Years ago, before I was born, my mother studied French for a semester in Lausanne, Switzerland. To me, "Lausanne" had only an abstract meaning. I couldn't exactly picture it, not compared to other cities, or in any other way, just a place I knew she had lived. I visited Lausanne for approximately 24 hours in order to find out what it is all about.
After a restless sleep in the youth hostel (for no reason other than my own restless mind -- strange nightmares woke me up), I enjoyed the included hostel breakfast (or what I could enjoy of it -- my blood sugar was high, so I just had ham, some water and some espresso), and got on a bus and then metro (I learned just now that Lausanne, at only 134,000 people, is the world's smallest city to have a rapid transit system, and a good one at that) to the train station. I dropped off my big bag in a train station locker, rearranging its contents so that I could stuff it tightly into one of the small lockers.
Lausanne is a city built steeply upon a hill rising from Lake Geneva, so I spent the next 20 minutes ascending a steep hill, passing jewelry stores, a Starbucks, and cafes (I stopped at one for a 6 dollar glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, and to listen to several excellent songs played over the speakers, including Fever Ray's -- "When I Grow Up", my second or third Fever Ray spotting in a public place this trip).
Finally, I reached Lausanne's 12th Century Cathedral. I spent some time resting (the walk up was tiring, and my legs were tired from the previous many consecutive days of hiking), and staring at the stained glass windows. It was pretty, just like the other cathedrals, and the fact that an organist was playing during my visit improved the situation.
I then walked west about 25 minutes (stopping for a small ham sandwich) to the Collection de l'Art Brut, a museum established by the artist Jean Debuffet containing art work by inmates of psychological facilities, criminals, eccentrics, and other outsiders who had not received formal training. This art work included many extremely "busy" paintings, a huge mural with an identical female face repeatedly drawn throughout, "guns" made out of scapped materials, objects furiously wrapped in yarn (by a woman with Down's syndrome), faces sculpted out of broken plates, and a wall carved by a man that had been places in solitary confinement for a few months. I was cold, and there were many stairs, so I stopped for a while to rest, sitting on a bench, while a baby next to met sat on her mother's lap and tried desperately to form words, but only making screaming sounds.
I walked on to the Richelieu Institut, where my mother had studied French. I took the elevator to the third floor, and got a peak into the offices, but did not want to disturb the employees.
I walked to Riponne Plaza, and took the metro one stop to Bessieres, and climbed about 100 stairs to Avenue Caroline and had lunch at the Bleu Lezard. I couldn't really understand the menu, but I had a meet and vegetable dish with couscous. I was starving so it was delicious. I stayed there for about an hour to read.
I then took the metro to the Le Sallaz stop to see the apartment where my mom had lived in Lausanne. It was very much still there, atop a car repair shop. I was surprised at how far out of the city they had placed her.
Then, took the metro to the other end of the line at Ouchy, where Lausanne sits upon Lake Geneva. Tourists and locals sat in the harbor and walked out on the dock to enjoy the lake, which I found to be a better view than Lake Zurich. It was a little windy, so the lake's waves splashed up over the breaker, occasionally spraying those sitting by. This was relaxing, and I could have stayed for hours, but I wanted to catch a 5:20 p.m. train back to Zurich.
Which was jam packed with people. I hadn't been on such a busy train in Switzerland ever, I think. I finished the Thousand Autumns of Jacob De Zoet, loved it. Was surprised to see Texel (the small island I visited in the Netherlands) mentioned on the second to last page.
Arriving in Zurich, I walked down Bahnhofstrasse, listening to John Lennon, and spent 20 minutes in the English language book store I had discovered last week, and picked up Jonathan Franzon's Freedom, and Ian McEwan's Amsterdam. Now I have a large book and a small book to read, depending on the occasion.
I walked across the river for a quick dinner -- a sausage yet again at the ever reliable Sternan Grill (6.50 for a sausage and bread was the most affordable dinner I could find, at least it tasted good), took the tram back to my brother's place, dropped off my bags, and returned to the train station to meet up with him.
We went to two bars in Zurich, the names of neither can I remember. I remarked that in Switzerland, the price of beer isn't exactly outrageous, but the price of food most definitely is.
Fiery Furnaces -- Even in the Rain
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