(Yah, a month too late, but who doesn’t want to revisit warm candles, rainy markets, fluffy snowflakes, and decorating a Christmas tree with Nora!)

So December was a particularly rainy month. I visited no less than 4 lovely Christmas markets and was rained on through all of them. Here I visited Schaffhausen, near the border to Germany where the famous Rhine Falls tumble down. The famous Munot fortification at the top of the village has beautiful light pouring through into an open circular stone room. I can only imagine that it used to be filled with activity – people, arms, horses, fire. However, now the room is filled with an eerie green light and the walls echo with every group that walks through.

Looking for oncoming attacks, or checking up on my grapes

Within Munot

Back in Zurich, a few flakes of snow did fall and one last party in our rented room kept us dancing in the warm glow.

And for the first time (that I noticed) the Nutcracker Ballet was playing in Zurich! An old family tradition that I was able to keep up even here. The performance was lovely, and the Opera House was outstanding, just as I would imagine an old European theatre.

Opera House Zurich

And, as always, December was filled with new and touching music. The artists as young men presented ‘the mermaid’. They had previously written 6 songs specifically for the story of the Little Mermaid, and presented with professional sign language translators to perform a concert for the deaf.

Visuals and artistic translation to bring the musical soundscape into the eyes of the deaf

Benji, singer of artists as young men, also played a special Christmas concert with our friend Chregi, of the fridge, at a local organic grocery store. Amazing music in front of organic wine. Yum.

Shortly after I made a quick trip to Schluein to see Lisa, drop off gifts, and decorate the tree. I left dry, grey Zurich and entered into a strikingly white wonderland of peaceful falling snow.

I was free to be a 3-year old with Nora as we chose our favourite decorations for the tree, danced to the Nutcracker Suite, and ate Christmas cookies while watching the snow pile up. I secretly wished the snow would pile so high I would be stuck there until Spring…

But Christmas was within days, and more lights, singing and traditions were to follow…. this year in Germany!

36 hours prior, Tilmann and his best friend, Johannes, were driving down a mountain road in Southern Turkey. It was mid-afternoon of a cool and rainy day when the car fish-tailed out into the oncoming lane and was crushed on the side by an oncoming car. About 7 hours later I got a first message that they were in a hospital. Through deep panicky breathes, I began to contact key people: the embassy to translate what the doctors were saying, and a close friend of Tilmann to inform the families. The phone calls continued non-stop as we, so far removed and feeling so useless/shocked/scared/protective/rational/irrational, were desperate for any more minute pieces of information which could provide comfort. However, it was late, the embassy was not responding to any calls, and there was nothing we could do but wait. Tilmann was stable, but no one knew how Johannes was.

I sat in stillness before going to bed that first night. Trying to slow my breath which had felt so heavy, and yet so empty, for the last hours. I gazed out at the dark empty street, so much silence and peace. I felt nothing but exhaustion. I am too rational to worry myself with the worst case and I knew I had to sleep to do whatever I needed to do tomorrow. I closed my eyes and wished everything I had left to them, to their families, to the friends.

We didn’t know until the next morning, the 15^th, that Johannes had passed away. In fact, we didn’t find out until a day or so later that he had probably died immediately in the accident. But in that moment, when the news was passed around, there was not the necessity for details or a need for words at all. I lost my breath for a moment, hoping to withstand the crush of sadness. I gasped a breath in, hoping that it might literally draw my friends and family nearer. I sobbed out an exhale, trying to release the unbearable shock. There was a shared feeling from Germany to Canada to Switzerland to Turkey that the warmth of life had, unexpectedly, unnecessarily, unjustly, been drawn away from us, like a freezing cold wind snapping at our open hearts, wrapping itself around our bodies, and paralysing us in this singular thought.

Thank goodness for the flood flow of being a citizen in a society and insurance companies. I snapped back into reality from the need to inform, organize, and delegate; all sufficient in distracting myself, at least superficially. Several hours later, my flight was planned and the centre of operations would move to Antalya.

Now 36 hours after is happened I was there, and it got very real. I went into overdrive on the duties: phone calls and emails to family, friends and his work, waking up with the nurse visits every 3 hours during the night, constantly refilling the water cup, preparing his food tray, helping him walk around, sitting patiently nearby when he rested. It was all so necessary, so helpful, and so therapeutic for both of us, for different reasons, in order to keep moving forward.

However, it was all just movements in between the moments that needed the most work; the ones that were dark, quiet, and overwhelming. Thinking back, the days all blend together in that hospital room. Each moment was unique and raw, as it was a space we could just let ourselves think in quiet and feel any emotion without any other stimulation. Sometimes all was so still, our emotions so dense that we could not feel any or all. We were in a room in Turkey, overlooking the city, out to the mountains and sea. What was that place beyond? What life goes on from here? Who can comprehend what happened? How is the path going to unfold?

We’re a species that adapts in a crisis, so as the days went forward we sought out normalcy in our daily routine. TV shows, German tabloid magazines, I even went out and treated myself to a 5 euro haircut. And there were moments of pure silliness laughing at kitten youtube videos or joking with the nurses. The enormity of it all did not diminish, but other things also had to come into that space. Life got heavier.

After a week, we made it back to Zurich, and back to Tilmann’s home in Germany, and through the weighted sadness of the funeral. The same still applies: The enormity of it all did not diminish, but other things also had to come into that space.

Most of the initial shock in Turkey has passed, and I can write that with some clarity. However, life after coming back to Zurich still needs time to be processed to understand how this experience has and will affect me. My reserves are low, and not every day is so easy as I work towards accepting the sadness that Johannes is gone and releasing the energy that I wound up during the last months.

Writing it here has been a tremendous effort but also so helpful in making it clear what I feel were some of the hardest parts, noticing how much my feelings have evolved since then, and marking this as how I feel at this current moment in time.

I know there is more understanding to follow, as the shocking details of death are not what is to be remembered here, but the feelings of knowing that we are truly alive.

Tilmann with this sisters, Christmas 2011

I’m still trying to find the words

Geez, don’t get me wrong, I like thinking about you and everything, you’re a pretty cool cat and we have some business to do. But we gotta set some boundaries, give each other space, leave a little room to think about other things. Like cats and Christmas.

So fine, I’m going on my walks in the brilliant oranges of fall. And will only think of you a little as I contemplate the joy of inner city parks and the potential cash I would pay up for this luxury.

Or the ability to have clean drinking water provided free of charge, just like that. Magic.

And I suppose while I’m thinking about it, I wonder how people are perceiving their environment and the relationship they have with the trees, bugs, and birds.  Some dig it, some don’t.

But wait, it’s not all forest walks, sometimes there are some castles thrown in around there too, which sends me back to all the history, people, technology, and knowledge that has come before me. Like the invention of umbrellas, that was brilliant.

Yep thesis, you’re deep down in there, rooted in the neurons and sprouting some leaves, setting the gears spinning and whatnot.  And darn, if you won’t pick yourself then I better get down to it, and make some space for other things, like birthday parties.

I suppose these are all normal reactions to living in a new environment, we adapt, we hike up our leiderhosen and dive right into the cheese fondue.

Though not for everything. I’m still stuck on the ridiculous Canadian ‘metric’ system. Not quite American, not quite like Euroland, I still appreciate my pounds, cups, and feet. So needless to say, baking here is always a bit of magic.

There are no expectations since anything that results in a manageable (rather close to mangeable, n’est pas?) consistency becomes a bread, cookie or cake. So far many positive reviews from very dedicated taste-testers.

Last week I crossed a new hurdle. Yes indeed, I am baking pies in Switzerland (well 2 so far, but that counts for plural). Not only that, I am shocking their tongues with the pie that never made it back across the Atlantic: Pumpkin Pie!

But before I show off the buttery crumby details, let’s talk about my ‘enabling environment’. I personally own no baking equipment, except for maybe a mixing spoon (thanks Mom), so whatever I use is graciously available from the apartment that I am living in. The last place was heaven (I was living with a crazy foodie…), mixers, whizzers, smashers and scales, even a creme brulee torch. I’m a little less equipped at the new place having to be a little creative to follow the North American recipes online. Some examples of my ‘genius’:

- Measuring out ‘cups’: I use our drinking glasses, looks like about 250 g for water et al. Oh wait, engineering school taught me that not everything weighing 250 g will fill the same volume. Hmm, let’s pretend it does.

- Teaspoons, tablespoons, pinches and sticks: Well this used to be good guessing game as no one seems to own measuring spoons nor does butter come in sticks. But Ellen caught this problem early on and gifted me a dashingly red set of measuring spoons which are now in high rotation (you rock, E!). Sticks have to be improvised, and I get by with some good carving out of the butter block, but I sure like saying that I wish I had a few sticks to add to this recipe, hehe.

- Gas stove in C: Yikes, was I also supposed to know all the Fahrenheit (which is a German word, now who has it backwards?) temperatures in Celsius? Well even after conversion, I can’t exactly do much for precision on my gas stove.

325F = 162.8C

- Missing ingredients: Some things you just can’t find, unless you go to one of those foreign grocery stores, importing wild things from abroad like mint extract and sushi rice. So when I get a craving for pumpkin pie, especially around this time of year, I just gotta make it happen. No canned pumpkin, no allspice? Bring it on!

For a fun bonus, I had my mind set on using the chestnut flour I brought back from Corsica to make the pie crust. Ahem, my first pie crust. That made it just a little more special, but once you smell that heavenly nutty delicate chestnut flour, you’d be right there with me. Promise.

So let me present my proud creation: chestnut crusted pumpkin pie

Fresh pumpkin ready to roast

Post-roast to filling

Chestnut crust prep and fill

And the finished product…

Light and fluffy, spicy and sweet

It was dreamy. Like pumpkin fluff with a tickle of chestnut. It was quickly finished.

And for the second, slightly more creative: chestnut crusted apple pear pie

Frozen butter shredded and vanilla pod for crust

Boskoop apples and Conference pears for a soft jammy filling, plus lemon and ginger

Out of the oven, deep dish goodness

And some fun with the top crust. Roasted almonds and lots of love

This one was for a boy I’m particularly proud of, recently finished a Master’s degree and rather brilliant if I do say so myself.
Pie was heartily devoured in the midst of the beautiful autumn. Happy November!

Late summer sun at the lake

With the fog lifting up by the afternoon, the bright blue sky has been an exquisite complement to the symbols of the season: late harvest plants, lingering flowers, plump pumpkins, and the changing of the leaves. I’ve been walking around the ‘m0untain’ near my apartment and marveling at the final stages of summer blending seamlessly into one of my favourite times of year. As a self-declared jacket addict, this is a great time of year since I’m assured of the need for a great long spy trench coat and a cozy wool scarf before venturing out.

pursuing sun

gardening yoga

And as the growing season wraps up, the plot farmers are hard at work preparing their garden for the winter crops and bringing in the last of the summer’s. This, of course, means pumpkins are ready! To fully embrace this I biked out of Zurich to a nearby you-pick farm called Jucker Farmart. Here they not only display the winning pumpkins in the annual ‘biggest’ competition, there are also pumpkin-made displays with a new theme every year. It just so happened that I decided to visit the farm when the theme was particularly original: Switzerland. Yep, we are talking about displays complete with a gigantic cow, Heidi, the Matterhorn, an alp horn and more made from various shapes, colours and sizes of pumpkin. You couldn’t help but smile at the fun displays, the history and symbols they chose, and the faces of the kids who were totally entranced by the pure quantity of pumpkins and all their alien forms.

700 kg winner and contenders

The three-canton vote to unite Switzerland... in pumpkin form

Pumpkin carver

And along with pumpkins, also comes apples. And in Switzerland they make a fresh pressed apple juice, mixed with pear as well, called Most (pronounced Moescht)

pouring fresh Most into bottles

And one final impression from another ‘mountain’ above Zurich (they are really more like hills but have the name of -berg, meaning mountain. Hmm… they don’t quite look like the mountains I know) looking out towards the Alps and the surrounding towns. The sun was setting and casting a glow that lit the oranges of the hill and the purple of the horizon.

I have so much to post about- trips, pumpkins, friends and music. But I couldn’t find the inspiration to bring it all together just yet. After a great dinner and a night out yestarday with the usual suspects, I ended up with a bunch of the standard crazy party pictures. These are often deemed the worst offence for facebook/blog posting, but let me make my case first before you expect a slew of flashed out faces or questionable dance moves caught on film. In any case  as a group who don’t ‘get out much’ therein avoiding paying outrageous entrance fee at the Zurich clubs, I don’t know where we fall in terms of tearing up the dance floor. Can’t say we fall into the group of poorly coordinated young people, but we were not fox trotting on the dance floor either.

In their own raw energetic blurry way I felt that I should put these pictures out into the world. There is just something about capturing a smile within the spinning lights and jumping bodies which is a bit magical and crystallizes the joy of the moment as everyone lets go of their own inhibitions and sings at the top of their lungs finding their own groove to the music. It is also something I cherish about yoga, a bonding through using the whole physical body as a way of expressing yourself beyond the conversation around the dinner table. Communication happens through eye contact, some synchronous hip shaking, and incoherent hand signals (good thing they are only usually representing two actions- bathroom or beer).

Needless to say, more stories to come with a little more ‘focus’

fat: well I did my best to survive the marathon meals over the multiple days, but I loved every bite of it

Jewish: way too much fun.

wedding: what is better than a bunch of new people to meet who are high on love and wedding cake (though for this one they were on the amazing dessert buffet)

One of the many stages of the wedding- the bride eagerly meeting the groom after a week of separation. Paparazzi equally excited

Rebecca loves the details, even of her own photoshoot. She is an amazing woman to watch!

So much beauty

Lovely Naomi

Wedding prep with 'Girls just want to have fun'

Rebellious wedding nails

The party begins when Chava (Rebecca's sister) says it does, and that time is now

So here’s how it came together. I had time, a little bit of money, and a strong urge to go somewhere breathtaking. My blog sphere provided me with plenty of inspiration (be careful, it’s addictive) and I finally succumbed to my old western Canadian heart- Give me mountains! Give me sun! Oh, you can offer the sea as well?! Where do I sign up? And just like that, as those that were around in the moment can attest to, I was booked on my way above the Arctic Circle to Bodo, Norway, to take a ferry over to the Lofoten islands.

My friend Andy, living in England, joined me for some of the trip, and many emails flew back and forth with some semblance of planning before we left. But in the end, we did our ‘planned’ trip backwards (which sounds far sloppier than just saying in reverse) which turned out to be a very wise decision. And we encountered many more unexpected surprises building up to a very spectacular trip.

So I’d like to present the top 5 unplanned joys from my 10 days near the top of the world (in no particular order, and perhaps to be expanded upon when I have more time)

1) Exuberant museum tourism: In my opinion, the Lofotens are rather under-developed in terms of tourism, even if the brochures are still jammed with information. There are a few hotels, only 2 hostels, lots of fishing huts to rent and a handful of restaurants specializing, of course, in locally caught sea food. A couple of local companies will bring you out whale watching or kayaking as well. All in all, there are a few things to do on the great expanse of islands, but many of the other tourists we met were just driving through for the views from one end to the other. The simplicity of it all adds to the idyllic nature (literally and figuratively) of the area, and you quickly settle in to the quiet island life.

However, there is one exception to this basic amenities type infrastructure, and that is the privately developed museums throughout the islands. With a whole gamut of topics from whaling, to dolls, telecommunications and fish production, one can enjoy the history of the islands while diving into a bit of its local eccentricities. If you go, be sure to stop at a few of these museums, the guides are enthusiastic and the individualism of the concept is refreshing.

Museums along the Lofoten highway

2) Waffles and jam: Beyond the variations on fish (boiled, buried, dried or decomposed) there are few tasteful delicacies in Norway except for waffles. Thin, doughy and clover-shaped, my ferry trips were marked with a celebratory waffle slathered with bright red strawberry jam, foregoing the addition of what I deemed cream butter (like a thick yogurt tasting of butter, undoubtedly produced with large quantities of cream). You could get them in most cafes and convenience stores as well, lifting one-off a pre-made pile (they were never really served hot and fresh) lying next to the till, accoutrements also at hand.

Vafler + Jordbaer

2) Ferry travel: Or better known as the ‘high speed passenger catamaran’ for those sans voiture. Of all the ways I was travelling around, the ferry was my favourite. It was the best place to clean up and get water (crucial activities while on foot with a tent), as well as people watch or stare out at the passing islands. The coastline varies so greatly, showing off deep fjords, stark mountain cliffs, or even a glacier, that it is never a boring ride and certainly saved my stomach from having to drive down the winding coastline.

I learned a lot about Norwegian culture from the ferry rides. It all started at the port, often in the early morning. As I waited for the boat to arrive, the locals would also make their way down to the docks: preparing to greet family members (whom always returned to these small communities, for the love of their island or fjord runs deep), drop off packages to be sent away or wait to pick up a load of groceries arriving from the mainland, or just to catch up on the latest happenings in the area as the latest news travelled by word of mouth hopping from port to port.

On the ferry, people would settle in to the comfortable seats in the large seating area and promptly get themselves breakfast: coffee (black!), hotdog or waffle (see below), and ice cream. I met an older man on one ferry who was heading back home to his fishing village after visiting the dentist on the mainland. He was a sailor, now retired, and had visited over 90 countries in his life through the fishing and cruising industry. This was a story I heard many times from the people living up there- world travelled, returned home. His name was Fred, which means ‘Peace’ in Norwegian. How lovely.

Early morning ferry to Bodo

Navigating the islands

Svartisen glacier on the mainland

4) ‘Seeing is believeing’ scales: We read about it in the guidebook but didn’t understand how it could be true. Fata Morgana is the effect of the ultra clear air in the North which throws off your eye as it allows you to see easily more than 75 km, when normally the range would be 20 km. The mainland islands were often within sight, and the distance across fjords seemed within an arm’s reach. We were often getting confused by just how clear the mountains appeared with no haze to filter the view or creating fuzz around the edges, only clear crisp silhouettes.

What a joy it was to take photos there, as they really turned out as stunning and intense as what we were seeing.

5) Wild blueberries and raspberries: A forager’s delight. Even though it was late summer, and much of the tourism had died down since the midnight sun was long over, the flora was still bursting, almost vibrating, with life as the 20 hours of sunlight still beat down above the Arctic Circle. The variety of colour on the ground we walked over reminded me of the streets of Zurich after Faschnacht (a religious holiday somehow mixing Easter and Halloween), seeing evidence of the festivities from the array of colourful confetti in every corner.

Blueberries and raspberries I confidently recognized and picked with vigour. The blueberries were small, similar to the mountain ones I know in Alberta. But the raspberries were sweeter and more intense than any I knew previously. I devoured them up, bending down and straining through the prickles with my huge backpack on, probably to the amusement of the locals on their regular dog route. Everyone has equal access to the land, and I wasn’t about to let it go to waste.

Breakfast blueberries

Andy in a sea of red confetti berries

So if you are ever up in that part of the world, the most important piece of advice I could give is to just take a deep breath of the clear air. From this you’ll begin to know the scent of the fishing history, of fresh sunlit ferns and junipers, and the pureness of an untouched mountain dreamland.

* some trips are more spontatneous, see: Barbados, Jura crest, Iceland…

Hum of the trees in Switzerland

Spiraling ascent in Toronto

I’ve been listening to Ben Howard ever since I saw him open for Xavier Rudd in Zurich in 2010. A talented young singer and songwriter from the UK, I was instantly drawn into his songs. Now, at long last, he is releasing his debut album, though there are others floating out there, with the newly released track ‘Keep your head up’. After the first listen or two, I wasn’t hooked as the song gradually builds up, and I was thoroughly distracted by the build up, as well, of the storyline in the music video. However, in the last weeks this song has come into my head, accompanying me on my last trip and providing a joyful soundtrack for the day-to-day experience seeking.

The tropical beaches of Norway

People often tell me that I routinely start humming or quietly singing when I’m working or just off on my own. I rarely notice that it even happens, but I have just become aware of where it takes root.

Just a few days ago, I was walking happily in the afternoon sun in Toronto after being mentally stimulated with the incredible collections at the Art Gallery of Ontario. And with my wonderful mommy beside me as we made our way through the busy city centre, we both settled pleasantly into the moment and began to hum our respective soundtracks for the moment. Hers was something upbeat and complex, typical considering the range of music she collects for her yoga class. I lilted along the lines of ‘all I was searching for was me/ keep your head up, keep your heart strong/ … to feel the warmth of his smile/ saying I’m happy to have you home/ I’m happy to have you home/… I’ll always remember you the same/ eyes like wildflowers with your demons of change’.

A few days prior to that sunny afternoon, I celebrated my good friend Rebecca’s wedding in Hamilton, near Toronto. Even with all the clapping, dancing, singing and love in the air, there was a sense of transition. Knowing that while Rebecca had chosen an amazing partner to spend her  life with, us her close friends had a changing role in her life as well. I was honoured to be with her throughout the many days of her Jewish wedding (some may call it a marathon) and saw for myself how strong she has truly become (needless to say this wedding required courage, stamina, persistence, and a few painkillers!)

Strong hearts in Hamilton, Ontario

A few weeks earlier I was walking in a most magical and powerful landscape in Northern Norway. Steep cliffs dropped into the murky blue Norwegian Sea, but not before flattening out just enough to allow for a few small bright red fisherman’s cabins to make a stand against the water and wind. The people who called this place home are those of the water and the mountains. These folks I met while hitch-hiking or on ferries between islands, and their precise and respectful demeanour convinced me that this combination of solid and liquid was an addictive landscape that drew the residents back. I could feel why.

Another dose of spectacular around every corner in Lofoten, Norway

Somewhere along the long walks with Andy around the islands and mountains of Lofoten, another ‘northerner’ popped into my head. Paolo Nutini recalls his homeland of Northern Scotland as he struggles with finding place.  ‘I have returned to the Northern skies/… with great sense of passing through’, and a few words on bird songs and dark greens and blues. As the sun sank into the sea late every evening, we were treated to a sense of the darkness that settles throughout the winter up there.

Still evening in Traena, Norway

And finally, one to take home and dance to- ‘Home’ by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. It’s a new one to me, but apparently it is old news in North America, but I haven’t found anyone over on this side that has heard of them. Point for me for being oh so slightly ahead of the crowd (good thing everything from North Am comes about 6 months to a year later here, except for the fashion trends clearly)