Team Hall vs. Team Heller

Our last day in Zermatt, and kids did their own thing.  The Ambassador Hotel has provided amenities others have lacked, such as a pool, suite-size rooms, and a kitchen.  Some swam or floated away aching muscles.  Some--Barry K., for one--made homemade pizza in his room and invited friends. And he even cleaned up afterward, because the hotel charges 100 Swiss francs if you don't. (Contrary to an even better poem in the comments section, BK did not do his laundry but got lost on another mountain with Alec G. They posted a US flag, I think.) Two kids went hang-gliding  in a scenic wonderland--good choice, bad price.  As you all know, Switzerland is very expensive.  I saw kids eating ice cream and McDonald's fries for lunch.

LV tagged along with nine others on a morning walk/hike to the Gornerslucht.  This is a rickety walk on old wooden bridges with rotted out railings through a narrow gorge with rushing waters. Tremendous.  Since Michelle C. and Jillian M. skipped The Gornergrot--both feeling a little under the weather--they lead the way this time. David,  Alec, Paul, Caitlin, Melissa, Mona, and  Stephanie H. were also up for another hike the day after--I was impressed.  Jillian and Melissa really do not like bugs and the mossy air provided slap-silly antics on their part.  We took some good pictures, but they don't capture the essence.  If you hike with David odds are you'll be asked to take a "jumping picture" with him.  Problem is, we have to do it over and over again to get it just right.  Mostly, his legs have elevated his torso far above the frame. I have a few shots posted for your benefit.  Now everyone is doing it. Incidentally, if you have not seen your kid's name mentioned much, tell them to hang a little more with LV.  He gets out.

In the afternoon, while LV blogged, the game of the century ensued at a soccer field outside of town.  Team Hall consisted of Cummings, Crose, Kato, Kinney, Springer, Rees, Scott, and Kramer.  Team Heller had Skop, Indjian, Aston, Overstreet, Brown, Goldberg, Krum, and Kurt. From varied reports, Team Heller jumped out to a 6-2 lead with goals from Skop, Aston (2), Kurt (2) and Heller.  But Team Hall charged back when Cummings decided to stop passing and go one on one.  He scored three goals in a row to tie the game up and send it into extra time. Earlier, Michelle Crose--the only girl, and obviously feeling better--scored, even though Goldberg was shadowing her the whole game, as did Hall and Kramer.  Team Heller won the kick off, and the whole game was played without injury.  Well, actually, Drew body-checked his cousin Cameron and no foul was called. We'll have to check Cameron's knee and trick shoulder this morning.  I heard M. Kato was a beast as a defender, but Hall said MVP goes to Aston.

We're off the Italy today.

Zermatt Day 3 pictures at http://gallery.mac.com/mjhoeger/100059

Truly but wryly,

LV

Ode to the Gornergrot

Yesterday confirmed what I already knew: tennis players are the best athletes.  Michael Aston clearly won in the race to the top of the fabled Gornergrot hike.  He made the trek from Zermatt in 3 hours exactly.  Jordan Rees arrived 15 minutes later, and the third place finisher, musician Gary Indjian, surprised the field with a 4 hour 5 minute journey to this 3136 meter destination. (10,266 feet).  The rest of the finishers will be listed below.  This year I came in 14th, and two years ago--the last time we came to Zermatt--I finished 8th, which leads me to believe that this is the last time I attempt The Gorney.  It's too grueling for me.  I tried to stop and enjoy the magnificent scenery, but then I tightened up.  If I sit for more than 5 minutes, my knees--the physical element that controls my will power--tells me to give up.  Devon D. (soccer)and Michelle Y. (swimming) were the first girls to finish, upsetting the perrennial favorites, Emily R.(track and b-ball) and Chelsea T., (x-country), who got lost, but still finished strong.  Other favs, David S., (waterpolo) Spencer S., (golf) and Mickey B. (tennis) were soo lost that their pre-hike hubris melted into the surrounding glaciers.  Two years ago, David Eiges, tennis player, also won.

I hiked up in the comforting presence of Amy G., Katie U., Mona Y., Michelle Yo., Christine D., Hillary D., and Garrett D.  Later I will put up some photos.  Our conversations kept me going. The terrain switches from forresty to meadowy to rocky.  After awhile, talking sucks up too much precious oxygen, and the lonliness of the hike prevails.  Our group fell into a single file. Some hum a heroic melody to keep hope alive, but I remembered a poem I had composed two years ago on the trail and tried to recite this doggerel from memory.  Here it is. 

Ode to The Gornergrot

You thought you left me there to rot,

But I was on The Gornergrot

You guessed I lost my will, my mind

Your thoughts of me left far behind.

But I was on The Gornergrot

The ancient peak that time forgot;

Across the way, The Matterhorn,

The most majestic ever born.

But I was on The Gornergrot.

I watched you fade toward the spot--

3000 meters, maybe more,

Then something happened to restore.

It came not from pride nor from within.

I knew I would again begin

And make my way up to the top,

For I was on The Gornergrot.

Frosty spoke of roads not taken,

Thoreau talked of desperation.

But I caught and passed you near the top

For I was on The Gornergrot.

The mountain was what sustained,

The Edelweis, marmots and terrain.

Your thought you left me there to rot,

But I was on The Gornergrot.

The Gornergrot-Voss Hotel and Restaurant was built over eighty years ago when a train to it was simultaneously built.  It has a panoramic view of a series of famous mountains above 4000 meters.  In fact, over a third of all the 4000 meter mountains in Switzerland can be seen from this site.  Just below is the Riffelberg Hotel which was built before Mark Twain's journey to Switzerland 120 years ago.  He wrote a typically comical version of hiking up to it--or rather being carried by a mule.  

Across the way, Coach Hall lead a group of girls on a slightly less famous hike--but grueling none-the-less--to Schwartzee.  The seven girls were: Becky M., Melissa L., Caitlin B., Jasmine D., Helen L., Nicole E., and Siobhan S.  While my group experienced more of a hiking crowd, there's was more peaceful, more into the wild. I doubt this group could care less who "won," but Siobhan and Caitlin easily took the trophy for fastest return.  The photos are courtesy of Jasmine.

Well, here's the list.  My special medals of heroic climbing go to Mona Y., who kept an impressively consistent pace while still enjoying the view, and Katie U., who hiked the whole thing with a bumb knee.

1. Aston

2. Rees

3.Indjian

4. Heller

5. Scott

6. DuPar

7. Yamazaki

8. Kinney

9. Resnick

10. Thomas

11. Brown

12. Skophammer

13. Springer

14. LV

15. Yazdi

16. Guttman

17. Young

18. Deakers

19. Davidson

20. Uraguchi

21. Dunbar

22. Nelson

23. Overstreet

24. Krumholz

25. Kurt

26. Cummings

27. Kato

28. Huerte

29. Nishimoto

30. Hsu

A few pictures--but my camera died early on: http://gallery.mac.com/mjhoeger/100033

P.S. OK, some got lost, some started late, some didn't know it was a race.  The last can be first in their own mind, and the middle can be first in their own logic, but the first cannot be last.

It came Bounding out of the Sky

It might have been a wild mountain goat, it might have been a curly horned ram or possibly a small deer with the antlers of an elk.  Whatever it was, it was real and mythic and nearly knocked Theo N. off the trail at 10,000 feet high.  Theo was one of 12 who biked from Salzburg to the base of Untersberg Mountain. They followed the river, cut over through farm lands to the canal, and then ended up on the highway before exiting at Grodig.  From there they took the Gondola to the foggy, hazy top.  Michelle C., Christine D., Devon D., Emily R., Chelsea T., and Katie U. lead the way up, but the boys, following, started the antics.  David S., regressed to playing Golum and nearly hopped off the mountain.  Michael A. grabbed a silver tin saucer and tobagganed down a glacier tumbling off just above the crevice.  Both are caught on camera video.  Another video showed three bright yellow-billed ravens following Barry K. where ever he went.  The video shows him pointing and instructing the birds to stop mimicking.  They wouldn't hear it. Mickey B., Alec D., Gary I., Cameron K., and Jordan R. followed a path that said Verboten and ended up at the highest, coldest, foggiest point beneath a giant cross of Jesus that nearly converted all of them (just kidding Marcie and Julie.)  But the highlight was not caught on video.  It was the surprise attack by the goat-deer.  All reports contradict.  But I believe them all.

We have made it to Lucerne, Switzerland.  Not only is this the most beautiful city in the whole world, but there usually is absolutely nothing to do here.  And that's fine by me.  I ditched the group at The Saddest Lion in the World.  Cameron K. and Drew H. were here, what, five years ago, and they are absolutely giddy leading the group to this Lion carved in the rock ala Mount Rushmore.  However, I joke not when I marvel at the beauty here.  A city on a glistening lake. Modern and historic Swiss architecture nestle comfortably side by side.  This is an extremely progress city of artisans and businesses.   Every shop window is perfectly rendered and each cafe has its Karim Rashid or Phillippe Starck furniture so plastic and colorful that you wonder when the future will arrive in the USA.  I'm sitting on a Charles Eames reproduction chair at my Kappel-Bridge-view cafe and I feel my quality of life, mostly my butt, improving by the minute.  If only the Swiss knew how to brew beer. 

Coach Hall is exchanging money now, and we're meeting for dinner together at 6:30.  There is a yodelling festival going on--no lie, and tonight they are attempting to break the world's record for the most singers singing a song.  50,000 choir members from all over Europe will sing something at 8 O'clock.  I hope it's not "We are the World." They are all dressed up like barbershop-quartets-from-The-Alps.  Disney could not exaggerate any better the ethnic stereoptype.  Well, maybe a Saint Bernard with a jug under it's neck would do it.  No wonder we could not get a hotel in Lucerne this year.  We are staying 40 minutes away in Ingelberg, I think.  I hope we can convince our fearless leader to stay for the historic vocal performance. Afterall, we have world class choir members on this trip--Melissa L. and Siobhan S. --who sang at graduation--and Emily R. and Neil S.  I think I can sing baritone if Neil can do the bassline. I think we should stay.

I probably won't let you know what happened.  I don't anticipate posting for the next three days as we will be in Zermat, and while there are internet connections, it is too expensive.  Hope you all get phone calls.  The trip is going better than ever.  Your kids are great.  Barb, I can't get any connection to email here, for some reason, so I hope you at least read this.  Say hi to Louis, Jake, Nora, and Maddy.  Nora, you're gonna love this trip next year.  Let's start saving now.

Wryly but sort of truly,

LV

P.S.  I often have to send these out as my cafe time limit is expiring.  Sorry about the lack of proofreading in the last entry.  The spelling, the spelling, the horror, the horror.

Salzburg ist Gemutlichkeit

In recent years, two German words have made inroads into American intellectual--and now--pop culture discourse.  There are omlauts in both words, but I can't figure out how to key 'em. One word is schadenfreude, which translates as getting pleasure from others' suffering or discomfort.  Fortunately, schadenfreude merely applies to our trip in mildly amusing ways: Like when some North African girl wanted to run her hand through Darren K.'s hair on the Paris Metro or when a German guy, needing to kiss someone after Deutschland defeated Turkey 3-2 in the Eurocup semi-finals last night, chose Stephanie H. What ensued after, we call teasing, hopefully steering clear of the most hurtful schadenfreude--what one witnesses on reality TV shows.

I started reading the word gemutlichkeit a few years ago in some literary reviews.  I still don't know exactly what it means, but I can use it in a sentence.  Isn't that the way life is: I haven't figured it out yet, but I can fake my way through it.  It was when I heard 'gemutlichkeit' in a country song called "I'm gonna take you home (and make you love me)" by Robbie Fulks that I knew the word had arrived.  (Although I bet it's the only known use of the word in American pop song history.) I've tried saying it to some locals here in Salzburg with varying degrees of failure.  Mostly I get quizzical looks.  You can get the same reaction when you mention The Sound of Music to any Salzburgian under age 25.  They've never heard of it.  Sabine, who rented bikes out to 27 of our kids this morning, said only Americans are the ones who want to bike the do-re-me streets.  She also was not worried that our possibly rain-soaked riders would ditch their bikes along the river.  "You and Tim have come here every year for 5 years, and your kids have always been extremely responsible. "  She called them kids too.

So Salzburg is categorically gemutlichkeit, and that is a good thing.  We had perfect weather in the morning for the Salt Mines tour--everyone made on the bus this year!--and crazy Archbishop Marcus Sitticus's mansion and Trick fountains. (I have pictures in the week two link.) And then the rain came.  But it was more a benediction then a Debbie downer. Last night the fussball party-ers watched with hundreds of Turkish and German fans the game outside at the Bismark Platz while four boys--Garrett D., Michael K., Theo N. and Matt O.,--and six girls--Hillary D., Christine D., Devon D., Nicole E., Amy G., Michelle Y, and Michelle Y.--went for highbrow entertainment.  They saw a string quartet perform Mozart pieces in the castle hovering above the city.  It was incredible, they said, as the quartet finished with "Eine Kleine Nacht Musique."  The one that goes: Doot, (pause) da Doot, (pause) da Doot da Doot da Doot.

That's gemutlichkeit to my ears. 

Tonight, it's cards in the Augustiner.  Let the Hearts poseurs emerge.

Truly but wryly,

LV

P.S. I think some of the girls are in love with our Portuguese coach driver, Rui.  They think he's actually a secret agent.  

Week 2 Photo link: http://gallery.mac.com/mjhoeger/100026. 

Mitterand's Last Meal

From memory, here's the story.  French president Francois Mitterand, 10 years ago, was dying of cancer.  He decided, for his last meal, to have a forbidden-by-law delicacy--the tiny ortolan, which is smaller than a hummingbird.  It began disappearing from the south of France in the 1950's and thus was put on an endangered species list.  The way to eat it is to catch live in a net, feed for a month with grits and grains to fatten, drown in cognac, quickly cook and then--after blindfolding yourself to heighten the taste sensation--hold by the bill and place on the tongue.  Oh, yes, earlier the eyes were gauged out. Well, you let the juices run down your throat before chewing the tasty bonelettes (two t's, my choice).  'Sposed to be the best.  They kept it a secret for years after he died.  Someone squealed.  Many interesting ethical debates can be gleaned.

So what was our last meal in the fabled city of gastronomical delights.  You'll have to ask your son or daughter.  For the first year most reports were over the top.  And the price wasn't bad either, believe it or not.  Coach Hall and I took the tennis team to Chartier for their first stab at es-car-go.  Some went to eat crepes in Montparnase.  Some went to the Ille of St. Louis.But I think the award for best decision for a meal goes to Christine D., Stephanie K., and Chelsea T. who had a picnic on the Champs de Mars today--the lawn with the mad view of the Eiffel Tower.  Nice going.

Some pictures of all of us at the Eiffel Tower a few hours ago.

go to: http://gallery.mac.com/mjhoeger/100013

Truly,

LV

Paris is 99% Cocoa--and that's good

In years past, Paris has been difficult for the kids--The Metro is confusing, the people not particularly gracious, and the lines at museums long.  We're not hearing that this year.  The weather has been perfect, the people helpful, and the various reports about last night's dinner were either tre bien or magnifique.  More on this in the next post. 

We arrived Friday at 2 p.m. and the kids had time to explore before a 7 p.m. dinner in the hotel. By and large, the boys went to the Rodin Museum while the girls went to Galleries Lafayette. We had an early curfew so we could charge or mount or disable the city Saturday.  In other words, we had our second of only 4 trip tours.

The tour started well.  Our guide, Christine, showcased the sights as we drove around easily through the slowly awakening City of Light.  It was quite a contrast to London where, because President Bush was in town and streets closed for his calvacade, we felt the crush. (In fact, the Prez's car caravan cut off Hillary and Jillian and I after we lost the group after Westminster Cathedral.  We didn't mind and waved to him.  He didn't wave back.) So anyway, the Parisian bus driver dropped us off at the base of Montmartre, and we hoofed it up 210 steps to Sacre Coeur, the lovely white stone church with 5 Onion-shaped domes.  Two of my favorite movies, Francois  Trauffaut's The 400 Blows and Amelie--both of which I showed in class--are filmed in this area, and it gives me the cinematic shivers retracing the characters' steps. Eleven kids either felt the same way or had nothing else to do and followed me as we hoofed it to Amelie's cafe, The Two Windmills.  This peregrination lasted only an hour as we had to make it back to the bus.  But cameras clicked (not mine, battery dead) and good-natured chatter filled the air. Montmartre Village is classic Paris, and the locals were out on the sidewalks buying from the fish, vegetable, and fruit markets for the evening meals.  Christine D., Jordan R., Gary I., Chelsea T., and Melissa L. actually stood at the bar and ordered cappuccinos and cafe au laitsand lee-mon-ahde's while the others, Adriana H., Becky M., Patrick S., Cameron K., Matt O. Mike K., and Helen L. ate watermelon outside.  On the walk back, Patrick snagged a tiny chocolate candy bar with 99% cocoa for two Euros .  99%--Should be delicious, P Scott. But hey, I truly get it, and Trader's Joe's doesn't even have this.  It's why we come. Hope you can get it back home without it melting. 

After that we went to Notre Dame Cathedral and after that some slipped behind for ice cream from Berthillon's on Ille St. Louis.  Is this the best ice cream, ever? We'll wait for Florence to decide. After that a chancellor of the Sorbonne University gave us a back door tour of his venerable college.  Evidently, he showed us baroque rooms no one had ever entered.  We were all too tired to enjoy the hidden symbolism of each wall mural, but Garrett (with two t's) had the best response to his often challenging questions.  When the chancellor asked,  "What do you think of when you think of Sorbonne?" Garrett cooly responded, "Sorbet." (one t, i believe)  I guess Garrett was still thinking of Berthillon's. 

Truly but Wryly,

LV

     

Bruges Canal Bike Ride

The 17 kilometer bike ride from Bruges to Sluice, Holland was accomplished today by nearly all, some without a fall, but at least no one fell into the canal--see last year's blog.  Once we passed three windmills on the outer-ring of the city, it was a direct, wind-aided ride along the canal. Pictures do not capture the pastoral beauty.  One can easily imagine the Flemish Masters beside the water painting the lush and green, the bittern below and stork nesting above (Michelle Crose has a good photo of the storks), and the serenity of the tall cottonwoods.  Now imagine the joyous cackling of bike-riding kids lining both sides of the canal in a race to Holland. Don't they realize I don't give out A's for bike-riding class.  Some figured it out and they fell back with me--the stragglers.  That would be David S., Neil S., Barry K., Devon D., Gary I., Alec G., Stephane K., Becky M., Mona Y., Alexa N., and Chelsea T.  At the 6 Kilometer mark we turned off at the quaint little village of Damme for the 10-1 fruit and candy market.  What a treat--but I could only chew on one side of my mouth.  Mini-strawberries were the hit but the exotic candy made for better picture taking.  

See this web link for some pictures of the trip: http://gallery.mac.com/mjhoeger/100008.

I abandoned the group at this point and headed back to the Groeningemuseum to see the Flemish Primitives such as Pieter Pourbus, Hans Memling and Jan Van Eck, all of whom were upstaged by one triptych by the Dutch Hieronymous Bosch, whose Judgement Day vision of hell may keep me awake for centuries.  Outside again, and with clouds breaking above, the rest of my walk through this dreamlike city was like all the other reports.  Mickey Brown commented, "We saw this sign for stress-reduction classes, and we thought, 'How could anyone have stress in this place."  Sorry that possibly the kindest, most romantic city came second on the trip.

Wryly, but truly,

LV 

P.S. Garret and David fell off their bikes--that I know for sure.  Who else did? 

Terminal Man

Samuel Johnson said, “If you tire of London, you tire of life.” Well, I’ll add that if London can’t revive you, your mother can’t either. I woke up this morning determined to check the architecture of my legs and the vertigo of my head, having survived my first airport sleepover. JFK, I hardly knew thee. But London, ah London, your Edwardian symmetry, your Lime Tree breeze, your double decker confidence—sent me back into a revere of memory as I made my way through Bloomsbury, over Oxford Street to Monmouth Coffee for a redoubtable $4 (2 lbs.) cappuccino, a Pain de Raisin pastry and three fresh chocolate truffles to share with Tim and our tour guide Allison. No wonder the young Parisians are moving to London by the 1000's and so what if each truffle costs a pound each. I had survived a bad 1970’s disaster movie and needed reconciliation, vindication, abdication.

And the kids—and that’s what I’ll call them, if only because ‘students’ takes too long to type and ‘young adults’ is condescending—well, the kids had a blast. They needed no revitalization. My ordeal was their ADVENTURE as they took over the west terminal and play-acted Airport and Airplane and If You Can’t Catch Me Now, renouncing sleep. “Everything has a purpose, LV,” and “Don’t worry, coach,” “We believe in karma, Mr. Hoeger” they naively spouted. Still, they hadn’t lost a tooth or more specifically a lower left molar crown. I had—on one of those peanuts treats for which we now pay.

So we missed a half day of London, but we made up for it in a hurry. With headache gone, toothache disremembered, and truffles hidden, we charged through Westminster Abbey, past the changing of the guards, into Leichester Square for lunch. After, we stumbled with awe under the dome of St.Peter’s and paraded with Beefeaters through the Towers of London. Tonight they’re all out with a midnight curfew, and we are all happy little ravens.

Photos won't upload now. Check later. Incidentally, I’ll start mentioning kids by name and making sure each kid gets a picture or two. Don’t expect a report on a regular basis. They come when they come.

Truly but wryly,
LV (the Literary Vagabond)

P.S. Here’s a joke our tour guide told us as we drove through the financial district of Westminster. “Those men in black suits you see on the sidewalk?” she said. “We call them a ‘wunch of bankers.’” (switch the first two letters of each big word). I've got another variation: "If you tire of English humor, you tire of life."