15 February 2014
My Special Valentine Princess
In the better late than never category, I am noting that my special Princess Butterfly apparently had a nice Valentine's Day celebration all told. Earlier in the week, she accompanied Proud Papa S to the store to purchase Valentine hearts and other seasonal goodies and posed, hat and all, for a photo.
Like her daddy before her, the Princess LOVES hats! She is now a proud seven-year-old, in the latter half of first grade, posing proudly with a classmate in front of her school last fall.
Never one to remain "flitless" for long, Princess Butterfly is already thinking ahead to the next seasonal celebration
by making good friends with potential Easter bunnies.
11 February 2014
Xenophobia By a Nose
Shock waves are still reverberating here in Switzerland over the narrow (50.3%) approval on Sunday of the anti-immigration measure proposed by the right-wing so-called "Swiss People's Party" (SVP aka UDP in la Suisse romande).
France and Germany in particular have voiced deep concerns about Switzerland's bringing back strict quotas on immigration from EU countries and effectively invalidating Switzerland's agreement with the EU on free movement.
Switzerland has managed a clever balancing act in recent years. It has obtained all basic benefits of EU membership, without actually being an EU member, thus avoiding less beneficial consequences. It has done this by entering into a series of bilateral agreements with the EU. Now the results of Sunday's vote threaten to endanger all of those agreements. Several Swiss politicians had believed that the measure would fail and appear somewhat nonplussed by the results.
I am proud and happy to note that the measure did not succeed in my own little corner of Switzerland. Much good as that will do to the outcome, it is still nice to know that xenophobes are not all around me. This was also a very narrow win and the Swiss are essentially a pragmatist and idealistic people. The actual results may be softened somewhat - at least everyone I know believes so, including some of my Swiss students, who announced themselves "embarrassed" by the result in yesterday's class. Well, politics does "embarrass" us all at times, as much a certainty as death and taxes.
More importantly, it is encouraging to see that the radical right does not hold as much sway in Switzerland as it seems to in my own country. Another measure on the ballot, also proposed by right-wing groups, was to drop abortion coverage from public health insurance, i.e., that all abortions should be paid for privately by the mother. !!
Because I have never understood the absolutist fixation on an unborn fetus (pre-birth baby) to the detriment of any actual person - including a post-birth baby, as seems to be the case so often - I am very happy to say that that the measure was resoundingly defeated by about 70% of voters. So, while sanity may have wobbled somewhat insofar as the anti-immigration vote is concerned, there is still hope generally among the majority of reasonable people.
Those same reasonable people surely can find common ground rather than to "blitz" a whole set of mutually beneficial agreements. Let us hope so!
France and Germany in particular have voiced deep concerns about Switzerland's bringing back strict quotas on immigration from EU countries and effectively invalidating Switzerland's agreement with the EU on free movement.
Switzerland has managed a clever balancing act in recent years. It has obtained all basic benefits of EU membership, without actually being an EU member, thus avoiding less beneficial consequences. It has done this by entering into a series of bilateral agreements with the EU. Now the results of Sunday's vote threaten to endanger all of those agreements. Several Swiss politicians had believed that the measure would fail and appear somewhat nonplussed by the results.
I am proud and happy to note that the measure did not succeed in my own little corner of Switzerland. Much good as that will do to the outcome, it is still nice to know that xenophobes are not all around me. This was also a very narrow win and the Swiss are essentially a pragmatist and idealistic people. The actual results may be softened somewhat - at least everyone I know believes so, including some of my Swiss students, who announced themselves "embarrassed" by the result in yesterday's class. Well, politics does "embarrass" us all at times, as much a certainty as death and taxes.
More importantly, it is encouraging to see that the radical right does not hold as much sway in Switzerland as it seems to in my own country. Another measure on the ballot, also proposed by right-wing groups, was to drop abortion coverage from public health insurance, i.e., that all abortions should be paid for privately by the mother. !!
Because I have never understood the absolutist fixation on an unborn fetus (pre-birth baby) to the detriment of any actual person - including a post-birth baby, as seems to be the case so often - I am very happy to say that that the measure was resoundingly defeated by about 70% of voters. So, while sanity may have wobbled somewhat insofar as the anti-immigration vote is concerned, there is still hope generally among the majority of reasonable people.
Those same reasonable people surely can find common ground rather than to "blitz" a whole set of mutually beneficial agreements. Let us hope so!
08 February 2014
April Treat Ahead
Although most people seem focused on the Sochi Olympics right now, I was cheered to read in today's news that Swiss tennis champions Roger Federer and Stan Wawrinka are due to play their quarter-final Davis Cup matches against Kazakhstan at Geneva's Palexpo in April!
The Swiss team, led by Stan, a Vaudois "neighbor," who won this year's Australian Open for his first tennis Grand Slam victory, won its matches in Serbia last weekend, thus earning a berth in the quarter-finals, giving them a real chance at ultimately making it to the finals for the first time in many moons. Of course, the Kazakhs likely have other ideas. But a Roger-Stan duo is always a potent threat, especially as both seem to be on a roll right now.
Stan is having some well-deserved moments in the limelight. On his return from Melbourne, he was greeted by lots of well-wishers at Geneva's Cointrin airport, while most, if not all, communes in Vaud hoisted congratulatory flags on their main streets, as shown here in my own little Swiss haven.
Perhaps the opportunity for this stellar two-fer will lure HWMBO over here earlier than this summer ... fingers crossed!
The Swiss team, led by Stan, a Vaudois "neighbor," who won this year's Australian Open for his first tennis Grand Slam victory, won its matches in Serbia last weekend, thus earning a berth in the quarter-finals, giving them a real chance at ultimately making it to the finals for the first time in many moons. Of course, the Kazakhs likely have other ideas. But a Roger-Stan duo is always a potent threat, especially as both seem to be on a roll right now.
Stan is having some well-deserved moments in the limelight. On his return from Melbourne, he was greeted by lots of well-wishers at Geneva's Cointrin airport, while most, if not all, communes in Vaud hoisted congratulatory flags on their main streets, as shown here in my own little Swiss haven.
07 February 2014
The Opening Ceremony
I've been watching the opening ceremony for the Winter Olympic games that are officially beginning today in Sochi, Russia. Interestingly, the French spelling for "Sochi" is "Sotchi" - without the addition of the "t," the word would be pronounced "So-shee" in that language. Maria Sharapova, one of HWMBO's favorite tennis players, passed the torch to the runners who just lit the Olympic Cauldron. Spectacular fireworks are now shooting into the skies to strains of glorious Tchaikovsky music. No one does romanticism quite like the Russian composers, IMO.
Beautiful spectacle, yes! Beautiful symbolism, yes! If only the symbolism could carry over into Real Life.
Let us all hope that the young athletes who are representing their countries are able to do their best - whatever that may be - and that all will leave with renewed enthusiasm and hope for a future that is, at best, clouded.
May they each return home safe and sound - and with new appreciation for the wonderful world that exists beyond the borders of their own nation as well as for the peoples that inhabit that world! Wonder-full indeed!
That was the vision of Pierre de Coubertin in reviving these games! May that vision flourish!
Beautiful spectacle, yes! Beautiful symbolism, yes! If only the symbolism could carry over into Real Life.
Let us all hope that the young athletes who are representing their countries are able to do their best - whatever that may be - and that all will leave with renewed enthusiasm and hope for a future that is, at best, clouded.
May they each return home safe and sound - and with new appreciation for the wonderful world that exists beyond the borders of their own nation as well as for the peoples that inhabit that world! Wonder-full indeed!
That was the vision of Pierre de Coubertin in reviving these games! May that vision flourish!
05 February 2014
Slippery Slope to Theocracy
Well, it's been over a year now, so perhaps it's time to begin posting again. Nothing has been wrong, thank heavens. The hiatus has been due to nothing more than sheer laziness. In fact, life has generally been treating me well, although more and more family members and friends seem to be preceding me to the Great Beyond. This is perhaps natural in this "sunset phase" of my life.
The inspiration for today's post is the "debate" that occurred in the US last evening between Bill Nye (aka "The Science Guy") and Ken Ham, a self-proclaimed "expert" on "creationism" and promoter of the so-called "Creation Museum" in Kentucky, USA. This "museum" is not accredited by the American Alliance of Museums, by the way.
That there even has to be a "debate" in the 21st century in what is arguably the most enlightened nation in the world - a conclusion that is definitely in question because of events like this - is frightening, IMHO. It indicates that the US is closer to becoming a theocracy than one might imagine. There are well-funded corporate interests who would love for this to become a reality: a theocracy where radical right-wing Christianity would hold sway.
Mr Nye pointed out, "I just want to remind us all that there are billions of people in the world who are deeply religious, who get enriched by the wonderful sense of community by their religion. But these same people do not embrace the extraordinary view that the Earth is somehow only 6,000 years old." I fully agree with this statement. There are plenty of deeply religious people who can reconcile their faith with science. Those same people also understand that the place for teaching religious concepts is in their religious institution, whether that institution be church/mosque/synagogue/ashram/whatever and the place for practicing religion is in their own personal lives - not in the public education or political systems. I have great respect for such people, even though I myself am agnostic.
That an overwhelming majority of those (at least 92% of those polled on the I-net) who watched the "debate" believed that Nye "won" restores my faith in humanity somewhat. But learning that hundreds of religious schools in the US that receive public funds teach "creationism" in science classes does not!
Creationism is NOT science. Period.
Unfortunately, this pervasive - and wholly incorrect - belief has found its way back to this side of The Pond as well. Last week, stories circulated that seven schools in four cantons of Switzerland are teaching creationism in science classes. Two schools are located in Geneva canton. All these religious schools are supported by the Evangelical Church Association.
The Swiss educational authorities were somewhat nonplussed - as well as embarrassed - by this revelation and currently the situation is under investigation by the Department of Public Instruction. It is true that neither the Swiss Constitution nor cantonal laws prevent the teaching of creationism. The very rational Swiss had never foreseen such a preposterous need. In fact, the Council of Europe has stated that.the theory is "...hopelessly inadequate for science classes." In the UK, some educators argue that laws are needed to prevent "indoctrination" in independent schools.
It is long past time for that in the US, IMO.
The inspiration for today's post is the "debate" that occurred in the US last evening between Bill Nye (aka "The Science Guy") and Ken Ham, a self-proclaimed "expert" on "creationism" and promoter of the so-called "Creation Museum" in Kentucky, USA. This "museum" is not accredited by the American Alliance of Museums, by the way.
That there even has to be a "debate" in the 21st century in what is arguably the most enlightened nation in the world - a conclusion that is definitely in question because of events like this - is frightening, IMHO. It indicates that the US is closer to becoming a theocracy than one might imagine. There are well-funded corporate interests who would love for this to become a reality: a theocracy where radical right-wing Christianity would hold sway.
Mr Nye pointed out, "I just want to remind us all that there are billions of people in the world who are deeply religious, who get enriched by the wonderful sense of community by their religion. But these same people do not embrace the extraordinary view that the Earth is somehow only 6,000 years old." I fully agree with this statement. There are plenty of deeply religious people who can reconcile their faith with science. Those same people also understand that the place for teaching religious concepts is in their religious institution, whether that institution be church/mosque/synagogue/ashram/whatever and the place for practicing religion is in their own personal lives - not in the public education or political systems. I have great respect for such people, even though I myself am agnostic.
That an overwhelming majority of those (at least 92% of those polled on the I-net) who watched the "debate" believed that Nye "won" restores my faith in humanity somewhat. But learning that hundreds of religious schools in the US that receive public funds teach "creationism" in science classes does not!
Creationism is NOT science. Period.
Unfortunately, this pervasive - and wholly incorrect - belief has found its way back to this side of The Pond as well. Last week, stories circulated that seven schools in four cantons of Switzerland are teaching creationism in science classes. Two schools are located in Geneva canton. All these religious schools are supported by the Evangelical Church Association.
The Swiss educational authorities were somewhat nonplussed - as well as embarrassed - by this revelation and currently the situation is under investigation by the Department of Public Instruction. It is true that neither the Swiss Constitution nor cantonal laws prevent the teaching of creationism. The very rational Swiss had never foreseen such a preposterous need. In fact, the Council of Europe has stated that.the theory is "...hopelessly inadequate for science classes." In the UK, some educators argue that laws are needed to prevent "indoctrination" in independent schools.
It is long past time for that in the US, IMO.
01 February 2013
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!
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.
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!
31 January 2013
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.
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.
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!
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.
30 January 2013
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!
27 January 2013
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!
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!
20 January 2013
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.
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.
17 January 2013
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.
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.
16 January 2013
Catching Up
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 ...
09 December 2012
Reliving Glimpses of Montreux
The weather has become properly December-like, with snowflakes beginning last Sunday and snow that has stayed on the ground here for the past couple days. This means that it is very cold outside because usually snow at this low elevation doesn't usually last too long unless it falls in substantial quantities. So it's a good moment to think about the last rain-less, snow-less, fairly warm weather day we've had lately, which was the day I spent at the Montreux Christmas Market.
Having posted most of the Market photos, I have just a couple more. I held this pair back because I wanted to post them together. Here is a view of one of Montreux's luxury hotels, le Grand Hotel Suisse, as seen from the train station
and here it is again from the waterfront, with topiary "sculptures" in the foreground.
Creating animal shapes, realistic or fanciful, from shrubbery is a long-standing tradition along Montreux's lakefront - where flora and fauna literally meet.
But creativity is not limited to animal shapes.
And the medium is not always shrubbery. Each time I visit, I see something new!
But the main attraction remains the beautiful lakefront itself.
Yes, those are indeed palm fronds in that photo. It is for good reason that the Vevey-Montreux area is often referred to as the Swiss "Riviera."
Having posted most of the Market photos, I have just a couple more. I held this pair back because I wanted to post them together. Here is a view of one of Montreux's luxury hotels, le Grand Hotel Suisse, as seen from the train station
07 December 2012
The Date That Lives in Infamy
Today commemorates the 71st anniversary of the surprise military strike by the Imperial Japanese Navy against the US naval base at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii. More than 2,400 Americans were killed and more than 1,200 were wounded. It was the most significant act of terrorism on US soil in the 20th century. The only other foreign attack on US soil that took more lives was the one that occurred on 9-11, which occurred early in the 21st century.
While I was not even a "gleam" in my father's eye when the Pearl Harbor attack occurred, that event not only - and most significantly - resulted in US entry into the worldwide conflict known as World War II, it also kick-started the chain of events that inspired my father to enlist in the US Navy and marry his Montana sweetheart before setting off to fight his battles in the South Pacific. That union resulted in my conception. But I only arrived on the scene when the Battle of Pearl Harbor was a little more than two years old. War was raging everywhere - from the ultimately lethal steppes of the Soviet Union, to the scorching deserts of North Africa, to the steamy jungles and tropical islands of South Asia and the Pacific Rim, to nearly the whole of the European continent, which would remain absolutely devastated for years afterward. When I was born, the Allied Forces were still struggling desperately in each of those areas. That the Allies would ultimately prevail in this conflict was not at all a sure thing. In fact, the outlook looked quite bleak at that time.
One day after the Pearl Harbor attack, then-President Franklin Delano Roosevelt addressed a joint session of Congress and the US people via radio. In the first line of his speech that day, he uttered the phrase "a date which will live in infamy" to refer to the events of the previous day. That phrase has remained one of the most evocative of an era particularly rich in evocative phrases. Immediately following FDR's speech,
But this post is not about Ms Rankin, who remains one of my heroes. Even if I do not wholly support her on that particular vote, I understand and share her abiding hatred of war. No, this post instead deals with another remarkable woman of the era, journalist Elizabeth McIntosh, who happened to be covering news in Honolulu in December 1941. Ms McIntosh wrote a compelling article about what she saw and experienced in the week following the attack. Her editors "killed" her story, believing that its graphic content would be too "upsetting" for readers and especially upsetting for women, at whom the article was specifically directed. So the article was never published - until yesterday when it appeared in the Washington Post, 71 years after the event. Here is a sample of her powerful writing:
But military forces are "fair game;" they know what they've signed up for. Civilians somehow believe that they are exempt. We simply are not exempt, as was seen not only in World War II war theaters, but in every smaller scale conflict since - whether that conflict occurs between nations or within them.
Ms McIntosh is now a still lively - and incredibly alert - 97 years old. A short time after her experiences in Hawaii, she joined the newly-created Office of Strategic Services (OSS), the forerunner of today's Central Intelligence Agency, and worked as a spy throughout the duration of the war. In that, she was like another of my personal heroes, coincidentally another "Betty." Ms McIntosh has officially joined my pantheon.
While I was not even a "gleam" in my father's eye when the Pearl Harbor attack occurred, that event not only - and most significantly - resulted in US entry into the worldwide conflict known as World War II, it also kick-started the chain of events that inspired my father to enlist in the US Navy and marry his Montana sweetheart before setting off to fight his battles in the South Pacific. That union resulted in my conception. But I only arrived on the scene when the Battle of Pearl Harbor was a little more than two years old. War was raging everywhere - from the ultimately lethal steppes of the Soviet Union, to the scorching deserts of North Africa, to the steamy jungles and tropical islands of South Asia and the Pacific Rim, to nearly the whole of the European continent, which would remain absolutely devastated for years afterward. When I was born, the Allied Forces were still struggling desperately in each of those areas. That the Allies would ultimately prevail in this conflict was not at all a sure thing. In fact, the outlook looked quite bleak at that time.
One day after the Pearl Harbor attack, then-President Franklin Delano Roosevelt addressed a joint session of Congress and the US people via radio. In the first line of his speech that day, he uttered the phrase "a date which will live in infamy" to refer to the events of the previous day. That phrase has remained one of the most evocative of an era particularly rich in evocative phrases. Immediately following FDR's speech,
[t]he Senate responded with a unanimous vote in support of war; only Montana pacifist Jeanette Rankin dissented in the House. At 4:00 p.m. that same afternoon, President Roosevelt signed the declaration of war.Yes, my fellow Montanan Jeannette Rankin - the only woman in Congress - stood alone. Not even this outrageous act could shake her deep convictions that war was wrong. She was vilified, threatened and harassed for having those convictions.
But this post is not about Ms Rankin, who remains one of my heroes. Even if I do not wholly support her on that particular vote, I understand and share her abiding hatred of war. No, this post instead deals with another remarkable woman of the era, journalist Elizabeth McIntosh, who happened to be covering news in Honolulu in December 1941. Ms McIntosh wrote a compelling article about what she saw and experienced in the week following the attack. Her editors "killed" her story, believing that its graphic content would be too "upsetting" for readers and especially upsetting for women, at whom the article was specifically directed. So the article was never published - until yesterday when it appeared in the Washington Post, 71 years after the event. Here is a sample of her powerful writing:
Then, from the neighborhood called Punchbowl, I saw a formation of black planes diving straight into the ocean off Pearl Harbor. The blue sky was punctured with anti-aircraft smoke puffs. Suddenly, there was a sharp whistling sound, almost over my shoulder, and below, down on School Street. I saw a rooftop fly into the air like a pasteboard movie set. For the first time, I felt that numb terror that all of London has known for months. It is the terror of not being able to do anything but fall on your stomach and hope the bomb won’t land on you. It’s the helplessness and terror of sudden visions of a ripping sensation in your back, shrapnel coursing through your chest, total blackness, maybe death.Hers is one of the very few contemporaneous accounts I have read that actually details civilian casualties, describing "charred bodies of children" and bodies lying on slabs in the "grotesque positions" in which they had died, one being that of a little girl in a red sweater and barefoot, who "still clutched a piece of jump-rope in her hand." Most reporting was about the military casualties, striking enough in its impact.
But military forces are "fair game;" they know what they've signed up for. Civilians somehow believe that they are exempt. We simply are not exempt, as was seen not only in World War II war theaters, but in every smaller scale conflict since - whether that conflict occurs between nations or within them.
Ms McIntosh is now a still lively - and incredibly alert - 97 years old. A short time after her experiences in Hawaii, she joined the newly-created Office of Strategic Services (OSS), the forerunner of today's Central Intelligence Agency, and worked as a spy throughout the duration of the war. In that, she was like another of my personal heroes, coincidentally another "Betty." Ms McIntosh has officially joined my pantheon.
06 December 2012
St. Nicholas Goes Upscale
Today, 6 December is St. Nicholas Day. St. Nicholas, who is the centuries-old inspiration for the beloved - if imaginary - character that many children know today as "Santa Claus," became known as the patron and protector of children, among others. He had a reputation for secret gift-giving, such as leaving coins in the shows of those who put them out. In this area, he often visits the schools, accompanied by a donkey laden with treats for the children - at least for those who have been good.
Whatever St. Nicholas may be doing today, I know where he was last week - or at least where some upscale representations of the sainted personnage were. They were prominently featured at the Montreux Christmas Market.
St. Nicholas may have morphed into Santa Claus. But the European version is much trimmer than his North American counterpart. His coat is also much longer and doesn't usually feature a wide black belt.
These Montreux versions with their patterned coats may not catch on with the children of the world as the more traditional depiction has. But so long as they bring goodies with them, the children will probably not care too much!
Whatever St. Nicholas may be doing today, I know where he was last week - or at least where some upscale representations of the sainted personnage were. They were prominently featured at the Montreux Christmas Market.
These Montreux versions with their patterned coats may not catch on with the children of the world as the more traditional depiction has. But so long as they bring goodies with them, the children will probably not care too much!
2012 Montreux Christmas Market, Part 2
It doesn't take a Christmas Market for the lakeside in Montreux to be a beautiful place. Everywhere one looks is literally a feast for the eyes. Whether one is gazing back at the city
or simply strolling along the lakeside where colorful flowers tumble in riotous profusion, one walks in beauty.
Even the "fast" food has a French - and seasonal - touch, such as here where magret de canard (duck filet) with foie gras (fat liver) or la sauce aux truffes (truffle sauce - not the chocolate kind) is sold as a sandwich.
There are lots of thirst quenchers available as well, as one might expect in a wine- and brandy-making culture.
Here's a stall featuring handicrafts from the Swiss Alps
and another with tons of snow globes, always favorites with me.
Here are some decorative examples of Swiss decoupage, lovely but not at all inexpensive.
Gingerbread is always a seasonal favorite in Christmas markets
and other sweets can be found in abundance.
One can also find Christmas balls of all colors and sizes
and there are wooden bowls and implements for creating epicurean delights.
Even Freddie Mercury's statue is festooned with a wreath to stimulate some holiday spirit.
05 December 2012
2012 Montreux Christmas Market, Part 1
When one spots a Ferris wheel where one usually does not exist, it's a good clue that there are events happening nearby.
And yes, while this particular wheel would not "rev" up until later in the day, it was an excellent landmark to show where the bulk of Montreux's Christmas Market activity was being held.
But the market stalls, at least those closest to the street, were not focused just on Christmas, or even on seasonal food. I got a kick out of this one - proudly sporting both Indian and Swiss flags, while advertising Indian food, underlining the fact that Montreux, as part of la Suisse romande, is an international city in every way.
As I made my way toward the lake, some stalls looked every bit as they would on any normal market day.
Aha, I'm getting closer.
Or am I? A Christmas yurt? Definitely a "first" for me. But it looks warm and cozy inside.
A stall selling carved wooden plaques intrigued me for a while.
And traditional Christmas displays began popping up closer to Lake Geneva.
Carved wooden bears are a popular feature any time of the year,
and more cuddly versions abounded, although the bears were flanked by reindeer and mice as well.
Some visitors were as interested in photographing the wares as I was - we must have frustrated the stallholders.
Here's a gingerbread house, where jewelry - rather than edibles - is on display.
But what is literally breathtaking is to arrive at the lakefront
and see this panorama.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)