Christoph is the grounds and maintenance guy at Our Chalet. He is probably about fifty and has a mohawk, earring, beard and thick German accent. We are pretty sure he has no blood in his veins, only a constant stream of nicotine and coffee. Here are the things Christoph has taught me how to do this summer:
1. Chainsaw
2. Recycle
3. Swear in German
Occasionally, Christoph goes on trips up to Germany to get meat and whatever else, because in Switzerland everything is insanely expensive. On these trips, he will bring along vollies who are annoying and persistent and really want to tag along. I totally fit this bill. Also, mostly he just says whoever is in his car at 9am can go with.
This morning, after some tearful goodbyes to the three volunteers heading back home today, Christoph found himself in the car with myself and Heather Tennessee. This is not her real name, but we've dubbed the two Heathers based on homeland instead of surname because that obviously makes more sense. The radio of Christoph's car was playing Grease, and he was in full Scout regalia, necker and hat included. The man is awesome.
The road trip to Germany was a few hours, during which both Heather and I floated in and out of consciousnesses, waking occasionally to ask questions about the life of a maintenance man and/or how much longer? We crossed the Rhine and came to... a grocery store. Christoph was bitter that there was no "chicken truck" in the parking lot, but we proceeded to the store, and bought a bunch of really cheap food, which is probably normal priced, except that I'm now used to cheese that costs about $7. Christoph translated the different types of amazing-looking fresh bread, and we were on our way again to the Black Forest.
I know that I'm probably a huge nerd for this, but I love fairy tales. The Grimm brothers are creepy and everything, but the Black Forest factors large in places I want to go hunting for mythical creatures. Christoph told me everything there was to know about the woods as we drove in, and seriously, the place is amazing. It's named the Black Forest because of trees that block out a lot of the light on the forest floor, which gives it a kind of mysterious sense. We passed through a couple picturesque little forest villages, one that appeared to be built on a bog, and finally found what Christoph referred to as a "chicken truck." This literally means a truck parked in some random parking lot which sells rotisserie chickens out of the side of it. Heather and he bought some, while I was quite happy with my tuna and bread from the grocery store.
After eating on a fallen tree at the side of the road, we continued on past a lake area that had more people in one little space than I've seen the rest of my summer combined. The three of us agreed to continue onward, and we ended up by the world's largest cuckoo clock, having Black Forest cake in the middle of the Black Forest. The cake was meh, but the forest made up for it. And the cuckoo clock? Fairly weird, and built into the side of the house. I think that's cheating, as far as "world's largest" is concerned, but whatever.
We drive on in hopes of finding our next grocery store in France, just across the border, but it was a ghost town and Wikipedia tells me it's because August 15th is the "Assumption of Mary." Things I have learned while here: Europeans are really into public holidays.
We've made it about 10 minutes beyond the sad, closed little grocery store when Christoph pulls over abruptly and tells us he needs "a shrub and a smoke," which Heather and I find to be a really interesting way to put that. The rest of the drive is the single prettiest road trip I've ever experienced. We pass French vineyards and sunflower fields, occasionally driving through towns with beautiful, vine-covered old buildings. Christoph has a brief but vocal disagreement with the woman's voice on his GPS, because she seems to be sending us on random back roads. When we make it to Swiss border patrol, the group of about ten uniformed guys wave us through with barely a glance; for all their Swiss Army Knives and whatever, they seem to be pretty low-key on borders here.
We made it home just as the sun is setting over the mountains on the other side of our valley, and Heather and I proceeded to raid the kitchens for dinner. I have no idea how my life has shaped up to be this much like a (wonderful, albeit weird) movie, but I can't believe I only have two weeks left. Road trips to Canada just won't be quite the same...
No comments:
Post a Comment