Lodge. Our job was to uncover their Irish roots in County Down. Belfast was an hour away from our destination, and it had the archives, library and airport.

Four times we took one of Belfast's famous Black Taxis, and each driver was excited that we were doing family history. "There's a lot of people doing their genealogy here," one said. "Irish families have been torn apart by poverty, famine, revolution and lately, The Troubles. It's good they're finding each other again."

The Troubles came up in every conversation. So did a declaration of religion: "I'm Catholic but I married a Protestant so we live in a 'mixed neighborhood.'" "I'm Protestant, my brother married a Catholic so we were on opposite sides in The Troubles.'" "My uncle was killed in The Troubles. Everybody knows somebody who was killed."

Each driver was friendly and funny, and anxious to show us some of the almost 1,000 murals that depict the violence and chaos that reigned in the neighborhoods of Belfast for thirty years. A multi-generational war, this one started in the late '60s and finally ended with the Good Friday Agreement on April 10, 1998. Until then, bombs went off unexpectedly in shopping centers and snipers shot civilians in the streets of the small city. Mothers fought sons, grandfathers fought sisters . . . it was ugly.

Belfast student housing, near Queen's University

Catholics were afraid to walk in neighborhoods that look peaceful and almost sleepy now, and Protestants kept their children home from school afraid they'd step on a mine hidden along the path.

Murals in Northern Ireland

Throughout The Troubles, both sides painted large murals on buildings and terraced row houses where the fighting took place. It was a way to declare the allegiance of the neighborhood.



Instead of having a gated community, this neighborhood had a Mona Lisa-type sniper. His eyes and gun seem to follow you as you walk through the park. (This is near a school playground.)


Many of the murals depict scenes from Irish history and each side identifies with the martyrs of the past.


The politically inspired murals of Belfast are among the most startling sights in the city, and I found them troubling. Because I couldn't understand the deep reasons for the fighting, it seemed like a traditional feud, with extremists on each side running the show. The murals usually represented one side's political point of view, and inflamed the other side into action.


Our Catholic and Protestant drivers all wanted continued peace in their city for their children's sake, but admitted that there are neighborhoods, pubs and streets they won't enter now for fear of their lives. Most schools are still segregated between Catholics and Protestants and the kids grow up with the age-old prejudices.


This mural memorializes the Taxi drivers who lost their lives during The Troubles. There are new political stirrings that concern Belfast citizens. In such a traditional battle, there are bound to be sparks left that could set things blazing again. Hopefully, cooler heads will prevail.

Our Irish relatives

The Peace Wall used to be a barrier between a Catholic and Protestant neighborhood. It goes right up to the back doors of some of the houses. Behind it there are private family gardens with pictures of regular people who died in the crossfire. A teenage boy scaled the wall to secretly visit his girlfriend and was shot by her father. A young mother walked her three kids to school and they were blown up by a bomb. Countless tragedies—this was happening just thirteen years ago!

Peace Wall in Belfast, Northern Ireland

Now there are markers available and people who want peace are encouraged to write a message of love on the Peace Wall.

County Down

Belfast was interesting, and we left impressed by the hopeful attitude of the people there who have suffered so intensely. But we were searching for greener fields outside the city. We set off for County Down and Portaferry.