Chocolate Wars

Perhaps fairly civil chocolate "wars" could happen only in Switzerland.  But it turns out that, unbeknownst to me, lost in my little cocoon, such chocolate warfare has been happening right on my doorstep.

According to today's Geneva Tribune, the little Confiserie de la Fontaine, quite visibly located on our quaint medieval main main street, is locked in a legal battle, referred to by the Tribune as a bisbille (squabble or falling out) with the recently-opened (Fall 2012) Chocolaterie Banchet.

As explained in the article, M Banchet (the father) was originally the owner of the Confiserie de la Fontaine, but sold his business in 2011 to another couple, the Bichets, who have been running the busines quite successfully since.  As one can see, there is already a small problem in that the names themselves are very similar at first blush - which should possibly have, in itself, raised a small red flag to the purchasers.

In any event, the sales contract stipulated that the Bichets would undertake to purchase chocolate produced by M Banchet fils for a five-year period, during which time no new chocolate business would be opened to compete with them.  When M Banchet fils opened his own chocolate business last fall not far from the local gare (train station), the Bichets promptly sued him for concurrence deloyale (unfair trade competition).

Unfortunately, the Bichets had apparently not read the fine print in their sales contract.  The court ultimately determined that the anti-competition clause applied only to M Banchet the father and not at all to the son.  The Bichets thus had no cause of action and no legal remedy.

It turns out that the relationship between the two families is even more contractually intertwined - at least for another three years.  The Bichets make their own chocolate in the same premises - rented from M Banchet the father - that M Banchet fils uses for his own business.

Still, because both establishments make excellent chocolates and we in the general area appreciate chocolate very much, it is difficult to be too dismayed at the prospect of more - and presumably even improving quality  - chocolate so close by.  There are enough of us to keep both businesses going.  And then some.  But, if one of them could develop a delicious chocolate that we normal people could eat without adding the commensurate poundage, that one would definitely "win" the competition so far as I am concerned.

In the meantime, we're - almost - all winners!  Mmmmmm!

Approaching the Half-Century Mark

The other big event in January occurred one week ago.  It was the 47th anniversary of the birth of #1 Son, Proud Dad Big T.  I had to chuckle at Sweet Momma H who remarked that she had just recently realized that when Prince Tyger is 10 years old, she will be in her 50s!  I had to chuckle because Big T is fast approaching the 50th milestone and I don't even want to think about what that must make me.

Things certainly have changed.  When Big T was 10 years old, my mother - his grandmother - was still in her 40s, even younger than Big T is now!  And oh, did she adore her grandsons - ALL of them!

Here Big T enjoys some moments in Jackson Hole, WY last summer with Princes Lightning and Tyger both staying very close.

And here he is rollicking about on a floor mat with Prince Lightning and Sweet Momma H.

May they all have time to enjoy life and each other!  It goes all too quickly.  Much too quickly, in fact.

Just Call Out My Name ...

My little Princess Butterfly got rave reviews on her latest report card from Kindergarten and I am SO proud of her!  Lots and lots of "Es" for "Excellent!"  So while I hope that she continues along that path - she certainly has good role models in Big Sis and Big Bro - I can't help thinking of another of her inspirations.  That is, her friend Princess K.

Princess K was born two months later to the day.  What the girls most love is to do things together.  Even though they were still not quite sure what all the fuss was about at the time, they spent their first Halloween together in a pumpkin patch.

When they were a little older, but still in Pampers, they took on an ambitious cookie baking project.

Princess Butterfly preferred the minimalist approach, while Princess K thought that a ballerina skirt was perfectly appropriate baking attire.  The cookies still look pretty good!

They were assigned to different groups in their pre-school classes and that seems to have carried through to Kindergarten.  But the relationship still flourishes.

Here's a recent photo of our budding Kitchen Goddesses again, this time tackling the intricacies of Rice Krispie treats.  Princess Butterfly's earlier minimalist approach to fashion has managed to skew around about 180 degrees.  This time her cooking attire is her dance costume, topped with a sweater.  !!

But she looks happy all the same when she is with Princess K.  Both girls do!  And that's the best thing about having a special friend to share the moments with!

January Firsts

Together with all other events that have occurred this month, the arrival of New Year 2013, the inauguration of President Obama for a second term on a very symbolic day, that created to commemorate Dr, Martin Luther King, two very important milestones occurred: the sixth anniversary of the day that I became a grandmother - other than my previous derivative grandchildren - each uniquely precious - that HWMBO generously shares with me; and the 47th birthday of my older son, Proud Dad Big T, father to Princes Tyger and Lightning.  Although Princess Butterfly has been six years old for nearly a month now, here she is as she was a few weeks after her birth in 2007, with her precious fuzz of reddish hair.

And oh! how fast it seems that the years in between have gone!  Here is the Princess, perched on Proud Dad Big S's shoulder as she attends the Chinese New Year celebration in Las Vegas, then in her first year of age.

Here she approaches her second year, lively in a swing!

Definitely manifesting a personality, here she clowns with very special Big Sis, Princess M, while visiting Montana in her third year.

Our lively girl loves to spend a lot of time on the school playground - and here she is at four!

Last summer, I got to spend almost almost six days with my Butterfly - and what a spirited five-year-old she was.

But now, she is six and perky as ever.  She officially began Kindergarten last fall.  She will be in First Grade even before I realize it.

Wherever she is, she will always be my very special Princess Butterfly!  I am so glad that she is in the world! She gives me such joy!

Catching Up - BWI At Last!

I was ready for the early alarm, although I couldn't believe that I had awakened at 04:30 two days in succession.  Technically, I had had an extra hour of sleep because London is an hour later than Switzerland.  So I held on to that thought, decided to skip breakfast at the hotel - definitely on the lower end of the spectrum, but perfectly adequate for one night - and head straightaway back to Heathrow.  And I had slept, so I wasn't complaining.

The airport bus arrived on schedule and I clambered on, thankful that I had only my hand luggage with me, but still wondering whether I would ever see my checked luggage again.  After making stops at several other airport hotels and other terminals, I was back at Terminal 5, where I headed directly to the rebooking line.  Even though I had arrived before 05:30, there were still about four serpentined lines.  But at least this time I was behind the partition that had disguised these lines from those of us in the outer circles the previous day.

One of the men in line was a gentleman trying to get to Bangalore, traveling with a pregnant wife and four young children, who was decidedly irritated.  Although the family had already been rebooked on a flight to their destination, their flight would not leave for another two days.  Unfortunately, the airline would only give him one day's set of vouchers at a time, which meant that he and the entire family had to travel to the airport each day, never knowing where - or when - they would be relocated for the day.  Each member had to accompany him because each voucher had to be accounted for separately.  This sounded truly inhumane to me and I certainly could understand his irritation.

After about an hour and a half of inching forward - and taking every advantage of chairs placed at intervals in the line - I finally found myself in front of a tired-looking booking agent.  I gave her my travel documents and asked whether it was at all possible to be rebooked on that day's flight to BWI.  After waiting several minutes as she tapped away at her terminal, I received the extremely welcome news that there were two seats available - one a window seat in the rear of the plane and the other an aisle seat, further forward.  I opted for the aisle seat.  And so it finally happened!  I had a new boarding pass in addition to a new meal voucher.  So long as there was a flight to BWI that would leave that day, I would be on it!  What a relief!  She also assured me that my checked baggage would be on the plane with me.

It was now around 07:00.  My flight was not scheduled to leave before 13:45, so this meant that all I had to do was to get through passport control and security.  Then the Heathrow Terminal 5 duty-free shops would be at my disposal for hours!  Generally, this is one idea of paradise!  But this morning, more than 24 hours after I had originally begun my journey, I was so tired that I could barely make my way through the various controls.  I practically sleep-walked through them.  I drifted into and out of various shops, but was so tired, I couldn't even decide to purchase anything.  What was fun though was that I kept meeting people who had shared the previous day's ordeal.  For the first time, Heathrow actually felt somewhat like my home town in Montana.   We each had ended up at different hotels.  Some had even gone into London itself, although were generally too tired to appreciate the experience.  Everyone I met had been successfully rebooked and they were now looking forward to the next phases of their respective journeys.  

I used my voucher to pay for some fresh fruit, a croissant and a large latte at one of the shops.  After eating, I used one of the computer terminals to tap out the latest news to HWMBO, hoping he too had gotten some sleep the previous night.  Then, I went off to a quiet corner and curled up to rest until noon when it would be time to find out my departure gate.  When I did finally get to the gate, I was reunited with other "line" friends and we shared our previous evening's experiences.

Wouldn't you know it!  That day's flight to BWI was delayed for a good 45 minutes.  I was not alone in having the thought "If only that had happened on the previous day ...!"  Even after boarding, we were held on the ground until a new departure slot could be assigned.  At long, long last, we were in the air.  As it turned out, my aisle seat was very well chosen - just behind the Exit aisle - which meant that there was plenty of legroom and space.  The rest of the trip passed uneventfully.  Once arrived at BWI, not only was my checked luggage there, but HWMBO - who had been tracking the flight via computer - arrived to pick me up.  What a relief!  At long, long last, the journey was over.

I thought about this experience a week ago as Heathrow was again subjected to flight delays and cancellations.  From the sound of things, many travelers were not as fortunate as I was and were even forced to spend nights sleeping at the terminal itself.  Having once experienced this, I hope that it never happens to me again.  But I escaped rather lightly in the circumstances ....  And thank all The Powers That Be for that!

Catching Up Again - Travel Vignettes

Ah!  We left off while I was waiting to make my way through passport control at London Heathrow's Terminal 5, where I had gulped more than once after realizing that the sign signalling a 45-minute wait there had badly underestimated that waiting time.  A good 1 1/2 hours later, I was finally through, after answering the question, "How long do you intend to stay in London?"  After hearing my somewhat open-ended response, "As long as it takes me to get rebooked on a flight to Baltimore," the beleaguered immigration official didn't even bother asking the usual follow-up, "Are you here for business or pleasure?"  I'm sure that he had already gotten some choice responses to that question.

By this time, it was well after 2 pm (14:00) and I chose to make a quick pit stop before finding Departures and, hopefully, rebooking possibilities.  Thankfully, we hapless refugees had been advised to leave our luggage, being told that our baggage stubs would ensure that the luggage would be tracked down and placed on any flight we had been rebooked to. Considering how poorly things had functioned to this point, it literally took a major leap of faith to believe this.  But I decided that I really did not want to trail my luggage around with me for god knew how long.

Finally arriving at the line for rebooking on British Air flights, which looked at first glance every bit as long and winding as those I had encountered before, I took a place there.  Once again, another 30 people were quickly lined up behind me and the line was growing exponentially.  Mercifully, I did not realize until some hours later that once we had made it through the visible line, there were still another four serpentined loops behind a partition before we would arrive at one of the rebooking counters.  There seemed to be about 10 of  them but what seemed especially frustrating was that not all stations were occupied.  

In the meantime, a couple from Nebraska, whom I had already met and chatted with in the passport control line, greeted me once again as they took their places behind me in line.  They had already had a long journey behind them.  Bound for Rome, they had begun their travels by driving to the Denver, CO airport.  From there, they had boarded the flight to London, only to be diverted just before their projected arrival to Dublin Airport.  They said that Ireland had looked so green and inviting, they would have been happy to get off there.  But that was not to be.  Ultimately they arrived at Heathrow, naturally having missed their scheduled flight to Rome.  They were planning to meet their son in Rome and from there head to Paris to spend Christmas.  They would complete their tour in Barcelona, where their son was studying for the year.  While in line, her husband was calling the rebooking line posted at various points in front of us all.  After about 45 minutes, he was finally able to get through and successfully book them both on an evening flight!  I wished them well as they gathered up their carry-ons and headed for the check-in counters.

Some others in line were having similar success, but the long waiting time before reaching a human being discouraged me from doing the same.  I had neglected to bring my phone charger with me.  My telephone works in every country except those in North America(!), so I usually carry it with me only in case there is some small emergency in London.  In the US, I share with HWMBO.  Still, I should have brought the charger with me and that is one omission that will not occur again.  While I was waiting in line, however, I decided to let HWMBO know where I was and what was happening - which wasn't much.  I didn't want him to head to Dulles Airport until I knew for sure whether I would even be there.  He was standing by and I let him know that I would keep him updated on the situation.

I found myself surrounded by lots of unhappy people.  Most were seasoned travelers who knew that glitches are part of the experience so, even though people were tired or disappointed, most were fun to talk to.  Misery loves company.  There were lots of us and lots of misery.  I, for one, thanked every lucky star I could think of that I wasn't traveling with little ones - I could only empathize with those who were or hold their places when they had to feed them, take them to the potty or generally just amuse them.  There was a group of Swedes, many of whom were booked on a Caribbean cruise from Miami.  While disgruntled by the situation and fervently hoping they would make it to Miami in good time to catch their cruise ship, they settled in philosophically as comfortably as they could for a long wait, speaking Swedish and English with lively and equal fluency and making sandwich runs for all who were hungry.  British Air staff passed by with copious amounts of bottled water.

One woman just in front of me, an American from Wisconsin, was making her first-ever trip to Europe.  Her destination for the day was Amsterdam where she was scheduled to meet a friend and take the train with him  to a tiny Dutch village where she was to stay for the next three months.  She had two major concerns: a) she had left her winter coat in the car when her mother had dropped her off at the airport in Chicago and b) her train tickets were valid for that day only, so she would lose that money if she couldn't get to Amsterdam that day.  Then she added a third concern to the list: her cellphone would not work at all in London and she needed to call her friend and tell him what was happening.  To her great relief, I let her use my cell for that.

Seven hours later, just as we were at the point where we could see the other lines awaiting us behind the partition, British Airways staff came by to let us know that they were closing the rebooking counters for the day once they had finished with the lines behind the partition.  To be fair, it was after 9 pm (21:00) by that time. But this meant that our hours of standing in line had been fruitless and we had no idea whether we would even be able to be booked on a flight for the next day.  At the same time, staff did hand out hotel, transportation and meal vouchers for use in airline hotels and told us that the lines would reopen the next morning at 5 am (05:00).

Being exhausted by this time, I decided to make my way to the hotel, have something to eat and have a nice hot bath in the hope of getting some sleep before making my way back to the airport to be there when the lines reopened.  On the bus, I made a bunch of new "friends," headed for various destinations in the US, and we arrived at the hotel just in time to grab some of the picked-over leavings of the buffet supper before the hotel closed the service altogether.  I gave a quick call to HWMBO to let him know the latest, i.e., nothing new, soaked in the bathtub and fell into bed for a few hours of sleep.  Thankfully, I slept.

More Catching Up

My modern Odyssey - that is, my most recent trip to the US - did not really begin until I left for Geneva Cointrin Airport, determined to travel as much on schedule as possible but realizing that this time, things would most decidedly not happen in a trouble-free manner.  The trip to the airport went smoothly.  Fortunately.  The first hint of impending trouble occurred when I attempted to check in.

The hapless registration clerk looked at me in some dismay and called over a supervisor who explained that the noon flight to which I had been rebooked might also be cancelled.  Just as my heart began to sink into my boots, the supervisor asked me to wait a few moments while he consulted with someone else.  In the meantime, other passengers arrived, were checked in and their baggage tagged.  Finally, the supervisor returned and, when my clerk was free again, gave him some instructions in a low voice.  I watched as the clerks flying fingers typed out various codes.  He printed out boarding passes: two, not simply the one I had been expecting for the flight to London, but also a boarding pass for my Baltimore flight.  He explained that the mid-morning flight had been delayed and that they had found me a seat on that one and that he had checked my baggage through to Baltimore.  This meant that I stood a good chance of making it to my connecting flight to Baltimore.

Oh, the relief!  I was practically hopping with joy, not even noticing the usual hassle of security, and sailing through the passport checks without problem, as I joined the other mid-morning flight passengers, most looking disgruntled at their flight's delay.  Somehow I couldn't feel too guilty about being a beneficiary of that delay!

Still, that delay became another.  I wondered with a sense of foreboding what was happening when I heard on the loudspeakers that flights to London that were operated by other airlines were also being cancelled.  When we finally boarded, our pilot announced apologetically that we had "lost" our departure slot and would have to wait on the ground until a new one opened up.  After waiting another 40 minutes, we were finally airborne.  But now I was worried.  I usually choose the early morning flight precisely in order to avoid missing the transatlantic flight if there are delays with the mid-morning flight.  And we had had delays in abundance!

En route, the pilot explained that London had been hit with freezing fog early that morning, requiring that all airplanes be de-iced before taking off.  This meant that incoming flights already in the air had been rerouted to other airports for safety reasons and most of those that were on the ground were either delayed or cancelled, with a horrendous add-on effect.  Because it looked as if our flight was going to be among the lucky few to make it to London that day, I selfishly hoped that the Baltimore flight departure would be among those delayed.  I was not alone among my fellow passengers on a fully-packed flight to hope for similar results.

Even though the pilot made excellent time en route and we were allowed to land when we arrived without having to circle for a long time, our plane was not allowed to proceed to the terminal but was directed to wait for buses to transport passengers there.  This, of course, meant yet another delay.  When we were finally inside the terminal, it was 12:30, which seemed almost miraculous in light of our delays.  The Baltimore flight was scheduled to depart at 01:45 pm (13:00).  There was still a slight chance.  I asked one of the harassed BA staff what I should do.  He told me to head for the Fast Track lane and see whether I had a chance to make the flight.  So I raced over to Fast Track - the only lane without a long line - brandished my boarding pass at the clerk who stopped me there.  I waited breathlessly as she checked her terminal to find out the status of my flight.

After what seemed an eternity, she looked up, shaking her head.  "They've just cleared the last two passengers for boarding that flight," she announced.  "You'll have to rebook."  "Where do I do that?" I asked and she gestured back towards a line snaking around at least eight times before disappearing around a corner.  I gulped and went back to discover that around the corner, the line was still very long.  Still, I took my place there.  Within five minutes, another 30 people were behind me and the line kept growing in incremental stages.

After about ten minutes when the line had not even inched forward at all, a heavy-set BA staff member came by and shouted that, unless we were prepared to wait in the rebooking line for a very long time, we should consider exiting through passport control, descending to Departures and getting into rebooking lines there where "there would be more resources available."  Of course, there was a stampede to the passport control lines.  My heart began to sink again.  I wondered whether I had gone from the frying pan into the fire when I noticed a sign in front of me saying, "From here, the estimated wait is 45 minutes."  And that was just to get through passport control!  But now I was committed for better or worse.  There was no going back.

As it turned out, the sign's message was optimistic.    

Catching Up

Wow - my non-posting has become a habit.  Not that there is much loss to the world without it.  But I am beginning to feel guilty for being so far behind.  I had been doing so well in December.  Then little glitches slipped in.

Glitches like the main terrace shutter going on the fritz and remaining determinedly UP, exposing what would become my vacant apartment when I left for the US a couple days later.  Glitches like my not being sure whether to call the shutter installer or the electrician to repair it and needing either or both to come before I left.  As it turned out, I called the shutter installer - but I should have called the electrician.  But by that time, it was too late to arrange for the electrician before my departure.

The shutter installer was at least able to lower the shutter for me.  But by then, I was so paranoid at the thought that something else might occur with malfunctioning electric shutters (like computers, when they work, they're great; when they don't, c'est la catastrophe!) that I refused to touch the others.  This led to a short, dark and cave-like existence mitigated only by artificial indoor light until my impending departure became a reality.

And the departure itself ... wow!  I awoke at 04:30 in order to pack my last few items and complete final preparations for closing up the apartment.  Everything was going fine.  I had checked in online and printed out my boarding passes the previous evening.  The taxi had been arranged for and was to arrive at 06:00 to get me to the airport in time for my 07:30 departure for London Heathrow and from there my 13:45 departure from LHR to Baltimore.  So, at 05:30, just before shutting down the main PC and its attendant complement of gadgets, including the printer, I made one final check of my various email accounts.  Everything went routinely until I opened my hotmail account to see - with dawning horror - a message from British Airways that my 07:30 pm flight to London had been cancelled!

The message also said that I could rebook a flight at no charge.  But when I attempted to do so on-line, I received nothing but error messages.  The alternative was to call one of the airline offices for help.  It was out of the question to call the local Swiss office as it would not open for business before 09:00 when any chance of making my transatlantic flight to Baltimore - there is only one flight to that destination per day from LHR - would effectively have been scuttled altogether.  As it happened however, the London office would open at 7 am Swiss time, so that was a possibility.

In the meantime, of course, I had another problem.  I had a taxi driver due to arrive imminently to take me to the airport and I needed to tell him about the cancellation.  Of course, I had neglected to keep the number handy and had forgotten which company I had called, having arranged for the early-morning pick-up some days earlier!  Naturally, the company I called during these admittedly frantic moments was not the correct one.

At the same time as I was on my local telephone trying to notify the taxi driver, I was also Skyping HWMBO from the main computer to tell him about the last-minute glitch.  Being six hours later than I, he had still not gone to bed.  He reassured me that he would be standing by to hear from me and offered Dulles Airport, another DC-area possibility, as an alternative destination.  We both prefer BWI because it is much closer to where we live and, being a much smaller hub, is in many ways more "user-friendly" than Dulles.

Of course, by this time, it was 06:00 and I checked to see a taxi driver outside, waiting patiently in the crisp morning air.  I went outside, apologizing profusely, and explained about the cancellation and how I had been trying to contact him.  He was quite philosophical about it but we both were mystified as to the reason for the cancellation.  Yes, it was cold, but the skies were clear and there was merely a hint of breeze.  He gave me his card so that I would not again mistake the company.  I promised to call him again when I knew more about the situation.

When I was finally able to get through to the London office, they were able to rebook me on the noon flight to London and wait-list me on a flight to Dulles later in the afternoon.  Being all ready, I decided to head to the airport early, bracing myself for a LONG travel day ahead.

Little did I know what lay in store ...