On writing

I have been very recalcitrant in my blog writing over the past month or two.  To be honest, I sort of blew my writing wad on documenting our European travels and craved a break when we returned.  But also, as school got started, I felt swamped by all the classroom demands and justified putting my writing on the backburner.  As my birthday approaches once again, some invisible voice chimes in about being true to one’s self and making time for what is important.  It may well be grandma’s voice, or just my Jiminy Cricket conscience sitting heavily on my shoulder whistling into my ear, “Write more this year!”  So, though I haven’t much time or energy tonight, I am getting these few words down, to remind myself that this is a priority.  I carve out time to run in the early hours before the sun is up, while most of my city still sleeps.  Teaching yoga and taking classes, these commitments are scheduled into my week.  So why not map out the time to put words down, a time for reflection and expression?  Rhetorical questions, I know.  But questions for me, that are worth asking.  If you were to carve out time for something more that nurtures your soul and your self during your work-week, what would it be?  Just wondering…for me the written word equals a release, an opportunity to share, to be heard.  What is your release, your therapy?  Our lives are full and busy, we all must find ways to slow down, look back on the events of the week and determine a path on which to move forward.

Casting about

 

At the end of my long run on Saturday, I crossed paths with a fisherman.  This gentleman was wearing his fishing vest, bucket hat adorned with artistically engineered flies, and of course, his trusty pole was in his hand.  Oh, I forgot to mention, there was no water in sight.  This fellow was barefoot in the park casting into the sprawling expanse of manicured lawn.  Despite my disheveled sweaty state, I began to formulate creative banter that I might engage in with this dry fly fisher.  The first quip to cross my mind was, “Are they biting?”  This struck me as perhaps too obvious a question, so I reconsidered.  Perhaps, I could ask him if he felt like a fish out of water, but no too cliché.  Finally the thought, “Dang, I didn’t know the drought was that bad!” crossed my mind but didn’t quite escape my lips.  It was then I realized as fun as it might be for me to comment on this guy’s strange choice and space for recreation, it was not necessary for me to comment.  Though my intent would be playful, it might be perceived as a criticism of his choice. This man was doing something he enjoyed and though he could not be in the traditional place for that activity, he had found a way, to be outdoors, to be moving in meditation or practice of the sport he enjoyed.  Also he seemed unconcerned with doing something that was somewhat unconventional and unique in public.  Truth be told aside from being tickled by seeing this interesting activity unfold, I admired him.  My words could stay in my head, so he could enjoy his land fishing in peace.  

Perhaps inspired by the casting about I had observed on Saturday morning, I spent the long weekend searching for something.  A long stroll to the farmer’s market and back on Sunday, was pleasantly laced with whispers of Autumn.  The cooler air we enjoyed this weekend foreshadowed the fall season, perhaps that is what I was seeking.  Labor day, an extra day off, began with a hike on Mt. Baldy Trail.  Though the hills were buzzing with weekend warriors enjoying their free time, this lesser known trail offered solitude and reflection.  Maybe my desire was to find a place in nature to be alone and thoughtful.To be honest, I am not sure what I was hoping to find this weekend, but along the way, I found movement, nature, quiet times, naps, and good food.  Who can ask more than that?

Speaking of good food, one of the recipes I’ve been playing with in the last few weeks is a gluten free veggie friendly pizza recipe.  Here is my most recent take on this meal with options for toppings according to your mood and taste.

Zucchini Pizza Crust

3 cups grated zucchini (squeeze out excess liquid)

2 grated garlic cloves

1 egg (beaten)

1/3 cup almond meal

¼ cup coconut flour

1 cup grated mozzarella

(Mix all of this together well)

Bake at 450 for 15-20 min pressed into a pizza plate or cookie tray greased with olive oil or sprayed with coconut oil.

Possible toppings: burrata, shitake mushrooms, other veggies, homemade pesto, fresh tomatoes or tomato sauce, shaved pecorino, spinach, artichoke hearts, olives, pine nuts, what-have-you!

Keeping it fresh

When the weather is really warm, yes I’m talking about those 100 plus days we’ve been having in Southern California, heating up the house to cook can seem torturous!  So, I’ve started looking at the weekly weather forecast before planning our meals.  If it is going to be north of the nineties, we are either grilling or going raw with the menu. 

Summer lunches are such a treat.  Even though Greg is back at work, he can often come home for lunch and though I know we won’t be sharing this meal for much longer when I return to the classroom, for now we are enjoying lunches at home. 

Here are a few examples of how we are keeping it fresh, even as the mercury keeps rising.

Summer Salad

This is a quick and simple preparation.  Toss arugula with some farmer’s market tomatoes (or backyard if you’ve got ‘em, our garden is deader than a doornail due to the drought).  Toss in some shredded basil, fresh mozzarella, toasted pecans (or pinenuts), and dress with a simple balsamic vinegrette. 

Veggie tacos

 

We do some version of tacos each week, whether its fish or veggie, lunch or dinner. We grill the corn tortillas just to get them warm and slightly crisp.  Either grill your zucchini and warm the tomatoes whole on the grill, then dice (or you could sautee with a little oil in a pan, we have a side burner on our grill, so I’ll often use that versus heating up the kitchen).  I usually season with some cumin to get that tacoy flavor.  Here we have topped them with a spicy sour cream (just stir in some Tapatio) and some crumbled ricotta salata (or you could use cojita cheese).

Tofu steaks with peanut sauce over rice and salads

We did fire up the rice cooker for this one.  Simply marinated tofu steaks (firm tofu cut in half to reduce thickness) in homemade peanut sauce (I’m sure I’ve published my recipe for that somewhere in this blog) then grill until warm.  Serve over rice drizzled with more peanut sauce and be sure to include lots of fresh veggies. We had some leftover purple cabbage salad (which I usually serve with fish tacos) and I spiralized a zucchini and sliced up some bell pepper to make a healthy and colorful plate. 

Self Discipline

Self proclaimed fitness freak that I am, one might not guess that I too lie in bed before a workout debating the merits of sleeping-in versus running five miles. Yet, this happens more often than not. Once out the door and struggling through that first mile uphill, does it get any better? Well, I am committed to running at that point but my inner voice still bargains, “You could turn around now and have 1 mile under your belt and go back to bed.” At this point, I usually attempt to distract myself. How is my breathing? Can I even that out? What about my stride or my posture? Can it be tweaked to be more efficient or aligned? I hear my Nike running app lady whisper into my ear a surprisingly slow time for my first mile, my pace is as apathetic as my attitude. This is where I start to question, again as a form of distraction to the discouraging mind,…why exactly do I run?

 I run 10 -12 miles a week during the school year. During the summer when I don’t teach elementary, that number climbs to closer to 15. However the question remains, why do I do it? I’m not training for anything. I do not plan to run a half marathon or place in a 10K. I’m certainly not currently running for speed, in fact when I note those slow paced miles, I remind myself that I am not running for speed but for practice. That word practice is laced with some pretty strong undertones of achievement. “Practice makes perfect?” As a yoga practitioner, I know there is no perfect expression of any pose and that yoga practice, is not practice for a performance but a form of physical meditation, a habit of mind and body. Just as I have a yoga practice, I have a running practice and though both of these share a physical component, the true work that happens out there on the trail, or on the mat, is that of the mind. When my mind tells me I don’t want to do the work, an internal struggle erupts. Whether or not we realize it, most of us talk to ourselves. Perhaps not out loud (though some of us can’t help that sometimes) but we all have a story we tell ourselves. Sometimes it is not the nicest story. Here is what I have learned. Self discipline is not about self punishment. It is about learning to expect the best of yourself but treating yourself with compassion along the way. That negative self-talk will most likely creep in, doubting, second-guessing, blaming or outright shaming. What the practice of yoga and the practice of running have helped me to develop is a second voice. (Don’t worry I’m not talking multiple personality disorder, I’m talking about developing a counter point, an advocate, a friendly and supportive internal message.) While the self-negating voice might intone, “You are slow.” “This is pointless!” “I don’t want to do this.” “You can’t ignore the nagging physical discomforts of this work!”, the nurturing inner monolog retorts, “You don’t have to be fast.” “This is a practice, there doesn’t have to be a point.” “Why not? Let’s explore that.” “Investigate the discomfort, learn about your body, would it feel better if you engaged a different muscle or altered your alignment?” That back and forth, that conversation with one’s self really equals reflection and with reflection we get to see who we are at this moment in time and who we are striving to become.

Eulogizing Grandma

On June 22^nd Louise Wilma Moulton passed peacefully into the great beyond...

My sweet grandma died, but so much of her spirit lingers. Of her death, I imagine she would say, “Well, for crap’s sake, let’s not talk about that anymore.”  More importantly, for nearly 96 years Grandma Lou lived!  

She was born in Kansas and her mother died when she was only a toddler.  Of growing up without a mother she said, “I felt the loss,” and yet without that model in her life she became a loving and nurturing mother and grandmother to her own kids and grandkids and to everyone in the neighborhood. She enjoyed children greatly. Her joy and patience manifested around them, whether through play or in sharing her knowledge. Her generous nature also shone through with kiddos; she helped pull teeth and stop hiccups galore.  

Grandma was smart.  She could spell like nobody’s business.  She watched Jeopardy almost every night and it was amazing what she knew.  Her long-term memory was epic; she could remember poems from second grade, the names of classmates from high school, historical events, family history, and the list could go on and on.  Flipping through an old journal she and I used to share back and forth, I found her commentary about current events and politics to be so well informed.  Grandma revealed to me, “If I knew I would have lived this long, I’d have been a writer.”  She certainly had the vocabulary to excel in that area. She had a curious mind and even right up until her last days continued to utter her favorite phrase, “I wonder…”

Louise was also a teacher, though not in the professional sense.  However she taught me how to enjoy the little things, basic self-care, and countless life lessons. She taught me how to dunk my cookies in milk, how to dry between my toes after bathing, how to memorize poetry, “Now I am so small I know, but eating carrots will make me grow!”, and so much more.  Because grandma had a gentle heart, through her actions and by example, she taught me compassion. Grandma Lou also taught me acceptance, tolerance, and how to look at a situation from someone else’s perspective.  She taught me to be a good listener.  I could tell grandma anything and know that she would let me finish my story before giving me her two cents.  Because her advice was offered out of love and concern for my well being rather than judgment, I was often able to benefit from her wisdom rather than resist it.  Whenever my life seems out of balance in someway, I look to one of Lou’s most frequent axioms, “Everything in moderation.”

Perhaps one of my favorite things about Grandma Lou; she was fun!  Though prim and proper in most situations, her propriety made it even more entertaining when she would tell a bawdy joke.  Her wit, word choice and wisecracks continued to delight me well into her 90s.  She loved to smile and laugh.  Happy to play games, give hugs, dance and sing; my grandma was an enjoyable person to be around. 

This eulogy doesn’t even begin to equal the sum of all of her glorious aspects.  How could I capture her nine plus decades in a few paragraphs, a few pages, or even a few books?  Grandma Lou loved words, but she was more than words.  The greatest gift she leaves behind for me is how much she loved me.  Of this I have no doubt; she loved me immensely.  At first when she passed, I selfishly feared that without her on this planet I would be less loved, that along with losing her physical form I would be losing that special adoration she heaped upon me.  Yet, as the weeks have passed, I still feel it.  The love she had for me; she left it here.  When I start to feel sad and miss her, when I start to choke up, a wash of warmth and love comes over me.  Grandma Lou is gone but the love she gave us remains.  

 

Homeward Bound

We awoke early so we could partake of the breakfast buffet and be on the shuttle to the airport with plenty of time to go through all the rigmarole at the airport.  It turned out there was no rush; the departing flights are not even assigned a gate until 45 minutes until departure. So we waited patiently to find out where to go after clearing security.  Once on the plane, another delay, something was off with the cabin crew’s head count, so we waited again.  We had the two seats at the back of the plane where it narrows to the tail and we found this spot offered a bit more legroom than our center seats on the way in.  Eventhough, the rear of the aircraft seemed a bit more unstable, and the fishtailing of the plane made the turbulence a bit more intense, we were lucky to have a bit more wiggle room and two seats by the window all to ourselves.  Naturally there were three kiddos in front of us all between the ages of 2-5 but overall they were well behaved and when the two year old wailed at the uncomfortable changes in altitude, her mom dutifully rocked her, giving her a bottle to help equalize her ears and giving her some liquid Benadryl to help her go back to sleep.  We watch 4 movies, slept for very short intervals of 20 minutes or less and ate what we could of the airplane food, one bonus was an ice cream treat toward the middle of the flight.  

  

 

When the pilot finally announced our descent into LA, I glimpsed the cluster of buildings I always associate with downtown and surprisingly got emotional about returning home.  I thought to myself, “My brother lives there,” right in the heart of the city and I thought about the other people I love who I would be coming home to and a feeling of joy stirred in my heart.  I thought about the people I would not be coming home to (my dad who passed away a few years ago, and my grandma who had passed only a few weeks ago) and though a ripple of melancholy agitated my pool of joy, I knew I would find fond memories of them here at home. 

  

LAX provided more waiting.  A long line for customs where you input your information into a kiosk, then another line to speak with a human who checked your passport, then an exiting line where dogs sniffed at you and your luggage.  Finally we emerged into the area where roped off people could wait for their loved ones to materialize from the belly of the airport.  In this sea of faces, I thought I saw our Claremont Italian teacher but she vanished before I had a chance to confirm, swallowed up by the pulsing crowd.  (I got an e-mail from her later in the week, it was her, and her son had been on our flight, small world!)  

We exited the airport to find Greg’s mom waiting for us behind a thick line of travelers with luggage-laden carts.   She had a treat for us in the back seat; my mom had come with her to welcome us home.  It was a lovely surprise and so reassuring to see that my mom was doing okay with the loss of grandma.  Though completely exhausted from our travels, we chatted all the way home. 

Back home we enjoyed some snacks my mom had stocked the fridge with to fill our empty bellies after picking at our airplane food and we quickly settled into comfortable rest back in our own bed. 

One Day More

Thanks to our generous hosts who offered us a ride to the train station, we were able to return the car (the car rental agency was within a short walk of their house), and then spend an extra hour in our comfy little apartment updating the blog. We had managed to repack back to our two backpacks, a day pack and one tote bag of snacks, so that each of us only had two items to carry, we were ready to be carless and carefree travelers once again. When Heidi dropped us at the train station and started to pull away, Greg’s face went white with horror as he reached into his pocket and realized we had not returned the key to her. He thrust his backpack at me and took off running after her and to my delight and surprise, he caught her before she left the parking lot. Needing to induce some calm after that frantic panic, we grabbed a mini bottle of wine and can of beer for the train to go along with our snacks. Our train to Zurich had one transfer but the first 45 minutes was on a train where reservations were not possible. We quickly learned that when reservations are not possible on a train it is probably very popular. Your ticket allows you to ride but maybe not to sit down. We found all the seats in the back two cars taken and various folks sitting on the floor in the aisles. Rather than attempt to squeeze past the overflowing passengers and search other cars for a seat, we wedged ourselves in the passage between the two cars near the WC, and stood surfing the bumps and turns of the train for nearly an hour until our transfer stop came up. Luckily we could peek out the side window and get glimpses of beautiful Bodensee to help distract us from our less than ideal ride.

Once on our second train (where we had reserved seats), we cracked open our lukewarm drinks and made a meal of some leftover dried fruit and nuts from our Appenzell breakfast buffet, as well as some local chips that Regula had gifted us, and we may have had an apple to round out that paltry feast but it felt so good to be sitting in comfort, that we didn’t mind our meager lunch. Back in Zurich we caught the S7 to a different hotel than the one we had stayed at the day we flew in, yet our room was very similar, white, clean, and simple.

Though tired from our travels we wanted one more great Swiss meal and a chance to explore the city in the sun. A few weeks ago when we had arrived, our first exploration of Zurich was a soggy cold adventure. However this time, there was a heat wave. The sun beat down on us as we slogged our way back to the S7. From the central station, we journeyed through the sweltering streets stopping to get me a mint lemonade solely because I could see it had ice in it. (I think it had 3 pieces of ice, which by European standards is quite generous). Then we were on to our dinner destination, which we had selected because I really wanted to experience the Swiss fondue tradition. We learned in Appenzell, as we had searched for a similar meal that fondue is a winter food. Fondue cellars close up in the summer. Makes sense, hot cheese bubbling in front of you in a pot is warming, who wants that in the summer? The answer, tourists and that included us. In Zurich, an international city where every kind of food is available, they also cater to tourists with their traditional food choices and that means there were several places that would offer fondue even during a heat wave. We chose the place that was reviewed best by locals and tourists alike and we even made a reservation because we heard it could be packed being a tiny place with only 14 tables.

We arrived early in the dinner hour and were given a tiny booth next to the air conditioner/fan that they had brought in to attempt to cool the tiny restaurant; obviously this was a prime spot! The restaurant quickly filled with a large group of Japanese businessmen who ordered every drink on the menu containing ice to attempt to cool down from the warm weather. We enjoyed watching the young waitresses work hard to fill the continuing requests from this large party as the chef toiled to fill their excessive orders in the back. The point person in this group, perhaps the one with the best English, kept returning to the waitress every 2-3 minutes to order more food. I heard him ask at one point when she seemed shocked that he had ordered salads, appetizers, Raclette plates and fondue for each person in the party, “Too much food?” “Yes! I think so,” she replied. It seemed to us that our dinner companions didn’t realize how filling a meal cheese fondue could be. As we melted from the heat over our delicious pot of cheese served with crusty bread, jacket potatoes, pickles and pearl onions, we were constantly entertained by the people watching this group offered. Toward the end of our meal, we were not surprised to hear when a third round of gin drinks were ordered by the big group that the waitress informed them they could have the gin but the restaurant had run out of ice!

We traipsed out into the slightly cooler city streets after dinner to walk along the riverfront all the way to the lake to contemplate the city at night. As it was getting late and our flight home was the following day, we headed back to the S7, which was running less frequently (either because it was Sunday or because it was late, we weren’t sure) and waited patiently for our ride home.

Festival fun

We didn't leave Appenzell easily.  We lingered over one more decadent breakfast buffet.  We sat on the balcony until we could no longer delay our check out appointment.  Michael emerged from the kitchen, joking, “ I hear you want to leave, is this true?”  We declared our desire to stay forever, and Michael smiled easily, I'm sure he hears this all the time.  We settled our bill, distributed our notes of thanks, and packed the car but still we could not leave.  A festival had been ramping up all week, we saw them begin to build the bleachers and tents in the clearing below the church on our first day here.  Additional creative parking was established in a nearby meadow.  On one of my runs earlier in the week I had counted the addition of a dozen portapotties, this was to be a large event for the people of the Appenzell valley.  Melanie had explained earlier in the week,  “Ah, it is Schwing fest.  A traditional Swiss sport, like sumo …do you know it?”  Yes, we did but we had no idea the Swiss had a traditional form of wrestling.   As we took our seat in the recently erected stands, we were pleased to see there were no large men in diapers and today was the kids competition, from the looks of it ages 8-18.  Over sweatpants and tennis shoes, the boys wore rolled up alpine shorts cinched with a belt which were an important gripping point for their opponent.  Some wore t-shirts while others wore the standard button down mountain shirt.  They stood in a circle of thick sawdust, shook hands and embraced to begin.  The squirming face full of sawdust struggle only ended when the opponent was flat on this back.  The winner then offered him a hand up and gallantly wiped the sawdust from the losers back with two ceremonial swipes of the hand.  The amazing thing to me was with all the effort, struggle, and physicality, it was very peaceful.  None of the boys got angry at one another, no one boasted when they won nor sulked when they lost. Some were stoic in victory, some smiled at defeat, but all were so respectful of the tradition.  A few of the youngest had tears when injured, all only mildly and medic teams moved in quickly with concern but the fretful mothers I expected to see, did not appear.  Fathers arguing with the referee, never materialized.  The stands were full of families, walking barefoot through the grass, admiring new babies, visiting with neighbors, half heartedly watching the matches but there was not one helicopter parent in sight.  In fact the care of the younger boys fell to older boys, it was unclear if they were brothers, mentors or coaches.  One 13 year old walked calmly beside an injured boy, holding on to his wrist speaking in soothing tones.  After their lunch break, the teams (each from a nearby town) took a jog up the Wanderweg, each in different directions, and no adults supervised as the boys crossed the highways and ran off into the hills. Smaller  boys circled older boys, hanging off their backs and arms.  The older boys were gentle and tolerant of the puppy like antics of the youngers.  It was a beautiful display of leadership and what is possible when parents let boys be boys in the best sense of that sentiment.

We had stayed long enough to have one more lunch at the gasthaus, our friends were all delighted with their thank you notes.  We had one more visit with Melanie who we learned is actually from Denmark and only moved to Appenzell three years ago.  She explained to us there is no crime here, really no crime.  After seeing the way the culture deals with a physically dangerous sport and how violence is in no way involved, I believe that this could be a place with no crime.  Though it looks like Melanie is about to assault Greg with this newspaper, I assure you that is just her playful nature shining through.

Finally we traveled onto Friedrichshafen am Bodensee.  We let ourselves into our apartment with a key from the letterbox but our hosts Heidi and Günter both materialized later in the day, curious to hear about our travels and to make sure we were comfortable.  After dinner, Greg and I enjoyed a long walk on the strand, looking out at the vast water of Bodensee, known in English as Lake Constance.  Not a sea but a gigantic lake, the Germans treat this like the beach though, with bathing suits, swimming, sunning, and boats of every shape and size.  The weather was perfect for a beach day for once.  I finally felt the sun on my shoulders today and I think I actually uttered the phrase, “I'm hot!”

One more cultural mystery was revealed to us as we walked along the shore.  We continued to see the teams of young people with wagons of booze, baby carriages of shots and treats and finally we were approached by a group of women all wearing matching shirts and one with a veil.  They were a bridal party, and part of the bachelorette tradition is to sell you treats to get money for the honeymoon, while they drink, a lot.  Now we know!

Back in the ‘burbs, we explored the neighborhood before dark.  There are walking paths here that go out into pear and apple orchards along yet another river.  We stumbled upon a block party hosted by the local lions club with very unique horn music.  In our room this evening we cleaned out all of the travel bags in order to condense our gear down to our two backpacks and one day bag, as we turn the car in tomorrow and will be reduced to what we can carry on our backs once more.

The hills

Hiking in the Appenzeller hills is no joke!   We hit the Wanderweg this morning after breakfast and halfway up the first hill our legs were screaming! Regularly running 3-7 miles several times a week at home, I thought my legs were pretty strong but I thought wrong.   Once we got to the final rise, Greg wisely called it quits.  (Our original plan had been to scale the hills, descend into the town on the opposite side and then wind back up and around the hills for a return loop into Schwende.) We quickly decided the view from the top was good enough, then headed back to the gasthaus for an Aperol spritz (garnished with an orange wedge and a single ice cube), a light lunch and a nap!

 We took the train to Wasserauen in the afternoon to explore the town.  This didn't take long as the town consisted of two hotels, one café, the train station, a gondola lift and a trail head. A few farm houses were sprinkled around like the one that advertised this interesting proposition, sleep in the straw!  Apparently this is an affordable option for back packers to tour the valley and have a roof (of the barn) over their heads at night.  Back in Schwende, we took a walk by the river, then it was time for one more of Michael’s delicious meals.  Dessert stole the show tonight, a sample platter of mango and chocolate moose, strawberry soup with rhubarb and citrus sorbet, edible shortbread cups for the vanilla ice cream and custard, and a variety of other creamy dollups on our plate that words cannot describe.  (No shortage of dairy in this valley of cows, so cream is heavily featured in dessert menus, feeling grateful that I'm not lactose intolerant!)  We are sad that this our last night here, this has been a wonderful part of our trip and the staff here has been so accommodating and friendly.  We spent our evening writing some thank you notes to our servers and the owners to let them know how much we enjoyed our stay.

Wild ride

Another hard-to-run morning because I am still so sore from Tuesday's hike.  Glad I got out there though, the movement loosened my muscles and the run seemed easier this time though just as beautiful.

I had another reason to be up bright and early; Greg and I have a tenth anniversary to celebrate today.  We began the day with adventure, riding the gondola up to Kronberg. We saw the worlds longest wooden bench, perfect for a tenth anniversary, our friendly waitress told us, “Your tenth anniversary is wooden, 25 is silver, but 10 is wood.”  Greg joked that meant our marriage was solid. His sense of humor appeals to my silly side, one of his many great qualities that make me glad I married this man.

Life with Greg has been a wild ride.  Life has its ups and downs, but Greg makes sure that through it all we have fun.  That is just what we did to celebrate.  We enjoyed a fun and wild ride on the Bobsled track at Jakobsbad.

Our hotel made sure we had a memorable evening. When we came down to dinner we were ushered to a candlelit table with hearts and flowers decorating it. After another amazing meal, we took an evening walk to the distant sound of cowbells and reflected on ten happy years.

Touring the valley

Early breakfast this morning, because today was tour day. Our morning was spent learning about Appenzeller Alpenbitter, a local liquor that is illegal to export, is deemed to have medicinal qualities, and is made with 42 herbs and the secret recipe is only known by two people.  This tour was in German so I had to have Greg act as my translator, I feel like I only caught ten words that I understood during the initial presentation...  After a light lunch back at our gasthaus, we drove to Stein to learn about Appenzeller cheeses. Luckily we got an English iPad tour here and a cheese tasting at the end of the tour.  Yum!  Next door was the folk museum, where we got to see traditional art, dress and handiwork. All of these tours were either free to the public or part of our Appenzeller card.  What a great deal!

Have you noticed we didn't do any hiking today? Other than enjoying the views from our balcony, we are giving our legs a break today.  We are more than a little sore from hiking some four miles down the mountain yesterday.  Each time we climb or descend our three flights of stairs to the room today, we say ouch!

We had driven the car to our tours today, but the Appenzeller card Michael gave us includes free public transit, our destination for this evening was in easy walking distance of the next train stop, and our home stop is just down the hill (driveway) from our hotel.  We noted the times for the train and set off for the evening.  We were going to the Hotel Hof Weissbad where we could have dinner and hear some live traditional music.  We found out that dinner was a special event on music nights, a buffet.  Greg and I initially cringed, buffets are not our favorite, usually chock full of low quality vats of food to feed the masses but we decided to give it a try and were overwhelmingly surprised.  The salad bar and starters were high quality and fresh, the choices for main dishes, were served to order from the kitchen rather than chafing dishes.  This was no wedding buffet, this was a Swiss smorgasbord! One look at the dessert bar and my inner voice who likes to quote from movies said, “Augustus liebling, save some room for later!”  So a modest salad and small plate of grilled trout and vegetables made it possible to try this array of goodies.  After enjoying watching a young group of locals perform the traditional Appenzeller music, we walked back to the train station with plenty of time to spare.  Not wanting to miss the last scheduled train for Schwende, we arrived over twenty minutes early, the evening was brisk but the we chatted with each other to pass the time.  Only mildly nervous that we were the only two at the station because that had been the case when we departed for Weissbad this evening, we had to note that the the arrival time for our train had come and gone.  Wondering how long we should wait, perhaps it was just running late, we had noted that sometimes happens watching the train from the perch of our balcony over the past few days.  In the distance we saw a bus, I joked that when the demand for trains dwindled perhaps they just popped a bus on the tracks.  Not quite, but the bus did pull up to the train station, it's placard reading the direction we were headed and opened the doors.  The bus was also empty, so Greg appealed to the driver.  In German he explained, “we were waiting for the train to Schwende, but…?”  The driver’s response roughly translated to, “There is no more train, I am the train.”  When Greg offered to fish out our transit cards, he told us to just get in, no worries. He was a jovial guy with kind of a nutty laugh.  It made me feel like we riding the night bus from Harry Potter when the Hogwarts express failed to show.  Grateful that we didn't end up walking those kilometers back home, the bus dropped us just across the street from our train stop and we felt triumphant that we had used public transit at night in the alps and it worked even if not in the way we had planned.

Appenzell Wanderweg

Today I didn't want to get up, I was so tired and running seemed impossible, but then I saw this view from the bathroom window, and with that as motivation I was out the door as soon as my shoes were tied.  Uphill was killer, I felt like someone was whipping my calf with a switch! That is what I get for two weeks of running by the flat river in Germany and at sea level around Holland. Good thing distractions abounded. The hollow, wind-chimy quality of the cow bell carried on the cool breeze, the sheep that scrambling to the top of the hill at the approach of my footsteps just too look down disappointed as if to say, “oh, it's only you,” and the staggering amount of green everywhere occupied my mind on this challenging run.

We were so excited for breakfast after discovering what an awesome chef Michael was last night.  Breakfast did not disappoint, in addition to local meats, cheeses, eggs, yogurts, juices, and homemade cereals unexpected treats like house made fresh fruit salad, and unique dried fruits of melon and peach, made this a fun experience.  When we checked in yesterday Michael had given us our Appenzeller Ferien cards. Many hotels include the card as a gift to you if you vacation in the region for three nights or more, and it includes many activities and discounts.

So we got use our Appenzeller cards to take the train into the valley to the next village of Wasserauen, then take a gondola up to Ebenalp at 1644m. The views were great, but when the car wobbles as it crosses the support posts, my tummy drops just like on a roller coaster ride. Just a  short hike from the top were the Wildkirchli caves, a chapel actually built in a cave on a cliff (a witch was rumored to have live in the caves and I don't doubt it, a perfectly sheltered place for a single lady to make her home up in the mountains.  We proceeded to have, lunch on the side of the mountain at Äscher and shared a table with some Swiss Canadians who were happy to speak English with us and help us understand the waitress’s Swiss German, very different sounding than high German.  We followed the Wanderweg, foot path, all the way down the mountain and had close encounters of the cow kind.  In the late afternoon, we explored the quiet town of Appenzell and found the Appenzeller brewery and whiskey distillery, guess who loved that? We had dinner at the neighbors restaurant, as our closes on Tuesday so chef Michael can take a walk, which is what everyone does on their day off here.