Swissertation

Did it again, guys - another big delay in blogging! Sorreh. And since my last post, I’ve got older… Ok, just a bit more noticeably. I had my 24th birthday at the end of April, my second one in exile actually; I’m a very junior continental. It was on a Saturday this year, which was partly a shame: here, at least at my work, the person celebrating their birthday is implicitly expected to bring the cake themselves - this was the case when I was in Germany last year too. I’m not sure how broadly this idea is spread around the rest of Europe, but I really feel it’s much the exception in the UK! I think in Britain, the focus is very much on serving the birthday girl/boy… But, actually, there’s something nice about it being at least slightly the other way round - it’s better to give than to receive, isn’t it? But anyway, I didn’t bake my own cake this year. 

I did, however, have one baked for me… Nils and Mary, a couple from church, hosted a singing evening at their home the night before my birthday, and Mary baked a delicious chocolate cake for me! It was also wittily iced by Nils: he spelled out ‘chocolate’ with a chemical structure (sickeningly, I don’t have photographic evidence of my own to better explain it - I usually only regret it when I don’t take my camera with me, and this is yet another case in point. Sorry again!). They have an outstanding ability to make you feel welcome - more: treasured. They withhold pretence and take you into their lives, as though you were family - which we are in Christ, in truth. And I marvel over such love in action, when it’s actually meant to be the essential rudiments of Christian relationships… And it’s me that’s falling short. I thought especially about the realisation of the Christian family a couple of Sundays ago, on what was Mother’s Day in most places: at church, every mother was given a flower by the Sunday School in recognition of the day, but then afterwards they were also given to any woman over the age of 18, acknowledging that some may become mothers in time, others maybe never will… But some have been mothers apart from the physical sense. And it’s a remarkable thing, when you step back to consider it. For women who have wanted their own children, but never got them, or maybe others who have lost them, and not only in the bodily sense… If loving your own children is (normally) at least partly instinctive, then loving other children surely takes more, especially after disappointment. Do I take that for granted when I benefit from it? Certainly, at least as much as I so easily forget how much my own mother has done for me. 

On my birthday itself, I went to Strasbourg with Gina. It was my second time there, after having gone with Mum in February - and man, had it warmed up. It was a beautiful day! And it’s a really fine city to visit: to me, travelling from Germanophone parts, it seems so French (and I know I generally overgeneralise, but I think the least mention of the word ‘French’ conjures up fragrant images of low-lit cafés and good bread and delicate glasses of wine and accordion music gently buffeting you like summer waves in Normandy, in the average British mind. Basically, French = the opening scene of ‘Allo ‘Allo. And, actually, Strasbourg had everything but the accordions…) - but, to the French people I’ve asked, it’s very German. It changed hands between France and Germany so often in its life, that it’s now quite coloured by both. 

A popular local dish is tarte flambée, and at lunch we went to a restaurant which served only that, and offered an all-you-can-eat menu… If you know me, I’ve already said enough. 

Another recent development is the beginning of the hiking season - and I’ve been on some adventures already. A couple of weeks ago, a group of us left straight after church to take a tram almost to the end of its line, out into the countryside, and walked an easy route for a few hours through woods, beside fields and by a monastery and ruined castle… A grand day out!

It whetted my appetite for more substantial hiking - and I certainly saw that on the long weekend just past: four of us (Gina, Patricia, Gayle and myself) had planned to stay in a chalet in Cossogno, just above Verbania on Lake Maggiore in Italy, and on the fringes of the Val Grande national park, which has a load of hiking routes throughout. Ridiculously, stupendously unfairly, Patricia who had done the bulk of the planning got a severe migraine on the morning we left for the trip, and had to stay behind… Ugh. The other three of us went ahead, and on the first day we took it easy by exploring Verbania and the lake: we took a boat around some of the wee islands, and got off at Isola Bella, which was pretty pretty! I got really quite rosey in the sun, some might say burnt - which at least has the definite upside of giving you a strong indication of where’d be best to put the sun lan lotion the next day; bit of a win-win, in my opinion. 

The next couple of days, we went on hikes which took up most of the day - the first day was the easier, and I could break in my new boots (which were bought on Gina’s recommendation and are made to deal with even trickier terrain… And so are a bitty dear… Altogether, I went on a right hiking-themed shopping spree prior to the trip; now, when I dress up, you can call me Wander Woman. If you like. Ok, or not).

And at the end of it, we had a meal at the chalet which consisted of, heck, five or six courses (tea is a course, ‘course), with the bolognese complemented by herbs from a patch just outside our door - terribly romantic. 

The second trek started off much the same (although the chalet owner, Elena, gave us a big head-start by driving us part of the way up the route, saving us maybe an hour of walking!) - the way was clearly marked with signposts etc. - and then at some point, as we started to descend into a valley, the going got more challenging, and so did the reading of the markings for the path (the routes are colour-coded according to difficulty, and ours was marked with a white and red rectangle, like the Polish flag). Suddenly we had to look for the signs painted on rocks, trees or ruined buildings along the way, to make sure we weren’t getting lost, and this was sometimes trickier than it sounds - but I really got into this tracking exercise! And we came on rocky outcrops which the route traversed, and had to grab hold of chains which had been installed to get across them… Yeah, it was quite an upping of the difficulty level - but good for the wee thrills! And the rain came and went and came, but, pfft, two thirds of us were British, innit. 

We planned to do an Einkehrschwung (one of Gina’s favourite terms, meaning more or less (mostly less) to swing into a public house for a brief pit-stop - all that in one word. While English bumbles through the menu, German’s already downed the pint.) at a village called Cicogna still an hour or two’s walk from Cossogno… An interesting observation of Gina’s is that, where you see a church spire, in Italy at least, you’ll find a pub not far from it. Even more interesting is the fact that she was right, every time we were able to check this, and we took advantage of it the day before. But we got to Cicogna later than expected, and just quite fancied carrying on for home. The idea of hitchhiking presented itself… And with our first thumb, we bagged a new BMW with three free seats in the back, and two friendly native English speakers (a Canadian and an English woman) who were just fine with hosting our muddied selves for a few miles down the road to the next village, Rovegro, far closer to Cossogno, and even seemed to enjoy having us. Well, that rather smacked the old gob. And we then had time for an Einkehrschwung after all before the last stretch home. 

On the last day, it rained, I mean rained - but we probably needed the rest! I really enjoyed myself: I’d never done a trip quite like it, a holiday focussed on hiking… I’m glad to have discovered how much I like it (especially glad after the splurge on equipment, to be sure), and the peace you can find when you’re simply walking, even when not alone. I think after so many months of full-time work, and such a set routine inherent in it, I needed a good dose of time just looking at nature again, and being separated from the internet for four days… Woah. It felt so wholesome. Further to that, I’m generally feeling a few degrees healthier in Switzerland than I typically did at home… Ok, so my country comes first in Europe for heart disease; what did I expect, you say? Maybe right enough. But I really see that people make more of the outdoors here than at home, in various ways. Ok, so the weather’s mostly better here, you say (you’re close to derailing my train of thought, Captain Obvious; put a smug sock in it) - but stick on a pair of wellies and you’re sorted for many a Scottish escapade, no? I just feel there isn’t as strong a connection between the people and their land, nurtured through their enjoyment of it, in Scotland as there seems to be here. It’s inspiring me to want to get to know my home better, when I have the chance again, and also making me quite excited about what’s still to discover here. 

Over Easter, I went back to Scotland. My brother, James, came home from Barcelona too, so my family was all together again. And my main feeling was that… Things are just the same as I left them, and I don’t mean that negatively. I really haven’t been away that long, to be sure - but still. I suppose you slot back into the familial groove pretty quickly, if you’re close. But with others, with friends you haven’t seen in the flesh for what feels like yonks, shouldn’t there be a happy hullabaloo whenever you’re reunited? Maybe. But maybe you’re not really a hullaballoon yerself. And maybe it’s nice to just walk in step with folk again, as though you’d been on some figurative other part of the road for a wee while. That’s what it felt like, and I liked it. I remember one of my Dad’s old friends saying that, with him, even if you hadn’t seen him for years, you could pick up again as though nothing had changed, as though you’d last seen him yesterday and the nearness of your spirits wasn’t affected by time and distance. I generally wish I was more my father’s daughter; in this aspect, among others, I’d like to learn to emulate him. 

I actually made my first fondue - and that outwith Switzerland (probably for the best) - and Flora Imrie esq. ate her first, valiantly. Hopefully it only improves for both of us from here (I could stand straight away after finishing - a sure sign that it was wanting for something). I also had the obligatory fish and chips, stocked up on Typhoo tea, and got damp in that peculiarly British way. Good to be home!

I went to the touch rugby session two Mondays ago - I was involved in a game straight away, having confirmed that I knew how to play… Only to discover that the touch I played in the past didn’t abide by official rules! Wee bit embarrassing. I stayed a bit distant from the centre of the action so that I could observe the correct way to go about it; I winged it in a very true sense. There’s a lot of rolling balls on the ground, which is more like rugby league than my native union, and you can’t break through defences like in the latter (all it takes is a fingertip to stop you, in theory - in the ‘touch’ I used to play, you needed to make contact with both hands in order to tackle someone), so it takes some getting used to. But it’s great! They had a free open day yesterday, which was intended for beginners and those who want to improve - I took Patricia with me, she said she enjoyed it! Respect to her for coming, after I’d inadvisably introduced her to Graham Rowntree’s ears. I was in a group led by the head coach of the Swiss national touch team (an Australian called Creedence - did you ever hear such a name as Creedence? I guess he’s the right vintage for his parents to have been fans of a certain band back in the day…), and he put us through a lot of very technical drills - a bit above my level for now! But I’m glad to have found this group and to have the chance to play any form of rugby again; I’m set on continuing to go.

Also yesterday, I went to a… Ceilidh! In Switzerland! Woah! Turns out that there’s such a collective as the Scottish Country Dance Group of Basel. The plot thickens. I invited along my Dutch friend Gina - and one of my high school classmates, Claire, who works at L’Université de Haute-Alsace in Mulhouse (which is pretty nuts: we live about the same distance away from each other as when we were at Thurso, but now removed to the middle of Europe!), also came with her boyfriend, Maxime. It was so strange to see her after all those years, but so nice! I was glad: I really distanced myself from high school as soon as I left, it hadn’t been the happiest of times… But even so, it’s good if some connections can survive! I’d taken a token haggis from home, and we fueled ourselves for the dancing with it. It turned out that there wasn’t a live band at the ceilidh, only a CD player, but that was alright! We were talked through the various dances by a Scottish woman who confronted proceedings as though it were a military operation, setting her jaw out a couple of inches and wearing her tartan plaid like a colonel. She was magnificent. There were at least three dances, though, which I’d never seen before… And neither had Claire! Very peculiar to be learning new Scottish dances when in exile; we did wonder if they might have made them up a bit. But it was great fun; ceilidhs rarely fail to be! 

I really really didn’t intend to leave more than a month between posts on here… But I did. I woke up, and it’s the end of March. And now there’s a huge build-up of happenings, and I must sift them so that I’m not too lengthy… Bother. Or not as lengthy… 

One of the main things has been my move into the city of Basel from Muttenz. It’s been so good to have only a 10-15 minute walk to work, compared to a half hour on the tram - and a fine walk over the river it is too! And now, living with German speakers, I ought to be speaking German, ahem. Until now, I was hardly using any German at Novartis, since English is the common language amongst those I work with most (although often at coffee breaks there will be a table or two where folk speak entirely French, then another in Swiss German) - and after staying in Germany last year, I didn’t keep the momentum going, letting the German rust for months… But now I’m taking a German course at level B2, which is paid for by Novartis and lasts till May. So hopefully the only way is up!

At work, there are now four stagiaires - we’ve been joined by Katarzyna, from Poland. The variety of nationalities here is continually interesting, and it’s especially good when we realise common ground: we are obviously now all in the same situation, employed in the same position, but we also came to it from quite similar angles. It must be said that the work can be pretty humdrum: we’ve all studied to the level of a Master’s degree, and had to demonstrate skill in independent research in the course of our education. If any of us hoped for an immediate continuation of this, we aren’t finding it here. There aren’t many outlets for creative thinking in a role roughly equivalent to an assistant lab technician. OK, so that’s the not-so-great part. It’s the part that demoralises and drains, to begin with. But having been in the job for nearly three months, I’m very happily seeing a bigger picture more and more clearly. Because whatever the task, can’t it be done well, and made to be enjoyable that way? I’ve also taken to whistling along to the radio, or unaccompanied, in a big way… No doubt an irritating one… And I’ve very much realised the importance of variety, seeking out different things which need done: for all the time I might spend slobbing on Facebook et al. some evenings, I don’t otherwise enjoy sitting down at length, which could be my fate if I stayed at my fumehood weighing a multitude of compounds all day. But over this, I’m valuing the chance to learn what it’s really like to be in the workplace, and to form relationships within a broader spectrum of age and experience than I knew among peers at university. I think it’s vital for me, because I want for maturity; I need to grasp adulthood and its responsibilities more firmly. And being abroad and removed from the practical support of Scottish friends and family is hopefully helping this, even though I miss home. 

The past weekend saw (most probably) my last skiing trip of the year; I’ve gone with others on five trips, to four different resorts: Hasliberg, Fiescheralp, Wengen (twice) and lastly Les Portes du Soleil - which is humungeous, and a lot of it is actually in France. With French bakeries, oh ouais. It was all great! It’s such a part of life here: you see three-year-olds getting on ski boots, and then probably sailing past you on some red slope later on - it’s flabbergobgastsmacking, for me. The snow was getting progressively slushier with the weeks, as you’d expect, so each time had a different feel - the wet stuff is tricky. And I wasn’t quite pro enough to handle it well at the weekend, mostly. But if I learned anything over the weeks, it’s that I ski best when I stop thinking about what I have to do, and just, you know… Ski. Profound; applicable to life in general. Not always so easy to hold on to, all the same. Much like the piste when you fall and start to slide down it with increasing speed… 

Wot else? I was invited to an interview last Monday in London for a PhD scholarship - I wasn’t successful, but I enjoyed the visit anyway. Fish and chips are just glorious after a dearth. Now the way’s open to investigate other options for the future; we’ll see what happens!

There’s a touch rugby group starting next Monday evening in Basel - I’m excited that there’s rugby here, I’m so looking forward to going! And then next Wednesday, I’m due to go home for Easter for a week. That will also be quite something. :)

Well, that was snappier than expected. My bed’s calling rather loudly and I really must answer, you see. Adieu!

Since I last wrote, quite a few notable things have happened - maybe chief among them was the arrival of four more girls on my floor: Laura from France, Jennifer from Australia, Claudia from Romania and Leila from England (but originally Russia). Quite a mix we are! And it’s really livened the place up. Last Friday, Julien invited everyone to eat dinner together, and he made a tartiflette with ingredients he’d popped over to France to buy - and man, it was yummy! And he also brought French wine, carefully chosen… I’ve realised more than ever just how philistine British home dining can be in comparison to the grand flavour appreciation dinner seems to be with the French. It’s a real event, rather than the filling of a hole (a choice catchphrase of the head dinner lady at my halls when I was a fresher; somehow it stuck), and the choosing of wine based on it being anywhere above the absolute cheapest (cos we don’t want plonk, ey) and having a reassuringly beige label. Leila and I joked that Julien probably knew the guy that picked the grapes for a sweet white wine he’d bought. He considered the label, and said, “Well, actually…”

I went skiing for a whole weekend in a place called Fiescheralp in the canton of Wallis, with Gina, Gayle and Youjin from church, and Patricia, Youjin’s friend. It was really good for the beginners to have a couple of days to work on our technique - I was persuaded to try a blue slope, a step up from the training pistes; it was slightly terrifying to discover that there were actually patches of red piste (more difficult than blue) along the way! And it’s really important to keep your weight forward and your bum tucked in, but these both seem to go right out the window when I’m trying desperately not to whee-yooch into the nearest snowdrift… But I think I was getting better with time, you’d hope so! The people in the dormroom next to us recommended a wee hut on the slopes for good cheese fondue at dinner, and it was a great tip! It was my first fondue, and the first few portions were just gooorgeous… And then my tummy reckoned he’d had about enough. But I couldn’t stop: we were all in this together until we saw the bottom of the pot (before you get there, you have to go through the Grandmother - Gayle was rather alarmed about this. But the granny turns out to be the burnt cheese at the bottom, and is also tasty (I managed a bit of her, and no more, NO MORE, grreechccch (said my belly))). But after all that, I actually wouldn’t say no to another pot…  

There is a new stagiaire with us: Sara, from Portugal. It’s quite strange to be training her in what to do, when it feels like Brahim and I are still brand new ourselves. But she’s a very quick learner! And it’s nice to have the group enlarged. There’s also Susan, who has been with us for a few weeks now. Her lab has been closed down, but she still has to come to campus each day to clock in - even though there would be no work for her to do in the lab. Oy. So, she’s joined our lab so that she has something to do in the day. She’s unfailingly animated and tells stories about her travails with her at least equally lively, but also destructive, dog - Lily isn’t the most fitting of names - and I’m glad she’s with us for a while! 

My Mum told me on Sunday that she might come to visit this Friday and stay for Carnival Monday, if it fits in with things at home. She still isn’t sure tonight. It might seem terrifically last minute, but Mum can make these things work! I hope it’s not terrifically expensive, this being Switzerland and the weekend before Fasnacht. It’d be great to see her in person again (a lousy connection makes Skype even poorer an alternative than usual), and to show her around what I know of the place so far. 

I think I’m moving into town! Patricia, from skiing, stays in a Wohngemeinschaft (a shared flat) on the east bank of the Rhein, and told me that there were rooms available in it - it happened quite quickly, but last week I visited the flat and spoke to the landlady, Elisabeth… And she said she’d be happy for me to move in! As with many cases here, I would need to get my own wardrobe and bookshelf, if I wanted them - but there’s a bed, a desk and a chair, which is a great start! The flat is so close to Novartis (I reckon it would be a 5-10 minute walk to campus), it’s cheaper than my current accommodation, and it’s just one street up from the river. It was a right easy sell! I have to give one month’s notice to the head warden who comes back from holiday next week, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have to remain for the last month, and could make the move ASAP. Pretty excited!