THE GENTELEMAN'S Text
Impressum
This book is based on the 2022 in German published title 'Die Wanderung des älteren Herrn' by the same author.
This version, written in American English, was prompted by the author's conversations with his two sons and English-speaking friends.
Please note: English is not the author's native language.
The original version has been shortened and streamlined. End notes were added to make the text more accessible.
The book contains the actual description of the trip, socially critical provocations, challenging ideas and daring personal theses.
Expressions like foreign words, reflections, ambiguity, irony, and provocative statements are kept between apostrophes to highlight their significance in the narrative. This stylistic choice adds depth and nuance to the text, inviting readers to engage with the ideas presented.
The services from Google and Wikipedia were much appreciated. The help from Grammarly, LanguageTool, and ProWritingAid was pertinent.
The author extends his heartfelt gratitude to his partner, Germain, for her unwavering patience and attentive listening.
Text and cover:
Hans Bodmer
Copyrights
Hans Bodmer
Publisher Hans Bodmer
Index.
Vision/Prologue.
Day 1: Zurich - ‘Grapingen ’- Baldegg - Schinznach.
Day 2: Schinznach - Aarau - Schönenwerd - Olten.
Day 3: Olten - ‘Southwall’ - Kappel’ - Egerkingen.
Day 4: Egerkingen - Oensingen - Attisholz - Solothurn.
Day 5: Solothurn - Grenchen - ’Slutigen’ - Biel.
Day 6: Biel - ‘IT Valley’ - ‘Petri-Heil’ – ‘Saint Bluff’.
Day 7: ‘Saint Bluff’ - ‘Horgen’ - Neuchatel - ‘Eden sur Lac’.
Day 8: ‘Eden sur Lac’ - ‘Karlstadt’ - ‘Nobruegge’ - Orbe.
Day 9: Orbe - ‘Poste’ - La Sallaz - ‘Massacre’ - Lavigny.
Day 10: Lavigny - Signal de Bougie - ‘Orage’ - Dullier.
Day 11: Dullier - ‘Paradies’ - ‘Puzzle’ - Ferney-Voltaire.
Day 12: Ferney-Voltaire - ‘Havana’– Café de la Place.
People involved.
The Author.
.
People involved.
The elderly gentleman, the ‘crazy’ Hans.
Gabriel, his guardian angel.
The devil.
Day 1:
1. The pastor in ‘Grapingen’.
2. The friendly lady at the Baldegg.
3. The two boys with their skateboards in Birr.
4. The evil Valkyrie with the vinegar bottle.
Day 2:
5. The competent waitress in Schinznach.
6. The unfriendly dog owner lady at the Aare River.
7. The sad lady in Schönenwerd.
Day 3:
8. The Hunchback of Notre Dame in Olten.
9. The junior soccer players near Egerkingen.
10. The beauty at the company’s party.
11. Beni National, the TV sports reporter.
Day 4:
12. The pastor and the lady in black in the back seat.
13. The campsite warden in Solothurn.
14. The naked ballerina under the shower.
Day 5:
15. The brutal waiter at the five-star restaurant.
16. The wealthy, gracious lady in the Rolls-Royce.
17. ‘Greti’, the slut from the railway station pub.
18. The lady from the air traffic control with the red rose.
Day 6:
19. Kunigunde, the long dryness of the Old Testament.
20. The voiceless saleswoman in the self-service store.
21. The quirky landlady in Nidau.
22. Pierre, the social dropout.
23. The admirable, friendly, and lovely lady at the kiosk in nowhere.
24. The bad, lousy hotelier and informer.
Day 7:
25. Two incompetent crime police officers.
26. The slut 'Greti'. Now, as Margaretha and future Dr. Phil.
27 Australian teens on an adventure trip in western Switzerland.
28. Mrs. Holle, the motherly fairy tale lady.
Day 8:
29. The incarnation of Gilberte de Courgenay.
30. Roughneck Rübezahl with his fence post.
31. The disbelieving landlady of a failing hotel.
32. Liz Tailor, who got lost in a provincial town.
Day 9:
32. Inspector Pelier, the friendly police officer.
33. The motorcycle-riding innkeeper Jean-Claud.
34. The baroness with the violet Peugeot cabriolet and in black nightwear.
Day 10:
35. The drunk racing cyclists.
36. Socrates on the tractor.
Day 11:
37. The friendly, helpful boy with the Appenzeller dog.
38. General Guisan. Out of service.
39. Maria Stuart and her maid.
40. Puzzle-solving aristocratic children.
41. Mere Royaume’s sister and her husband.
Day: 12:
42. The suspicious, seductively sexy, pretty lady at the four-star hotel.
43. The most beautiful of all ladies in this world: Juliette
Vision/Prologue.
At first, it was just a vague vision. This vision increasingly became a fixed idea that followed an inner compulsion. Would the idea become a reality?
Yes. The older gentleman hikes from Zurich-Affoltern to Meyrin, Geneva, in the shortest possible way, preferably on hiking trails. Which in and of itself is paradoxical.
He had done the Zurich-Geneva route so many times before. Also, of course, in the other direction.
• By train, mainly with the Intercity Express.
• By airplane: Douglas DC-6 to DC-10, Boeing 727 and higher models. If possible, with Swissair. That was before the company's grounding .
• By car: with the Triumph Spitfire, the VW Variant, the Ford Taurus, the Ford Granada, and the Chrysler Vision.
So, the Zurich-Geneva route is worn out. Something else was needed to make the adrenaline flow in powerful yet calm streams. One day, he realized that there must be something else behind sound-absorbing walls, bushes, and house facades—something like love, hope, and joy. Unfortunately, it could also be hate, fear, and suffering.
Is there anything extraordinary in Switzerland's overpopulated, hilly, middle European territory? Could lovely, pleasant, curious, funny, or absurd events exist?
Could he explore an unknown world at a walking pace, stress-free? He would use profile shoe soles instead of Michelin, Goodyear, or Bridgestone tires. He could walk light-footed instead of having a foot push the gas pe-dal. Not only that, but he could admire the surroundings instead of staring at the car’s bumpers ahead of him.
As a side effect, questions that are highly unimportant for survival, such as the following, could also be answered:
• Is there a path, a small street, or a full-blown road between the steep hill in front of Olten, where the train to Bern cuts a daring curve before passing through the rail yard and the Aare?
• How many army trucks can be parked on the right side of the freeway near Wangen an der Aare, aligned with precision, and at a minimum distance?
• Could an Airbus A380 make an emergency landing at Grenchen Air-port?
• Is the brilliant idea of carving a canal from Orbe to Lausanne, allowing multimillionaires to rally with their racing boats from Hamburg to Monaco a good idea?
• How far above Rolle is Mont-sur-Rolle, and does as much wine grow there as is drunk in Zurich?
The questions concerning geography and other realities would undoubtedly be solved.
And those that are much more important to him? The ones that concern the 'untouchable', such as the 'spirit', the soul, the good God, and, of course, the evil devil?
Barely! Fantasies and illusions will compete. Puns, common sayings, quotes, and proverbs will chase each other. There will be many question marks and, likewise, exclamation marks.
Many ambiguous, invented, and provocative expressions must be enclosed between apostrophes.
He must be more than just slightly disturbed. Only a half-crazy person could think of walking from Zurich to Geneva.
Expected time: a maximum of two weeks. Budget target: maximum one thousand Swiss francs.
He wasn't always such an uncompromising marcher, or, as they say in German, ‘Wandersmann’. In school, he loved school trips and holiday hikes more than anything. It brought variety to the dreary everyday lives of people with low incomes.
His more or less regular jogging made his muscles ridged. He jogged about ten kilometers on the tartan track in front of the house or around the nearby small lake. These exercises resulted in his current 76 kg and 178 cm physical dimensions. He should be able to bear the moderate-to-severe exertion to come.
He is old and has to fight his age. What bothers him? It is not the money for his existence, which is secured thanks to AHV and other pillars. Today, he wonders why a vote had to be taken to introduce the AHV in 1947. Who could have been against it?
He has everything he needs, and he earned it himself. He adds up his contributions and those of his employers, plus the interest and compound interest, plus the gain made with the invested capital. The resulting sum is enough to guarantee him an adequate standard of living until age 80. So, he is not a social parasite, as is often said when the AHV is discussed.
So, what's troubling him? He is, as one says, a deserving pensioner. There's no shame in no longer being a cog in the 'gross social production machine'.
But it raises the question: What else is he here for on earth? Doesn't the reason to live cease after the first commandment in the Bible has been obeyed?
Be fruitful and multiply; subdue nature and animals... (Genesis 1:28)
In his opinion, the Lord was most likely a little tired on Saturday. Is, what was created on his last day at work really beyond any doubt? Is it the ‘Crown of Creation’?
His thoughts frequently wander from the Big Bang, over the single-celled organism, to ‘Homo sapiens’ (Latin for wise men) and beyond. What will follow?
Something better, something fairer? Is this just one of his many illusions?
Without illusions, life becomes an existence. (Mark Twain )
The most critical question in life is: What is its meaning and purpose? Will that question ever be answered? Here are two suggestions:
The meaning of life is to enjoy it. (Author unknown)
Let us eat and drink; we will die in the morning. (1. Corinthians 15:32)
The Bible says so, but certainly not as a commandment. When certain statements in the Bible are taken out of their context, they can be massively abused.
So, instead of enjoying life, why the torture of walking from Zurich to Geneva?
• In the rain, through the dust of the construction sites?
• Going up and down the stony and slippery hiking trails?
• To search, dead tired, for accommodation every day, like Maria and Joseph once did?
• To hope to find a place to sit, even if it's just a decent tree trunk?
• Why will he take all those risks?
The hike will certainly not be risky. Going astray and wandering for 40 years through the desert like the Israelites did is unlikely. There are signs everywhere, although some are no longer legible because they haven't been serviced for a long time, or point to stylish, romantic paths, which are detours for him. The area to be hiked through is fertile, subsidized, and somewhat green between the buildings. Water is always available.
Also, why not tackle the challenge?
Hiking is the miller's delight. (from a hiking song)
You don't have to be a miller; even a trained mechanic enjoys hiking. And above all, he has time, which is no longer money for him. He has more time than money.
Now, he goes to bed without having the usual cigar and beer. He has to be fit tomorrow. Up to now, there were just words.
Day 1: Zurich - ‘Grapingen’ - Baldegg – Schinznach.
Monday, J-Day !
The alarm clock was not needed. It will immediately disappear in the bag with the toiletries. This multipurpose bag is practical and versatile for well-heeled vagabonds. Usually, he requires an alarm clock. Nothing will be standard in the following days. Or even weeks?
The shaving question has to be resolved: electric razor or wet shave? There are loads of blades and gels in the toilet cabinet on the rarely used top shelf. It would undoubtedly be a few grams lighter than the old 'Philishave' . Wet shaving with the sharp mini-blades is such a thing; the risk of cutting himself and leaving blemishes on his attractively brown face is considerable. As a person who does not like risks, he will choose the heavier variation. The razor could be disposed of in a more or less environmentally friendly way; the shaving heads no longer cut as they should. Switching to alternatives is part of the flexibility required for this trip. And anyway, the shaving issue is undoubtedly not mission-critical.
But the weather is!
As usual, his first step is onto the balcony. Today's weather almost sends him back to bed. It is, oh horror, just terrible! After looking at the sky, he looks at the opposite building. Something fundamental could have changed overnight. You never know. For example, a mature, beautiful la-dy could have moved into a vacant flat.
«Hans, forget it. Your illusions exaggerate already in the early morning.»
The second step is to get on the scale, naked, of course. How much will be displayed next time on this same very accurate device? There will then be at least 300 kilometers in between.
Thick raindrops slide across the large west-facing window like cloven crystal balls. In the car park below, the puddles splash back the incoming streams of water by at least ten centimeters. Dark to very dark clouds roll in from the western hills over the factory halls behind the tracks with the smeared brick buildings.
Rain and wind, we laugh about it. We are young, and that is beautiful... (from a German hiking song).
Is it also valid for ‘middle-to-advanced-aged’ people? This is surely true for and authentic and waterproof hiking men. Which he isn’t yet. It first has to be proved.
A further look through the window confirms the uneasy feeling that today will get terribly wet.
He's not hungry, but some substance has to get into the body. Despite what will come, breakfast is as usual: half a grapefruit, yogurt, coffee, and orange juice. Good digestion is as important as a good conscience. Humans don't need more. He still has a reasonably clear conscience now, at half past seven. Digestion is also good, as the visit to the restroom proves.
Only two things are essential in life: a good conscience and good di-gestion. (Quote from the missionary William Taylor )
He still has both today. What else does he require? Better weather, for one!
The first necessary ‘intellectual’ decision must be made: back to bed or up and away. The weaker inner self must be overcome, not for the last time. There will be many more such ‘fights’ coming up.
«Hans, please get up and go. Otherwise, you will never get to Café de la Place.»
Decision: The march will be postponed by an hour, resolutions or not. It makes up about 1% of total marching time. Reaching the finish line an hour later is compatible with the strictly established basic principles. It's his fault; he imposed these instructions and requirements on himself.
A second decision must be made. He thought he was prepared for it. But now that it's becoming concrete, it's no longer so clear: What should he put on to be protected without sweating too much? Sweating has been a trait for him since childhood. It doesn't necessarily mean it's unhealthy. But it is often unpleasant, especially for those in his immediate surround-ings. The problem of what to wear in the rain was already addressed in the planning state. But theory and practice are two different things.
Alternatives are a windbreaker or military raincoat under or over the back-pack. Or the cape over it? Or a combination of the possible variants? Al-most no solution is satisfactory.
The rain, as if taking pity, loses its density. As seen from a distance, the water streaks only vaguely jump back from the puddles. He feels like the Swiss captain before the Battle of Murten, who shouted:
The sun shines on us to victory (Adrian von Bubenberg )
The Swiss won! It's because Charles the Bold believed the weather fore-cast. Heavy rain was predicted, and in the Middle Ages, no battles were fought in bad weather.
The sun is far from shining, but the rainfall is easing. So, he straps the backpack on and locks the apartment door. A stale taste emerged when he briefly glanced at the two female neighbors' apartment doors. Are they watching him through the peephole? He only told them vaguely about his vision. In order not to reap malicious laughter in the event of a possible failure.
«Hans, don't paint the devil on the wall!»
It is enough that on his trip he will very often have to fight the devil. Unfor-tunately, he cannot take ink pots with him on such a 'mammoth hike'. But if needed, he'll find something to throw at the Lucifer.
He takes his first steps on the hike. He passes the post office building and takes the main road up the first hill. Then it's on a flat path, on which he has walked many times before when he was visiting the restaurant Grünwald. The forest is not green, but gray. There is no stop planned at the restaurant. He's only been on the road for thirty minutes. The rain is just trickling, and there is hardly any moisture under the trees anymore. The path climbs to the 'Gubrist'.
He passes the large ventilation shaft that releases the gases from the freeway tunnel into the atmosphere.
In a tunnel, he always feels slightly insecure. Which tunnel is safe?
It's safer up here, but something could fall on his head, for example, dry branches. Or, much worse, a meteorite.
The noise of engines gets closer, and orange-red bits of color can be seen through the trees. Forest workers are sawing. Why do chainsaws, lawnmowers, and leaf blowers always make such a disgusting noise? This question would not come up if he had been more attentive in the physics lessons at school.
Forestry worker is a beautiful profession because they are always out-doors, in nature, and away from people.
What other dream jobs are there? Actor, for example:
• Romeo in Romeo and Juliet.
• Lionel in The Maid of Orleans,
• Don Juan.
• The Captain of Köpenick.
• Inspector Lieutenant Colombo.
• The Prince in Sleeping Beauty.
• The Chief Dwarf in Snow White.
• Godot in waiting for Godot.
For him, the following professions are highly desirable:
• Fashion photographer.
• Women's Tailor: Haute Couture.
• Hiking Shepherd: Because then he has so time to think
• Traveling preacher: He could still become one.
• FIFA representative or UEFA official.
Being a night watchman was good in the Middle Ages, provided you had a loud voice. Or hunger artists, banquet singers, or bear drivers at fairs to en-tertain the simple people in their often rather dreary everyday lives.
Even better was to be a court jester. It was the most secure position in any monarchy. Today, people like investment advisors, consultants, influencers, and similar activities are on the safe side. They can talk whatever and will not lose their jobs.
The path leads downhill, and the backpack gets heavier. The shoes slip on the gravel. Using the shortcut over roots and low branches is causing wet legs. The first village: 'Grapingen'. This name comes from the grapes that grow here and will later become wine. But wine is not for him in the morning!
Alcohol should anyway remain taboo until he is at the Café de la Place.
The hiking trail leads, as it should, to the pretty church. A fountain, a bench! A look at the device on his arm proves he has already been on his way for two hours. Only! The same ‘thing’ also shows a pulse rate of 90. Passable, everything within the tolerated green range; everything is under control. The green bench is clean. He won't dirty the place with the plastic bag from which he takes out dried apricots. The first bottle with mineral water is emptied in one gulp. The backpack then becomes 500 grams lighter, which will undoubt-edly be felt.
A black limousine is neatly parked in the reserved space in front of the
house next to the church. From the car, a gentleman in a black suit gets out, looks closely at the intruder, and then smiles in a friendly manner. Slightly gray hair. He is probably the pastor. With a friendly nod, the man comes towards him.
«Hello, are you on a hike? The weather could be better. Where are you going? Ah, to Geneva. Interesting.»
His expression shows a slight surprise, but a pastor can keep his emotions well under control. Does he believe the hiker?
It seems yes, then he says:
«I would like to do the same one day. And where do you stay at night?»
The problem of finding a bed is also the most important one for the pastor. Drinking and eating are less worth mentioning. The pastor wishes him a safe journey and disappears into the house, probably to prepare for the Sunday sermon or a funeral. A job as a pastor would be a dream job if it weren't for the abdications.
Religion comes to his mind.
Religions always involve what happens immediately after burial, burning, or mummification. For most of us humans, this question is fundamental.
Why was the Christian religion so convincing that today, a third of the planet's inhabitants claim to belong to it? A fraction of them still believes in its theses. A significant change came with the New Testament. Instead of tooth for tooth, turn the other cheek. Instead of revenge:
Love your next neighbor! (Matthew 22:37–39)
For the first time, other sounds can be heard.
Why were such cruel wars waged precisely in the name of this man, who was so extraordinary for his time? Has war ever brought anything other than suf-fering? In the Old Testament, they still prevail: twist, strife, jealousy, envy, and other characteristics that are so profoundly human. Truthfully, the Old Testament is the best psychology book ever written. The Israelis are in the lead role. Many other migrating pastoral groups in the Asia Minor region also sought favorable living conditions. They probably also had their own:
• March through the sea.
• Jericho.
• Onan.
• Samson and Delilah.
• Samuel and Elia.
• King Solomon and King David.
And so on.
Their history has not been archived as meticulously as the history of the Is-raelis, who became the Lord's chosen tribe. Like the Swiss:
God wrote us the letter of freedom in the high mountains. (from a very patriotic song)
The creation story in the Bible is understandable and can be reconciled with the theory of evolution. However, the time is in the flowery language of the Orient and has to be taken symbolically. It is said that a day is like a thou-sand years. Why not more?
Religions came into being because humanity must have noticed that living together becomes more accessible and requires less energy if people obey certain rules. They stopped beating each other to death in every little conflict. Terms like heaven and hell were created to enforce compliance with the commandments.
Break time is over! Back to reality: He puts the backpack on. The straps are pressing a little more intensely than before in Zurich.
Now, the search for the Limmat.
It's not that easy, but he can do it. The trail is wide at first, then becomes narrower and narrower. He gets close to the river, which flows calmly and slowly, as if it would soon fall asleep. Then, he walks over a bridge, contin-ues on the other side, then takes another bridge back to the right side, and he is in Wettingen. But not in its center. A center doesn’t exist in this town. The only significant feature in this area is a long, dead-straight thoroughfare with many shops. Not all of them are necessary to survive.
He sits down on a tree trunk in the meadow and digs the bread with the dried meat out of the backpack and empties the second bottle of the day. Two liters were already drunk today. Half the daily ration has already gone where it had to go.
His feet are still in fantastic shape; only certain often stressed muscles made themself felt after standing up and during the time before he reaches his cruising speed.
Now, he walks for a while on the marked industrial course. Brown-Boveri was located here and the area was booming. That was at a time when Switzer-land exported specialized, sophisticated electrical machines all over the world. After the town, the road leads up. Past well-kept, multistory apartment blocks that are getting smaller and smaller, back out to the semi-green meadows. The sun heats up. He arrives at the top of the hill.
There is a restaurant, but
Closed on Mondays!
Coffee is badly needed. But here is no café in sight.
But a lady appears and strolls past the closed door. She sends him a pitying smile. She's dressed all black, in an open raincoat, sweater, skirt, stockings, and black shoes. Age: The expiration date has not yet expired. She gives him a refreshing, friendly:
«Hello!»
She walks past him, upright and elegant. After a few meters, she looks back at him. She certainly has a clear conscience and a good digestion. He sees the latter in her figure. It cheered him tremendously that her look was not a 'look back in anger' .
This hill is apparently called ‘Baldegg’. There is no trace of Lake Baldegg. The lake is somewhere else, not on his way.
Where does he go from here? The yellow signposts are Janus-faced. They both point to Brugg but in the completely opposite directions.
He wanted to make it to Brugg today because of the greater likelihood of finding suitable overnight accommodation.
The time difference between the signs pointing to Brugg is over half an hour. There is no question about which route he will take. Of course, the shorter one!
It leads steeply down the hillside. Below is a village and, great, an open gro-cery store.
He buys water and the obligatory dried apricots. Everything is stuffed in his backpack. The reserves have been stacked up.
He walks on a bridge over the Reuss, which reminds him that there will be several rivers more to cross until Café de la Place.
Brugg would be a few kilometers to the west. To go there would have been a detour.
This unwanted change from the original plan is, therefore, only beneficial. On a tour like this, you must be mentally and physically flexible and fit.
Physically, for sure! His legs tell him this very clearly now. There is a forest on the right, on the horizon, a castle, and to the left, only tentatively smoking chimneys.
Probably from the ABB factories. Their questionable former CEO, Mr. Bar-nevik , is now fishing in his village in Sweden with the millions from ABB he has taken with him. This ruined the workers living here in Baden, Birr, and Turgi. They have now involuntary time to fish.
There is not a soul in sight. He has seen very few since Zurich. But two boys are crossing his path. They are getting ready to race down a steep road with their skateboards. This is dangerous! He wants to warn them. But one of the boys says:
«Don't worry, we've got it under control.»
The boy wants to rush away. But then he looks at him more closely and says:
«Grandpa, you're still in good shape. I wish you a glorious trip!»
These words convey a certain admiration. This gives him a mini-sense of achievement.
And the boys are gone.
The path crosses a regular road. On the other side of the street is an open restaurant. He wants to enter, but the landlady standing in front of the house makes a grumpy grimace after she had a look at his shoes.
Sorry to say that the lady has the charm of the Eiger North Face .
She carries a massive jar of pickles under her arm.
He doesn't feel like eating pickles at the moment and has logically lost im-mediately his appetite for coffee.
Back to the road, where a signpost shows ‘Habsburg’ in black and yellow. Where there is a castle, there might be a hotel. That is at least what he hopes.
The last climb to the castle brings drops of sweat. They are not the first ones today. Who would have thought that after the morning's rain?
He long wanted to visit this ancestral home of the old Austrian dynasties. The castle looks very well maintained. But it is, of course,
Closed on Mondays.
He has no time and absolutely no desire to visit it. An air of power, violence, injustice, and oppression surrounds every military building.
He crosses earthy fields and then takes the steep path towards the Aare - Valley. The sun sets behind the distant Jura heights and turns towards the western climes. It's time to find a bed for the night.
Yes, it is. A sizeable hotel, sanatorium, mental institution, or whatever it is, proudly stands on the nearby bank. In the park, people walk upright, wiggling on sticks or wheeling in wheelchairs in groups or alone. Soon, they will return to the feudal, chic rooms, which are air-conditioned, sterilized, and have a night guard.
He doesn't walk very upright anymore. This place is not suitable for a sweaty, dead-tired hiker, so he must urgently find a bed somewhere else. His legs are having a lot of trouble.
Going back to the main road often helps in finding a suitable hotel. This is now the case. As if sent from heaven, there is a house labeled Hotel. Only two cars are in the parking lot. No, not again:
Closed on Mondays!
No, it's not. And there is a free room. In such a situation, the price doesn’t matter. It is surprisingly reasonable for a multifunctional, medium-sized hotel in the middle of Switzerland, which also serves as a red-light establishment.
First thing: out of the shoes, off the clothes, and under the shower. The water running down brings a feeling of pleasure that not even the sight of a black lace bra, no matter how beautiful, with or without contents, would have brought him into this state.
He gets into the wrinkled, slightly musty-smelling fresh clothes.
He orders no beer in the restaurant but a liter of water, green salad, and spa-ghetti Bolognese.
After eating, he gets up slowly, brushes his teeth, and jumps into bed.
Day 2: Schinznach - Aarau - Schönenwerd - Olten.
Once again, there had been no need for the alarm clock. Sleep hadn't been easy, and his leg muscles had made themselves felt with every change in body position.
It takes him a great deal of effort to sit up on the edge of the bed. In the morning, he drinks a glass of water enriched with the usual effervescent vit-amins. He brushes his teeth, showers, and shaves. A two-day beard wouldn't be helpful the next time he will need to look for a hotel.
The alarm clock is switched off and stored in the backpack. The clean clothes he had worn very late yesterday also disappeared in there. Then he throws in the two water bottles and ties the backpack. This takes energy be-cause the bag is completely overloaded.
He jumps into the shoes. His feet are not swollen or blistered. His mood is slowly, but surely, improving.
Wait, what about the weather?
Yesterday it was so important. At least it doesn’t rain. That would have been audible despite the loud trucks rolling past. Still, on a hike like this, he has to take a precautionary glance at it first thing in the morning.
Today, it is gray on gray, characterless, but fortunately not 'liquid' It is very dark in the corridor. He wants to close the room door. Only now does he see something hanging on the doorknob, which suddenly makes him profuse. What does he see? At the doorknob hangs an exquisite lace-trimmed silk piece of female lingerie: a black bra!
What does this signify?
Did a beautiful lady miss the door to her room at night? In his almost total exhaustion yesterday, he hadn't recognized this beautiful, potential start of a long-awaited love affair, a mystery that could unfold into something more.
Whatever it was, this 'event' was a great start to the day.
Downstairs, a mixture of stale cigarette smoke and the smell of cheap per-fume hangs in the darkness.
Of course, the hotel is closed on Tuesday, as the lady yesterday said. That's why he had to pay in cash right away. And logically, no breakfast is served. The room price had been reduced accordingly. She emphasized this.
It's his problem to find breakfast somewhere. Calories are necessary. The first thing is: How does he get out of the house? There are several doors on the first floor. Like in the house in Rocky-Tonky in the hit song in the 1950s. But they are all locked. He must have been exhausted yesterday; he only vaguely remembers now that the lady said that the room key also works for the front door and that he should throw the key into the mailbox.
It's still not brighter in the hallway. Fumbling for the light switch is difficult when the backpack is so heavy. Electricity is saved in this house. Exemplary, but not if you must look for the front door. He tries to open one door after the other. The last one finally opens.
It leads into a backyard littered with brown, torn cardboard boxes. They were most likely once filled with chips, Grissinis , and dried meat. Next to them are stacks of containers filled with empty bottles.
A black cat scoots to the side in fright. The animal is not used to being dis-turbed by the sound of walking shoes early on a Tuesday.
Around the corner, and there it is again: the main street. His mood barometer rises slightly. All of this without breakfast. That will be the next goal. On a hike like this, the priority of what to do next is always clear. This is comforta-ble; real thinking is reduced to the bare essentials. Fantasies, illusions, and surreal philosophical ideas will only be pursued later when the cruising speed is reached.
The direction is also given: west, towards Olten. This is the suggested goal for today, and eventually, there will be a place to get breakfast that isn't closed on Tuesdays.
It's coming! A small café where some housewives are reading the Blick . He can see the headlines:
• Pit bulls are biting again.
• Managers increase their wages by a million.
• Tomorrow will come an important soccer match in Bern.
Current and popular headlines these days. Today, for once, there is nothing about fights, rapes, or speeders. There is, fortunately, a free table in the corner with enough space for his backpack next to it. As a hiker, you al-ways must consider this when visiting a restaurant.
The greeting of a neatly dressed medieval lady isn't even unfriendly. She's not in black but in a pleasant mood, has indeed slept well, and must have a clean conscience.
The orange juice and the coffee taste appealing, and the two Gipfeli are fresh. The day starts smoothly.
He's back on the main street. The next small path to the right will probably lead to the hiking trail along the Aare. That’s where he wants to go. He slightly increases the speed of his steps and switches his brain to 'let it go' mode.
There are trees on the left, and the Aare is to the right. The river will be with him for hours. He goes against the grain. It's not the first or last time. In his life, most of the time, he is swimming against the flow.
On the left, there are trees and houses. Like the leaves on the trees, their roofs appear slightly gray. As if fine, gray dust from the sky was poured over them. Everything has a gray tinge, including the weather. Gray isn't necessarily the prettiest color.
It is the dominant one here now. A plausible explanation arises in his mind: He is no longer in the Barnevik’s villages but in the territory of the Schmid-heinys . Their factories here produce cement. The gray tone will disappear after a few kilometers.
The path is now dead straight. He can see at least two kilometers ahead. The trail is on an embankment and higher than the terrain, like a little dam built in case the river gets the stupid idea of swelling and overflowing its banks. So, there is little risk of him being washed away. There are only a few people on this path at this time. On nice Sundays, there will be a lot more.
Today, only those with smaller or larger dogs, on a leash or not. A medium-sized dog of an indefinable color approaches him, eyes half closed and with a slightly contrite expression on its face. Snout would be a better word.
And this dog does not hold his snout!
And how! Barking loudly, he makes a move to leap towards the innocent hiker. At the last moment, the very long leash prevents him from making the attack. Showing his teeth, growling, what else is left for the dog since his lustful leap towards the vagabond has been stupidly prevented?
The dog rages on.
«Bello, quiet! Bello! Bello, be good!»
That comes from a female voice. A lady wearing blue jeans, branded sneakers, a leather jacket, and a wide-brimmed hut.
Without giving even a glance at him, she hisses:
The dog is so well-trained. Your impossible backpack irritated him!»
Hikers, debt collectors, and uniformed people magically influence the dogs as if they were the full moon.
«Hans, forget the dog and mistress!»
But this ‘dog episode’ bothers him for a few kilometers.
After two hours of walking, it's time for the first stop. According to his pro-gram, he should always walk for two hours in the morning before drinking. A half-ruined wooden bench invites a rest.
He puts his backpack on it, stretches his legs, drinks, and digs out the obligatory apricots. After a short ten-minute rest, the hiking trail calls ur-gently again.
The way still leads straight along the river. Now and then, a bridge and hy-droelectric stations.
Humanity needs energy. Much more than renewable sources provide. The most valuable liquid form of stored energy, oil, took many thousand years to be produced. It will be used up in the foreseeable future. It lasted only a few hundred years. So, only about the lifetime of five human generations.
This liquid product, produced in prehistoric times, no longer needs to be renewed. Somewhere between the Big Bang and the final condensation of all matter lies the small fraction of time when we have used the fossil treas-ures.
How many organic creations can the only known habitable planet support? There is a limit even with renewable energy and sustainable tarpaulins, which have recently become so 'in'. Are there twenty or more billions? That's not so relevant. Unfortunately, according to the current physical models, these cannot be exported into space.
But we could try to make the earth a paradise again.
Which isn't even that far-fetched. Just imagine that the energy, goods, and other desirable material things in each person's life are evenly distributed. Our thoughts and actions primarily focus on values that can be bought, eaten, and touched. Giving those to everyone in the same amount and dis-tribute them evenly would bring back the original paradisaical state.
No more wars, assassinations, massacres, torture, and the like. Neither armies nor police are needed. No prisons, no walls, neither to delimit, to enclose, nor to protect. Nothing is stolen anymore, so there are no more locks on doors. Words like bank, bonus, economic, and financial crisis could be eliminated from the vocabulary.
Equal pay for everyone? Impossible? What is the reason that when two people work at one hundred percent of their potential, one earns ten thou-sand times more than the other? Is an hour of work by a financial genie, superstar, sports professional, porn model, or other top earner worth this incredible discrepancy?
Another provocation for which he will be exported to the desert. In the Mid-dle-Age, they would burn him.
Today's destination is much closer than any utopia: Olten
But he is only in Aarau, or rather, right beside it. Aarau is further west, be-hind the beautiful meadow that appears to be a horse racing track.
Schönenwerd is a beautiful place from a distance. It's too far from the route to find out if any accommodation is available there. But it's not time to think about this yet. Even if his legs demand this more and more vehement-ly, he has heard people say that the second day on a hike is the worst. True so far!
For a while, he follows the Aare. Small benches appear on the left. And yes, someone is sitting there. A female creature. Even in a skirt.
Which, as we all know, is so rare today. That's why he admires her even more. The other clothing items are also the same color. She seems a little sad, keeping her pretty face hidden.
He would like to know why she hides her face. According to the ‘etiquette’, approaching a lonely lady, even on a romantic river bank, is not considered 'gentleman-like'.
Especially when the would-be gentleman is in vagabond clothes. He wants to cheer her up a little despite his fatigue:
«Hello, beautiful woman, how are you? I wish you a speedy recovery. To-morrow is another day. After the rain, the sun shines.»
This is what he would like to preach to her. The pastor of ‘Grapingen’ could do this much better. Maybe she doesn't need any encouragement, no mat-ter how well-intentioned. He would suggest to hike, to write an essay, or both.
As if she could read his mind, she stands up. Unfortunately, she's heading downstream. Couldn’t he detect a slight turn of her head and a silent smile? Her physical dimensions are very similar to the lady he met on the Baldegg.
Now, on the left, there is a three-meter-high wire wall. Ten-millimeter-thick steel wire of the highest quality. Behind the wires are concrete walls and, in niches, black devices that look like surveillance cameras. His gaze rises and follows the high walls, and he sees white clouds billow into the gray sky.
Aha, a nuclear power plant!
His protector, the archangel Gabriel, gives now the order:
Hans, go away from the nuclear power plant as soon as possible.»
So he hurries quickly away from the nuclear fuel rods.
He heads away from the Aare into higher realms. Thinking of a potential disaster like the one in Chernobyl he must have lost the hiking trail.
He is now on a side street surrounded by more or less pretty single-story houses with more or less well-kept front gardens.
It’s time for another break. The intervals between those are inevitably be-coming shorter in the afternoon.
Problem: No bench, tree trunk, or similar gear can be seen. Gathering all his courage, he sits down on a small wall, twenty meters from the nearest house and out of sight of one of its windows. You never know; itinerant preachers and hikers could be unpopular among ordinary people because they could release water over the fence.
He has to pee, too, and accepting the urgent 'energy-wasting' detour, he sneaks into a not-so-distant bush. Nature goes back to nature, perfect re-cycling.
Next, he starts the last stage for today. The timing is perfect. He will be at the intended destination sooner than yesterday.
The horizon is narrowing. The river is far below, and a steep mountain wall on the left.
The narrow area before Olten has been reached.
Now, the horizon becomes wider again; luckily, he escapes the narrowness infinitely large rail yard is in sight. Why does the SBB need such extensive facilities when only a few lonely, seemingly forgotten freight or discarded passenger cars are standing there? The railway company's management might know why.
The much more important thing now is how to get to the middle of the city. After the factory buildings, the streets become more expansive, and public transportation to the center of the town is available. An intense temptation now arises: why not take a bus?
«Satan, go away!»
The temptation is overcome; nothing can go wrong now. The train station rises unequivocally on the horizon. With the impressive track roof, certainly with the famous train station restaurant, and hopefully a tourism office. This train station must make an impression; it's at the hub of the Swiss rail net-work.
The hope of finding a tourist information office is misplaced. Olten is not a spa or winter sports resort.
While traveling by train, he saw a hotel on the opposite side of the train station. The name was Hotel Jura.
So, why not try it?
Descending and climbing the stairs to the other side of the ten or more railroad tracks is cumbersome.
Hotel Jura is closed for renovations.
He crawls back to the other side of the train station, where a hotel is in sight: ‘Hotel Olternerhof’. At first glance, it appears to belong to the four-star category, so it is ignored.
A few hundred meters from the center is a gray block of houses. One of the buildings has “Hotel Gloria” written on it.
This hotel has seen better days. The exhausted legs don't care. They are only looking for a bed. The price? At the present stage, he does not care.
But please, not again: Closed on Tuesdays!
It's not! At the reception, it is, of course, dark. On a table is a golden bell. He heavily pushes on it and waits.
He hears female steps coming towards him. A typical old landlady appears and makes the usual grimace. When he asks about free rooms, she reluc-tantly answers:
«Yes, a room is available. Breakfast is not included. Do you have a credit card?»
He pulls out his golden Mastercard like cowboys in Westerns pull out their revolvers.
The lady is relieved. The gold card has done its job.
«Room 303, on the third floor. The elevator is around the corner.»
The elevator is very narrow and still has an old-fashioned lattice door. It is also dark on the third floor. Room 303 is right next to the elevator, saving him unnecessary steps. He's now counting those.
The room door, wide for this type of 'house,' can be opened quietly and gently.
Wow, he can't believe his eyes!
A vast room with dark, well-kept, precious wood paneling. In the glow of the reddish light, he can see the wide, inviting double bed, purple velvet blanket, many oversized pillows, and pink satin sheets. Also, the large, dusty flat-screen television. A bright, spacious bathroom with a shower, sink, and bathtub. The fittings could be gold-plated. A large toilet cabinet with a transparent glass door. Inside are perfume, pre- and after-shave, shaving cream, razor blades, skin cream, lubricant, and condoms.
Wow, not again a brothel!
Or was it one before, during the economic boom? Today, the price for the room is average and payable. It was charged for hourly stays earlier, but he explicitly said that he wants to stay overnight.
Even a not-so-stupid guy sometimes has some luck. Ah, that's why break-fast is not included! Most customers are unlikely to need it. A minibar of considerable volume and contents such as Campari, Rossi, Rémy Martin, Hennessy, Chivas Regal, a twenty-year-old single malt Scotch, Cordon Rouge, and delicious edibles.
He doesn’t need all of this; he is too tired.
He throws his backpack into a corner, gets out of his shoes, and lies down for ten minutes.
Subsequently, he laboriously crawls out of the clothes and places them on the window to air them out. Because their scents do not combine well with the aromatic ones dominating the room.
Under the shower, a strong, hot water stream runs over his body, making him feel much better.
Something like hunger has now made itself felt. He jumps into the crumpled spare fabric items from the backpack and the extra shoes, looking for food.
The streets are almost deserted. He doesn't need people, but he needs a place to eat.
There are ATMs on every corner. He seems to be in the center of the city. Signs of restaurants cannot be seen in any direction, unless MacDonald is considered be a restaurant.
In times of need, the Devil eats flies. (a saying)
So why not McDonald's? The waiting line is short. No beer, a Big Mac, fries, a green salad, and a huge cup of cola fly onto the tray. There are enough places to sit, and they are clean. The 'flies' in the form of hamburg-ers taste good and cure hunger.
When eating his Big Mac, he suddenly remembers reading about the Big Mac Index . He likes this fascinating idea!
And now, the concept of a variant has sparked in him
Create a Coke/h index.
Here, he explains his 'invention’:
Coca-Cola is even more widespread worldwide than Big Macs. How long one has to work to buy a Coke varies significantly.
Example: In Olten, Switzerland, a standard-size bottle of Coke costs around two and a half francs (August 2003). So, with his proud last hourly wage of 40 francs, he can buy 16 bottles, so his Coke/h index is 16.
He recently heard on Swiss TV that the CEO of a multinational Swiss com-pany earns 400 francs per minute! This results in a 160 Coke/min or Coke/h index of 9600. Pictured: When lined up next to each other, they make a row of 480 meters. Stacked up, the stack is 2688 meters high, 8,966 times higher than the Eiffel Tower.
What would the Coke/h index be for an underprivileged ‘earthling’?
He earns 1 dinar, pesos, or whatever per hour. In the national currency, a bottle costs half a unit. Therefore, his Coke/h index is 2.
Understood?
Based on these numbers, the just-drank Coca-Cola tastes sour.
A little evening stroll is good, even if his muscles are twitching. The city is deserted. After all, it's almost eight o'clock. In most cities, business dis-tricts are no longer the playground for pleasure seekers. This is also the case in Olten. He definitely doesn't need a disco today. It's better to get to the luxurious room as quickly as possible.
If only a warm, promising light didn't fall on the pavement a hundred meters away. Despite his almost exhausted reserves of energy, he is magically drawn there; his innate fetishist character trait is stronger, and the flesh is weak. The temping light comes from the show-window of a shop for finest ladies Lingerie.
Beldona!
«Hans, take a short, deep breath, enjoy what you see, and hide it in your unconscious. It helps with any fatigue.»
The elevator up to the room no longer creaks, or he didn’t hear it. Before the door falls gently into the golden lock, a provocative noise can be heard, like footsteps on high heels. In a spontaneous, jerky backward movement? He thinks he notices a fragment of a glimmer of reddish light from the room next door before it closes silently.
I'm just a poor wandering companion; good night, dear girl, good night... (from a hit song)
He immediately sinks into a deep sleep, hoping that beautiful things stored in the unconscious will bubble to the surface in the dream.
Day 3: Olten - ‘Southwall’ - Kappel - Egerkingen.
Today, there is 'only' half stage planned. From Olten to Egerkingen. He will be spared to find room to sleep there. As a rare exception, he has already reserved Why? Years ago, he had there a magnificent love affair.
There will be less than 20 kilometers to get there, so he can stay a little longer in the comfortable bed.
«Hans, do not let you go!»
Quickly, he gets up, takes a shower, puts on some makeshift clothes, and goes down for breakfast. Because a room is reserved, there is no need to shave today.
Anyway, why this unnatural daily procedure? A beard makes a man strong and wise. The Creator is always depicted with a white, flowing one.
By the beard of the Prophet. (a saying)
A beard is also a status symbol among Asian gurus, European faith healers, and the like.
He believes that it has a lot to do with male potency. Samson was signifi-cantly weakened without it. But, in Samson’s case,
Chercher la femme. (a saying)
It's dark on the first floor. A door marked 'dining room' is half open and lets sparse slivers of light into the hallway. The hall is vast and cool, like a gym-nastic hall. The tablecloths on all the tables are no longer wholly fresh and were probably once bright white. But no human being can be seen. He sits down, and nothing happens for a long time.
«Hello, service!»
That is what he loudly calls after ten minutes into the empty room. A door creaks, and a male figure resembling Quasimodo creeps up.
«Breakfast is not included; do you want some?»
Of course, he wants something to eat and drink, such as coffee, fruit juice, and something similar to bread. He asks the waiter for orange juice.
«We don't have orange juice.»
After another ten minutes, a cup, a knife, a glass carafe with a black liquid substance, two tired-looking rolls, a crumpled portion of butter, and an open, brightly colored small package that might contain a liquid are thrown at him:
«I found something!»
The waiter says this, not without a specific 'tip-chasing' look. The black mate-rial is scalding hot, the juice is lukewarm, the rolls are from the day before yesterday, and the butter is already more than slightly rancid. The price is high. After all, he is in a previously better 'four-star' place.
His digestion is going well despite the minimal diet and the lousy quality of the breakfast.
He packs the backpack, including the rain gear. It doesn't look like bad weather. Even in the city center, a bird is singing, which is a good sign. He laces his shoes twice, puts his cap on, and goes through the still, almost deserted city.
His best course of action is to go straight to the central train station because there are many yellow hiking trail signs here. Such signs are present in raw quantities here in Olten. And lo-and-behold, there is even one with the inscrip-tion Hägendorf, 2 ½ hours. That looks good! It's accepted, and the indicated direction is taken. Over a narrow bridge, he crosses the river back to the western side.
The path now leads for a while between the river and smaller houses, which become fewer and disappear. The trail narrows, it begins to climb, and the backpack announces itself. The yellow markings can still be seen sporadical-ly but are becoming increasingly faint. He's already far from the city; the as-phalt is over. It climbs more and more; the path becomes narrower. There are no traces of shoes on the grass, which is more of a weed. This is an infre-quently used route.
It gets even worse! It gets steeper and steeper, and a loose grove of trees begins. This becomes a full-blown forest, the bushes become denser, and the markings are more than just poor. But the luggage is getting heavier; his pulse is approaching 150 beats per minute.
He now has to look carefully for the path. With a lot of imagination, he can see a washed-out patch of yellow every five hundred meters. The branches of the bushes are hitting his face and getting darker and darker. Not because of the weather because he can still see a grayish-blue patch.
A look to the left now makes him shudder violently. Less than two meters from what appears to be the hiking trail, there is an almost vertical abyss. A steep, 'high mountain compliant' rock face makes him dizzy; he thinks he has gotten lost on the western edge of the Grand Canyon. He instinctively takes a few steps backward.
Searching eyes eagerly await the next glimmer of hope in the form of a sign-post. Did he get lost? He doesn't feel safe anymore. And today, he hasn't even come close to thinking about illusions. The breath is urgently needed for existential reasons: to escape this highly unpleasant situation as quickly as possible.
The abyss is still threatening, and the top of the height has not yet been reached. After every bend, he hopes to see the horizon. This unpredictable 'Jura-Voralp' is unsuitable for a Sermon on the Mount.
Hope arrives as a rusty sheet of metal on a rotten post. With an effort, he is able to decipher the message: Born 719 m.
It's high ‘time’ for a rest. That was a complex piece of work. The water, al-most a liter, goes down his throat. A large portion of dried apricots follows.
And now? What comes next?
Traces of a path have now completely disappeared. The abyss to the left is becoming increasingly alarming. So, he moves forward as fast as possible on what could still be a footpath. Total concentration: every step is controlled because it goes slightly downhill. He almost missed the slanted wooden sign nailed to a pine tree. What he reads gives him some relief. In barely legible, shaky letters, it says something like: To the Aare.
He didn't necessarily want to go there. But finding a way out of the maze is better than falling over the edge.
Even more relief comes. The situation is becoming more human again, though no other humans are seen. He doesn't expect people in this inhospi-table and uneconomical environment.
It has been a long time since anyone has come through here besides him, the crazy hiker from Zurich.
It goes steeper downhill, and the forest loosens up. Now, he crosses some-thing like a forest road, but it leads in the direction he thinks is the right one. Should he follow the street to the left or the right?
The road to the right is closer to the presumed correct direction to Hägen-dorf. The road seems to wind around the mountain in big curves.
He suddenly remembers that he has a compass. In a mini version, it can easi-ly be carried in the wallet. He never thought he would need it on his hike, but now it shows him what he felt was north is, in reality, south.
He walks along the forest road, which always turns to the right, for over half an hour. Soon, he will again be where he was before.
Wait, not a witch, but a ray of hope in sight! A board hangs on a wooden post; 'Eichholzstrasse' is written on it.
This could be more informative, but it points in the right direction. After a few hundred meters, he finally sees enlightenment at the forest's edge. A high concrete wall replaces the trees.
Behind the wall, there is engine noise from trucks in third gear. Aha, freeway A1!
This is immediately confirmed as he walks through a tunnel to the other side of the freeway.
Trucks transport greenhouse tomatoes from Holland which have never seen a cubic millimeter of natural humus, to the canning factories in Italy. They cross with trucks loaded with the same vegetable from Rimini to the delicatessens in the north. Then there are forty-ton semi-trailers, empty, in both directions. In between, luxury caravans and ‘ordinary’ cars. The vehicles are powered by petrol, diesel, or electricity. Unfortunately, being powered by the 'Perpetuum Mobile ' engine is apparently impossible.
Oil is still available at low prices, and, as the automobile industry claims, it will stay so for a long time.
Qui vivra verra! (a saying)
At least he now knows where he is in geography. His ‘Ulyssee’ on the south-ern wall of the Born is over.
There are roads, even ones leading in the direction he wants. He passes al-lotments, warehouses, massive farms with huge silos, meadows and fields, shooting ranges, and finally, a village with a café that is hopefully not:
Closed on Wednesday.
There is one that is even open. It's lunchtime, and the regular customers are waiting for their schnitzel with potatoes. A sweaty, already half-exhausted mountain hiker has an appetite-suppressing effect on the other quests. So, he shyly sneaks through the side entrance.
There is a small free table right next to the door. The waitress, not in a black skirt but in jeans, must have slept well and has a clear conscience. She is friendly and smiles at him. The coffee she served is a hundred points better than the one in the hotel this morning.
There is a newspaper on the chair beside him: the Solothuner Tagblatt. It would be a good idea to get some information. He has read nothing since Zurich and has not watched TV, or listened to the radio, so he's unaware of the possible sudden end of the world. The headlines on the front page are boring:
• Bush before Congress.
• Merkel before the Bundestag.
• Will Tony Blair resign?
• Stabbing in Schmerikon.
• Speeders in the Rhine Valley,
• Riot in Rwanda.
• Massacre in Mettmenstetten.
• Rap on the playground.
• Young people consume too much alcohol and drugs,
• Merger rumors between two financial institutions.
But there are also positive things to read:
• The Hong Kong stock market has recovered.
• The Shanghai stock market is moving upward.
• A Swiss bank with record profits.
• A new diet: eat and lose weight.
• The Swiss national soccer team is highly optimistic about the match against Russia today.
This reminds him that is not yet in Egerkingen, where he wants to see this evening’s match.
«Hans, come on, finish the coffee break!»
He is on the road again. He passes a school building, where there is activity and pleasant noise. The boys sacrifice their lunchtime and kick balls across the perfectly green lawn. Now, the ball flies high over the gate into the street, right in front of his right foot.
«The ball, please.»
Despite his full backpack, he takes a run-up and skillfully slams the ball back over the fence. This is met with friendly, uplifting applause, which gives him a mini-experience of success.
If you want to become a master, practice early! (a saying)
He needed to practice earlier to become a long-distance hiker or author.
No master has yet fallen from heaven. (a saying)
He almost regrets the sudden burst of energy he wasted by kicking the black and white ball.
The sun starts to heat up like hell, and the asphalt gets hot. No yellow hiking trail signs can be seen. He lost them on Born's summit. Fortunately, he can now see for kilometers in the right direction. There will undoubtedly be hiking trails or other paths. The first one to the right ends at a railway embankment. Railway tracks, gravel pits, quarries, and freeways are hikers' artificial ene-mies; rivers, ravines and steep mountains are their natural ones.
A freeway forces him to take a long detour, and the half-hour he planned to get here became almost two. This discrepancy will not be included in the final bill.
He made it to the medium-sized motel in the middle of Switzerland. There's a lot of activity in the inviting, bright reception. It is just after four o'clock. Ser-vice and other employees of all ranks buzz busily around.
There is nobody at the reception.
He has time to look around. It is a spotless, large, and bright place with inter-net workstations for the guests, the elegant 'Belchenstube' restaurant on the upper floor, and discreet toilets in the background.
They are now needed; the water from before and after the mountain must be released. The not-to-defined juice from this morning must also be removed urgently.
Through a wide-open portal, he can see an immense hall.
There is concert seating, a table in the front, and a projector aligned to the screen, ready to be used. Huge company logos hang on every free square meter on the side and back walls. ‘Kümmerlich & Knüsli, Warehouse and Transport’, is emblazoned on them.
Aha, a company party!
The company's history since its founding will soon be recited here in all de-tails, and its founder will be extensively praised for his initiative and fore-sight. The sales figures and the rounded-up profits will be presented without a bad conscience. A volunteer guest speaker, most likely the president of the transport companies’ association, will congratulate the company and encour-age it to continue.
With his exact ideas about what would happen here soon, he forgot that he was waiting to check-in.
Suddenly, there becomes life in the quiet 'scene'.
A gentleman in pinstripes, the CEO, walks briskly through the entrance. The man with the typical managerial career:
• 'Creeper'
• 'Kicker'
• 'Bluffer'
• 'Walker over dead bodies'
• 'Ripper'
«Oh, mean Hans! This list will bring you a further extended stay in the Saha-ra!»
Behind the boss, at an appropriate distance, in black suits without pin-stripes come the three vice presidents. They are of the same caliber as the highest boss. They are not at the top yet, and their bonus is still in the five-figure range.
After another three meters come the men in white coats and others in shirt sleeves.
There are also a few women in the group. The last lady entering the room gives him a stunningly refreshing smile that floats towards him like a silk handkerchief. The sober reception room is suddenly transformed into the gateway to the Garden of Eden.
Unfortunately, the door closes silently behind her. There is now a yawning emptiness inside him; a considerable vacuum arises. Does he suffer from yellow, blue, or black hiking fever?
«Hello, what's your name?»
This voice brings him back to reality; the receptionist has arrived.
For once, the reservation worked. The registration went smoothly, and he got room number 333.
As everybody knows, the number 333 is said to bring good luck. So, Swit-zerland will win the most crucial match this evening!
The 'show' in the hall next door started because loud alibi applause could be heard. He's glad he doesn't have to sit in there despite the apéritif and the subsequent banquet. Dressed as he now is, he could only take part as a clown.
This reminds him that a shower is more required than thinking about a circus career.
It is difficult to find the number 333, as it is the last one in the park. The room is okay, as is usual in Swiss motels.
The best thing is that it is on the first floor, which saves him from climbing stairs. He immediately opens the door on the south wall of the room. Only a few meters away is a brown brick wall of a large building, obviously a ware-house, because large neon signs flicker:
Kümmerlich & Knüsli, Warehouse and Transport.
Oh, this is the company that is holding the party here!
The filament in the two capital letters Ks is probably broken; they don't light.
He opens the room door; the somewhat stale air must be replaced immedi-ately. He removes his backpack and throws his shoes, socks, and other sweaty clothes on the stone slabs outside.
Furthermore, he showers, pulls back the blanket, stretches naked on his back, relaxes, breathes profoundly, and dreams for a moment, not from the 'survived' south face of the Born, but hopefully from the lady in black who is about three hundred meters away.
Does she remember him?
A well-known actor's voice wakes him up. It's the TV speaker’s voice from the television set next door.
What? It is already half past seven!
The evening nap lasted longer than programmed.
It was good. His new enthusiasm and hunger are noticeable. He gets dressed and looks in the mirror. Pride comes up; he sees a sporty-looking person.
His gait becomes self-confident again.
The restaurant isn't busy. There is also a small table near the entrance, which is good because he can see the reception room from there.
The lady in black must soon appear.
«What can I serve you?»
This voice brings him back down to Earth. He murmurs:
«Uh, no beer, an enormous bottle of mineral water, and a fitness dish.»
Mineral water and fitness dishes are available everywhere, so he doesn't have to consult a menu card. The waitress slips away without even looking at him, and, by the way, she is not worth looking at either.
He can't hear anything from the banquet hall. There, they are probably eat-ing steaks and drinking Bordeaux. Or is it only Schnitzel with French fries and 'Grapinger Beerli' wine?
The defective Ks on the facade at the company's headquarters led him to conclude that business is not going as expected.
«Hans, do not jump to conclusions; return to reality.»
This means the match will start soon. He makes himself comfortable on the bed. The screen is only seventeen inches wide. It flickers a bit, but only when a freight train thunders past. The reporter, 'Beni National' , speaks as usual. Also, as usual, is the what the Swiss are playing. When kicked by a Swiss, the ball flies over the crossbar even more often than those kicked by boys this afternoon.
The Russians are leading 3-0, and they will soon make their next one. And the ball is already in! But this is crystal clear: it is made from an offside po-sition! The black man at the line obviously waved the flag in the match
after the battle in the Teutoburg Forest . That was before the offside rule was introduced.
The impending defeat puts some of our national heroes out of balance. The match is over. Now, the usual 'throwing a lighter' at the opposing goalkeep-er. The referee leaves the place under police protection.
On TV, the trainer says emotionlessly what had to be expected:
«The others were just better. They also have more active soccer players than us. We fought well and lost, unfortunately. We know where we must improve. I won't say anything about the referees.»
Bread and games. (a saying)
Why do sports bring up so many emotions? For some, it is neither games nor bread; it is beer and riots. Has it always been like this?
He is not in the mood to find an answer because he is frustrated and tired. He turns off the TV and briefly opens the back door to let fresh air float into the room. He notices that it has started to rain and become significantly cooler. Ouch! Tomorrow, the 'Aquarius' will hike with him. His mood drops deeply, and he feels lousy.
Then, an irresistible sight grabs him! Of course, how could it be otherwise? It is caused by a creature of the opposite sex and by his congenital abnor-mality.
What is neatly lined up on a clothesline next door? Freshly washed feminine underwear with enchanting lace: most exciting female lingerie!
Breathtaking!
Forgotten is the dangerous south face of the Born, the long detour caused by the freeway, which blocked the direct route, and the laborious soccer kicking.
«Hans, think positively; you have so far met three marvelous ladies in black. You are the Jack of all trades and the Jack of all luck!»
And the roses bloom on the side of the path; we march, we march past. (from an old soldier song)
This now sounds in his ears. And it makes him sleep deeply.
Day 4: Egerkingen - Oensingen - Attisholz - Solothurn.
Today, again, there is no need for the alarm clock because the rain is pounding on the terrace window like the drummers’ drum rolls at the carnival in Basel. It makes the double bed appear even more comfortable and in-vites him to turn around again a thousand times. But, as said,
Rain, wind, we laugh about it! (from a hiking song)
Currently, he can't laugh. It's raining too heavily.
With a quick glance to the left, where thick raindrops run down the terrace window, he immediately notices that the lady who wore these adorable things hanging at the clothesline line next door has left.
The party in the banquet hall most likely ended in a very cheerful atmos-phere. The participants, or at least the valuable workers, are at work again. The lady in black from yesterday, too. She is most likely the executive sec-retary. Or at least she's the receptionist. She in her beauty!
As the first thing every morning, he takes the usual stuff: the obligatory bit-amin-effervescent tablets with minerals, iron, magnesium, and selenium. Again, the question of shaving doesn't arise today. In Solothurn, there is no need to seek a place to sleep. A permanently stationed caravan waits for him for one night. It belongs to one of his ex-girlfriends, and he got permis-sion to use it.
The key to the caravan is hopefully still in his shirt’s breast pocket. He checks this immediately. Luckily, it wasn't forgotten in Zurich.
He stuffs the backpack full and puts the water bottle and the dried apricots in the outside pockets. The backpack becomes less heavy because the first set of worn laundry is thrown into the wastebasket. For reasons of space and weight, only clothes that would anyway soon go the way where all tran-sient things are going were packed in Zurich.
At the restaurant, they serve a farmer's breakfast. On a blackboard are the prices stated, both in Swiss francs and in euros. He accepts it; it's within his budget. The hot coffee and the excellent orange juice are essential.
Then, he makes a quick tour around the long breakfast table to see what's available. He decides on:
• Two fried eggs with bacon.
• Fried potatoes.
• Several slices of toast with thick butter spread.
• Cheese.
• Salami.
• Yogurt.
• Fruit Salad.
Eat breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince, and dinner like a pau-per. (a saying)
Breakfast is charged to the credit card. He signs, as always, hardly readable but all the more energetically. Cash is only available sparsely for weight rea-sons, and credit cards are at least a sign of a certain solvency. A gloating:
«Have a good hike!»
is thrown at him by the ugly lady at the reception desk.
He throws the army raincoat over the shirt and trousers, then puts the back-pack and cape over everything. According to the advertisement, the cape is guaranteed to be waterproof.
He takes a deep breath and steps out into the 'flood', looking nostalgically back at the place of the third night.
The lady yesterday was just great! But:
Other mothers also have beautiful daughters. (a saying)
The motel disappears in the fog. Out of sight, out of mind! This isn't even remotely true because it's deeper inside him and more aggressive than he wants to admit.
What?
Of course, the lady from yesterday.
Under these weather conditions, hiking trails are not recommended. Hard, wet asphalt is the only possible option. Hopefully, there is a broad sidewalk.
No matter how wide the sidewalk, the meter-high waves created by vehicles with two, four, six, eight, ten, or even more rotating wheels will soon test his equipment for water tightness.
The lenses of his glasses become opaque and must be put in the left shirt pocket. There's nothing to be seen. The visual distance is about twenty me-ters. The Jura on the right can only be assumed because thick fog clouds hide its possible charm.
Fortunately, the cantonal road does not climb. He walks through a village. Only ghostly buildings can be seen, let alone a lingerie shop.
Millions of the earth's inhabitants don't have enough water. What falls in one day here would be enough for them for a month. And they could even take a shower every day. Is, what is now coming down on him so freely, really clean? For him, it's not relevant, but not for those who don't have water. Clean water has to be bought at a high price by those with a prosperity index of 0.5 Coke/h. Where is here:
God, the Righteous? (a question)
He should have asked the pastor in 'Grapingen'. But it didn't rain there.
He has often wasted time thinking about justice.
But now, he doesn't want to let his mind wander. It is enough that he has to ‘wander’ in this weather.
It's his fault; nobody told him to do this. But this bad weather is definitely not fair.
He walks on the left side of the street and does not draw attention to the vehicles in his direction. He is too busy trying to avoid the water waves sprayed by the cars approaching him. With a bit of practice, this is possible. Frequently, he must jump into the meadows or fields beside the street to avoid being overflown. It doesn't matter anymore; the shoes are dirty and soaked. But he keeps on walking.
Advice: If you're hiking, don't skimp on your shoes.
A black limousine comes from behind and stops on the right side of the street, just in front of him.
Oh, is it the criminal police?
He hasn't committed a crime yet!
Wading on the cantonal road from Egerkingen to Oensingen in pouring rain is not a crime. This morning:
• He did not leave the TV on.
• He didn't steal a bike.,
• He didn't stagger across a pedestrian crossing when the light was red.
• He didn't throw an empty beer can into the bush.
• Admiring unknown ladies in black is, to his knowledge, not a crime.
• The detour in Olten to the ‘Beldona’ shop’ was legal.
A man in a black raincoat, rain hat, and black umbrella gets out of the car and walks towards him. A friendly voice asks through the fog:
«Would you like a ride? Where do you have to go?»
Stubborn as he is, he says rudely, without stopping or looking at the men and replies:
«No! Thanks!»
But the man’s offer is generous. He should look more closely at the gentle man.
Wow, what a surprise! It is the pastor from 'Grapingen'.
The world is small, even if the route from Egerkingen to Oensingen seems endless.
The pastor smiles a bit, but his face looks sad. He has recognized him too and says, with a clergy member's emphasis, that he would, despite the weather, prefer to hike than have to drive for a funeral service at Lake Neu-châtel.
The pastor must have seen his questionable face, and then he continues to explain.
His brother-in-law, who was only 50 years old, died of AIDS . The man was the father of two children.
Being a pastor is definitely not a dream job!
The two men, who have very different professions, look into each other’s eyes. Between the pastor and him is a fundamental understanding. It appears that the two men are of the same age.
He urgently would like to start a discussion about justice, God, and the world.
But not under these terrible meteorological conditions. There's no barn roof nearby, and the pastor has an urgent appointment.
They wish each other a nice day, a pleasant trip, and better weather.
The pastor returns to the car, the door closes, and the limousine slowly re-turns to the street.
In the passenger seat, he sees a middle-aged woman of rather broad stature and dressed all in black. She waves gently at him.
The pastor was seemingly very thoughtful and sad, which is entirely under-standable.
Fate has struck. Why? And when will it hit him? What will the immediate future bring?
The past doesn't let us go; the future worries us, so we can't enjoy the present. (unknown author)
There is nowhere a dry place to sit. Some fancy buildings labeled Rotary Club, Relais des Gourmands, Château des Connaisseurs, and similar names can be recognized in the fog. These houses are entirely unsuitable for a whol-ly soaked 'roadrunner ' who only wants a cup of coffee.
But here comes a slight chance to get a coffee. A small restaurant appears. There are only a few people in there. Who goes out of the house in such weather? Just those who must.
The café has a large entrance hall, large enough for him to take off the rain covers and the backpack and leave them in a corner. He cleans his dirty shoes for a long time. Then he sneaks into the café and prays, hoping not to be kicked out right away.
That's not the case; the waitress greets him in a friendly manner. After she looks at him more closely, she seems to be surprised. For once, he didn’t care about the service employee’s mood, how she was looking, and how she was dressed.
This coffee break is urgently needed. He sits at a corner table next to the entrance and relaxes.
And why not take a look at the newspaper lying on a table? On the front page, he reads:
• Yesterday, the Swiss played ‘cucumber’ soccer. He doesn't contradict.
• The coach should go.
He has read this so many times before.
• Floods in Burgundy, flood alarm in Thun
Given this weather, it is not a surprise.
Not a word about yesterday's Kümmerlich & Knüsli company party. This event is certainly not earth-shattering. But it is important to him. By now, the reader knows this.
«Hans, you better read the weather forecast than cultivate your illusions.»
Right, so he reads the weather report that says:
A massive low-pressure era reached the northern foot of the Jura. It is weak-ening and will bring better weather to Western Switzerland; behind it follows a high-pressure situation from the Azores.
Pleasant weather mostly comes from there.
A shy look through the front window also brings more confidence. The deep, dark gray has become a lighter grayish.
The lower layer of safety rain protection, the army raincoat, is still dry, so the description of the expensive poncho was, for once, correct. It passed the water test brilliantly.
The raincoat is tucked under the backpack's lid. The top shirt button is opened and the glasses are cleaned and put back on. He is open to new adventures.
Back on the road, he sees the entrance to the Jura valleys on the right. The fog banks are now hanging much higher, so he can admire the vast castle at the top of a hill. It's probably the residence of Mr. von Roll . Steel from this man's mills was once exported worldwide. What might still be produced there today is beyond his knowledge. Most likely nothing.
Oberbipp and Niederbipp are passed one after the other. The villages are very close together in this central part of Switzerland.
Outside the villages, speeds over 50 km/h are again permitted. Of course, this only applies to vehicles.
His mood is getting better because a yellow hiking trail sign with the letters: To the Aare appears. It even points in the right direction to the west.
Ah, it's good to leave the asphalt and the splashing puddles. The path is waterlogged but passable. It leads slightly downhill through the meadows that have become even deeper green from the rain. No cows or other animals are in sight.
His steps are becoming faster; almost nothing is falling from the sky anymore. Not even the parking lot for army vehicles at the Wiedlisbach freeway exit, which is now visible from the distance, can dampen the good mood that comes up.
Today, the parking lot is empty. The soldiers will most likely take theoretical driving lessons or practice installing snow chains.
The sun slowly, but surely, makes its appearance. Since the intermezzo with the pastor, his mood has turned 180 degrees in a better direction. He returns to the other side of the river through an underpass under the freeway. The tunnel is made of cold, indestructible concrete. Being in a
bomb-proof bunker brings a certain level of security. He hopes never to need such protection. But one never knows. He doesn't trust the human beings. A crazy dictator at the top of a powerful nation: This risk is still hanging like the sword of Damocles over the earth.
The freeway is friendly. It curves to the left, away from him. The path is again well-maintained. Water, when it flows horizontally, is very calming; it makes walking easier.
A little further, it goes up steeply. It puts him on a defiant hill. A handsome, castle-like building sits proudly at the top. He has a beautiful view of the river landscape and the vast factories opposite. Why are their windows broken? Are they no longer in operation?
Wood is lying everywhere in vast piles, like enormous tree trunks in the rivers in the north. The village of Attisholz must be very close to here.
Nomen et omen. (a saying)
Here is wood processing at home. Wood is a recyclable, precious raw mate-rials shamelessly mined in the Amazon and Africa and exported to the Coke/h-rich countries, among other things, to produce paper such as bank-notes.
He once had a wild nightmare. A disgusting variant of a virus, an absolutely unpredictable byproduct of genetic manipulation, quickly ate up all the paper in the world: documents, securities, tax returns, promissory notes, wills, and birth and death certificates.
It's not so bad; it's all archived on indestructible electronic media. But the virus also destroys all the banknotes!
For most of the two-legged, non-flying 'earth crust inhabitants', this doesn't matter; they don't have any.
Today, paper is only needed for newspapers. Books are 'out'; they are no longer read. The required information is now displayed on the PC monitor, tablet, and smartphone. Messages are sent via computer and as short as possible. Longer sentences are tiring and, therefore, not in use anymore. An exception is this crazy book.
It reminds him to control his 'papers': the plastic cards in his wallet. You nev-er know if one of those has disappeared in the heat of his previous battles. A march stop is also due. He's thirsty again.
All the cards are still here.
The most important and only used one so far is the Golden Master Credit Card.
Because of all the plastic cards, the wallet is so full that it puts pressure on his thighs when he moves, not because of the little hard money and certainly not because of the few banknotes.
All the paper in his wallet is still here. The evil 'paper-destroying' virus was just a dreadful dream.
He's not in Solothurn yet, but he is getting closer. Pedestrians and cyclists appear as typical signs that a denser civilization can soon be expected.
The first houses of Solothurn are in sight.
Unfortunately, according to his ex-girlfriend's description, the campsite is at the town’s western end. He still has a few tedious kilometers ahead of him.
Those who crossed him have done their work for today. The streets are bus-tling: schoolchildren with cell phones on their ears, women with strollers and filled shopping bags, others without anything, younger and older, no lady dressed in black. Most ladies wear trousers, and those in skirts always have a headscarf over their heads. They are Muslims from the Balkan or the Near East. Business types in black suits, with red ties and black briefcases in their hands, and others without such but on scooters. Shirt-sleeved workers rush towards the more or less well-deserved end of their workday.
The city is long, especially when you already have more than 25 kilo-meters under your shoes.
The attractive female lingerie shops are exceptionally ignored.
He finally gets to the camping place. It is enormous and very well-maintained.
A pair of eyes from the kiosk at the entrance, female or male, he can't tell, follow him as he staggers past. It's probably the camp supervisor, and his job is to check who is coming in.
He is approved. His 'ex' most likely told the camp supervisor that a crazy guy would come, and they shouldn't arrest him immediately.
The trailer in question is on the far western edge of the camp, but it is there.
Exceptionally, the key fits. He goes up the steps, more crawling than walk-ing. Then he throws the backpack in a corner, gets off his shoes, and sits on a step of the little stairway in front of the narrow entrance door.
The ten minutes of relaxation felt good. The following inspection of the loca-tion is satisfactory. 'Location' is wildly exaggerated; it's just a narrow, now dark, room. He manages to lift the roller shutter with difficulty and opens the only window. This was urgently necessary; the air in there is from last year.
«Hans, don't lie down now! You would immediately fall asleep!»
In the basic military training, he adamantly learned that readiness to march the next day must first be established.
This also includes personal hygiene, which is drastically needed because he stinks of sweat.
What, no running water in the van?
That was a stupid question; he's at a campsite. He was informed that an out-door shower facility is located a few meters away.
On this tour, a swimming suit is not required, so he goes out in underpants. There isn't a soul in sight.
Unfortunately, no ladies!
He now requires food. Where? Of course, at the campsite kiosk.
Nobody is in the sparse dining room, which is reminiscent of a ski hut. A ski hut would be lined with wood. Plastic is popular here, cheaper, and does its job. A piece of paper with some handwriting lies on a table. It is probably the menu card. He deciphers:
• Sausage salad with cheese.
• Bread.
• Green salad, large portion.
Sounds good; he'll order it.
«It's self-service here!»
The multifunctional camping place boss suddenly stands behind him.
He, the death-tired hiker, takes one of the already worn plastic trays, puts on no beer but a lot of water and the sausage salad on the tray, and sits down. There is no information about the origin of the meat, and he doesn't care. It is certainly from an animal, possibly a pig or cow.
It is still a bright day; the sun has not yet disappeared.
But, for him, a nap is definitely due. He leaves the caravan door open and lies on the bed. This bed was not only used for sleeping. Nevertheless, he immediately falls asleep.
Back to reality, he sees a clear sky filled with stars. The evening nap had a delightful effect: the spirits of life make themselves present. A mild breeze floods through and refreshes what could be the ‘soul'.
It must be a night without a moon because he cannot see one. It is a night for stargazers. Who he is not.
e is now sitting on the doorsteps again, marveling at the starry sky that is said to have been created millions of years ago.
How insignificant everything earthly is in this light. (Quote from the au-thor)
Can any human brain even grasp these dimensions? You must be an astron-omer or elementary particle researcher to understand the cosmos. But do they really understand the macrocosm and the microcosm? He doubts it very much.
«Hans, look at the sky and leave the research to those called upon to do
it!»
So, he looks at the sky. There are many stars there, many more than can be admired from his balcony in Zurich.
Unfortunately, not even a tiny meteorite can be seen. It's said that when you see a meteorite, your wishes will come true.
He has wishes, but they will remain dreams without a meteorite in sight. Something flashing reddish moves towards the edge of the horizon. Is it an Airbus from Basel heading somewhere east? To a beautiful holiday beach, to Thailand, the Seychelles, or the Maldives?
Unlikely towards a desert.
Surprisingly, he was not yet sent there today.
Unless his provoking remark about deforestation had brought it.
He breathes deeply, and the air is stimulating and fresh. On a full moon, his libido spins like an elementary particle, and fluid waves penetrate the brain.
The full moon's effect and its psychological influence on humans, especially dogs and men, have yet to be explained by neurobiologists, gurus, and so on.
Does the word libido come from love? Or the other way around? The second 'event' also takes place in the head, not in the heart, as was believed in the Middle Ages and before. According to current knowledge, the latter 'only' functions like a pump, even if it sometimes 'knocks', not just due to physical stress.
«Hans, don’t try to analyze the two with 'L’ beginning abstract terms.»
He's exhausted enough and needs to go to bed urgently. Tomorrow, there is again a ‘must’ of 30 kilometers: Solothurn-Biel.
Before he closes the caravan door, he looks upward again. Maybe a mini-comet will have mercy on him and bring him luck.
Oh! What is there? Not a meteorite, but something even more impossible!
Just a few meters away, in the shower area, there is a female figure. This can clearly be seen despite the relative darkness. She stands under the shower, not in a black bikini.
No, naked!
She seems to be thoroughly enjoying herself, dancing her pirouettes like a prima ballerina in the last act of the Swan Lake Ballet by Tchaikovsky.
Doesn't she look at him? Does she wave at him?
Moments that should be endless! Time, please, please, stop to go on!
But, like everything wonderful, this 'Fata Solothurna' ends too soon. The dancing lady slips gracefully, like a kitten, into a tiny bivouac tent and leaves the darkness behind in its totality.
He takes another deep breath, closes the door, and opens it again. Maybe the lady takes an 'after-shower'?
In reality, a buzzing mosquito brings him back to the earth.
And, oh, he forgot to call his ex-girlfriend. He'll do it right now. He says:
«Everything is okay, and thank you again. And, oh yes, there are mosquitoes here. Do they bite?»
He is reassured that this is not the case and, by the way, normal. There is a spray against mosquitoes somewhere, and he should not forget to close the windows and doors tomorrow.
The yellow can with the mosquito killer is not difficult to find; the camper is very narrow, and there are only a few items in it.
After a short, concentrated spray against the mosquito, he puts on his track-suit, flops onto the mattress, and falls asleep. He falls into wonderful dreams and cuddles tenderly with today's miraculous creature in a small bivouac.
Day 5: Solothurn - Grenchen - ‘Pub’ - Biel.
Today, again, there is no need for an alarm clock. It bites him terribly on the back of his left hand. A mosquito beast hums, emitting sounds at their high-est frequency. He gets this when he sleeps and does not hide his hands un-der the army blanket! So, the stuff from Ciba-Ceigy to kill mosquitoes has failed.
The day starts lousy!
But there is a deep-seated memory of the figurine from late yesterday even-ing!
He opens the door abruptly and peers, hopeful, towards the shower and mini-bivouac.
The tent has disappeared from the earth’s surface!
He woke up too late! This mosquito should have struck sooner! The beautiful dancer escaped from the mosquito plague earlier than he did.
He fears that a lousy curse was thrown at him. Everything beautiful disap-pears without being seen again: the ladies in Baldegg, Schönenwerd, Egerk-ingen and now in Solothurn!
The mini-bivouac is now over the mountains, hopefully to those who are west of here. Then there would be a chance to meet her again.
«Hans, it would help if you didn't make an elephant out of a mosquito. And forget the Prima Ballerina.»
Brushing the teeth and showering are carried out in parallel. Getting dressed and looking around for breakfast are done in series. The only place to get food here is the campsite snack bar.
It is still closed, so he returns to the mini caravan, cleans it, packs the back-pack, checks the windows, and locks the door.
How about shaving today? The caravan is not equipped with electricity; there-fore, the procedure must be canceled. The 'Philishave' is at the end of its cutting ability anyway and must be disposed of today.
Looking for a hotel today, unshaven? It's only half as bad. In Biel, he knows a place to sleep from the time he was working there. So, he can show up unshaven. This relatively well-priced hotel might still have its data on the computer.
The razor disappears in the left pocket, ready to be thrown away.
The camping kiosk is now open, and the man behind the bar is the same as yesterday. This is good; he can immediately ask what his ‘being here’ costs.
Disappearing from here without paying would make him feel guilty. Accom-modation and using the sanitary facilities cost nothing; they are included in the caravan’s parking fee.
His departure seems to calm and relieve the camp manager.
Why? Why doesn't anyone trust him? He cannot harm a mosquito, let alone a fly. This isn't true because he almost became a mosquito killer yesterday.
The camp master’s suspicious look may have to do with the visible bulge in the pants above his left thigh. It looks like there's a small revolver hidden there. The shaver must disappear as soon as possible before the police are called.
But now, a bit of luck. There is a collection point for reusable materials after the exit. He quickly glances around, and the shaver flies in a high arc into the container for aluminum. But does it really belong in there?
«Hans, ugh!»
This spontaneous, thoughtless 'act' strains his sensitive conscience already in the early morning.
But physical relief is felt. The trousers are 500 grams lighter,
His mood is rising. A precursor of the Azores high appears to have reached Lake Biel. The weather is just perfect. These facts encourage him to take longer steps; the obligatory muscle soreness becomes bearable, and he no longer feels the mosquito bite.
He is soon on the right hiking trail to Grenchen-Süd. He meets walkers with and without dogs, bikers, and groups of pensioners. But soon, he is all alone in the wide, open landscape.
The brain waves and the brain cells, which are not required for hiking, becom-ing active and will inevitably risk the next subsequent expulsion into a desert.
Where did he stop yesterday evening?
The topics of the universe, black holes, unknown matter, and elementary particles are too complex for an early morning. They can wait until he ap-proaches CERN at Meyrin GE, the European Nuclear Research Institute.
Will science ever find an answer? It is his full conviction: no, never! Billions in whatever currency will be spent for research.
Those with a low Coke/h index could have used the money better. They are not interested in hadrons, protons, neutrons, and other elementary particles like quarks and the like. They would be much better off with good-quality, clean, and affordable dairy quark.
«Hans, please stop using such phrases; the desert awaits you.»
So, he stops thinking and hikes. His steps are firm and controlled, but he doesn’t step on the fat, grass-green toad that hops over the way. So far, he hasn't encountered wild animals on his hike. But he has encountered a black cat, a half-wild dog, and a bloodthirsty mosquito.
Aha, he is now near Altreu . Where there are storks, there are also frogs, toads, and babies.
What kind of omen is it when a toad runs over your path?
And why doesn't the zodiac sign ‘toad’ not exist? Or a monkey, a fly a
mosquito, a wasp, a snake, or a vulture? The existing signs cancer and scor-pions are not less sympathetic.
Sorry, the author didn’t mean to offend the people born with those signs.
The zodiac signs are one of the most popular topics in a conversation be-tween humans is, especially when one is trying to start an acquaintance, friendship, or more profound relationship with a person of the opposite sex. The supposed zodiac sign-specific characteristics are attributes that are deeply imprinted in society. However, such qualifications are not scientifically proven.
What the heck, you can so wonderfully chat about it. And when you always hear and read that the sign ‘x' has the properties 'qvw', and the sign 'y' has the qualities 'xyz', it becomes an unshakable fact, science or not.
Especially when your attributes are considered positive.
If a horoscope is not uplifting, then you can always read the ‘counter-horoscope in another magazine.
His school teacher once taught him the difference between astronomy and astrology: the latter comes from lying. Either way, belief in them will not be eradicated, nor will superstition.
Faith makes you happy. (a saying)
For these thoughts about astrology, those who believe in it will treat him like a lousy mosquito.
The theme of astrology brings animalistic thirst. The first two hours flew by quickly, like the Airbus that roared to the Orient yesterday. He prefers to be here in no-man's-land than to be squeezed into an airplane.
But it's time to look around for a place to sit. As always, those are not in sight when he needs them.
A violent dog barking shakes him up. Events are brewing!
A post-modern, elegant building with a four-star restaurant is in sight. It is wonderfully located in a large garden and certainly mosquito-free. The empty tables invite him to stay. He sits at the park’s far edge, puts the backpack on the grass, stretches his legs, and is in a good mood.
Not for long!
A grumpy waiter in a black tailcoat and a black tie hurries toward him. The guy looks like a figure on the German play cards.
«You immediately disappear!»
That was clear. Even as it was spoken with a bizarre accent. The gestures accompanying the shouted words were threatening.
Should he pull out his golden credit card? It won't help. He now considers hanging the card around his neck like a name tag. Precisely to forestall such incidents.
He rushes away before one of the suddenly appearing fighting dogs is commanded to chase him.
But the thirst hasn't gone away, and today's first interval came much later than planned. He was too long in the stars. But the march must go on, and there will be an opportunity to sit somewhere.
A look back, this time in advanced anger, at the place of humiliation. In his rage, he didn't hear the faint sound of an arriving car. Fortunately, the car stops just in time before running over him.
Aha: Rolls-Royce! That's why it is so quiet.
Now, the thirst is wholly gone! The front door of the car opens silently, as befits a Rolls-Royce. The liveried chauffeur exits and opens the rear door with a skillful, long-practiced movement.
Black shoes appear with high, but not provocative, heels and perfectly shaped legs in fine black stockings. All his organs responsible for the rele-vant hormones are at the highest production level, and he vibrates.
Are the small, delicate smiles, the brief, friendly flash of her eyes, and the movement of her dainty hand giving a tiny wave a pure fantasy?
In broad daylight, his movements became somnambulistic.
Over the next few kilometers, he felt no hunger or thirst. But now he stumbles over a wild rootstock that crosses the path, and he almost falls flat.
Rude awakening! Rarely was he so brutally torn from a most beautiful dream.
But the awakening was necessary. Soon, he would have dried up and fainted. There is nothing left but to sit in the nearest meadow, and he gulps down a liter of water in one go. Calorie reforestation is also badly needed; fortunate-ly, he hasn’t run out of dried apricots yet.
As if he walked at night in broad daylight, he paid no attention to the sign-post. He has most likely passed Grenchen-Süd, including its airport.
It doesn't matter; the straight path still leads to the west, as evidenced by the sun's position. The path becomes a path for scouts and then becomes noth-ing whatsoever. There are no houses or anything like that to be seen. But the direction is correct, which is west. There are still around 180 kilometers ahead of him, adventure included.
And hopefully, there will be dozens more variations of the lady he just met.
But suddenly, he is completely lost. There is no path to follow. A stub of a freeway under construction blocks the way.
So, he goes to the right, along a rapeseed field.
Where there is a will, there is a way. (a saying)
His will to get to Biel is still intact.
He comes near a farm, including the usual barking of dogs. A chain limits the dog’s protection function, so there is a chance to not get bitten.
Usually, there is a path leading away from a farm. This is, fortunately, also the case here. The path’s general direction is to the west, which is also okay. Other farms, ordinary houses, and all kinds of buildings are in sight; he ap-proaches a more densely inhabited piece of the earth's surface.
But where in the heck is he?
A sign indicating this village's name does not exist. He must have used a side road.
He now sees railway tracks. Where there are railway tracks, there will usually be a train station. Next to the train station, there is usually a restaurant. This is also the case in the indefinable Bernese Seeland province. A restaurant at a train station is always good and more important than the train station itself.
The door to the pub is open, and the hallway is dark. A wave of garlic and stale beer smell almost throws him back into the fresh air. But the desire for a coffee, not one with schnapps, is more substantial; he dares to enter.
Inside, it is only slightly less dark than in the hallway. There are no farmers or other people to be seen. The round slate table, with the obligatory wrought iron ashtray in the middle and the giant bronze bell above, is covered with larger and smaller empty beer glasses.
Every evening, the typical round-table get-together takes place here. Swiss German, perhaps with a pleasantly audible French accent, is spoken here. The volume, tone, and banality of what is said here are the same everywhere else in the world. Every guest talks louder than the other, everyone knows everything better, and everyone is convinced that his opinion is the only right one.
Against stupidity, the Gods themselves struggle in vain. (a saying)
A ‘female God’ is badly needed here. To clean the inventory, especially the floor. But it isn't urgent. Those with the privilege to sit at the round table give more weight to cold beer, sausage salad, and waitresses in mini-skirts than to cleanliness.
Meanwhile, he sits at a reasonably tidy table close to the entrance, just to be prepared for an immediate expulsion.
This is not the case.
A waitress, alias the ‘female God’, comes closer toward him and says with a sympathetic smile:
«What can I serve you?»
That surprises him. Dressed like a vagabond, he is not used to such a lovely melody. He whispers:
«A coffee, please!»
She brings the coffee. She cleans the table with a certain elegance and a lousy piece of textile and then puts the coffee on the table. Her movements are safe. She smiles at him, looks into his eyes, and despite his shabby ap-pearance, seems to appreciate him. By looking closer at her, he starts to like her, too. She is pretty and sexy.
Following a spontaneous, mischievous thought, he goes, still carrying the backpack, through dark corridors to the toilet for men. At the door is also written ‘Men’, not ‘Gentlemen’. The toilet is tight, and everything else than superb. He is in a hurry as a very strong urinary urgency comes up.
But the real reason for going to the toilet is not the bladder.
In the top backpack pocket is his IWC . An authentic, rare gold watch, a gift from a well-heeled, always poorly dressed ex-girlfriend. He took the jewel with him on the trip as an iron reserve when neither plastic, paper, nor coins are accepted for payments. Gold is one of the few timeless values. Just ask Goethe’s Dr. Faust .
The watch is worth several thousand euros. The IWC replaces the cheap plas-tic multipurpose gear at his left underarm.
Bluffing isn't his style. But now, it’s tolerated. He wants to impress the
serving lady.
Back at the restaurant, he hopes that there will soon be action. As
majestically as possible, after the 20-kilometer-long march today, he walks back to his place. On the left arm is the sleeve rolled up.
She is waiting for him, sits at his table in a strikingly graceful manner, and gently lifts her skirt. She moves the shabby chair closer to his, positions her breasts in an attack position, and winks her eyebrows. It appears that she is confident that she will succeed.
Most men love female animation. But not he. He is, as known, slightly ‘crazy’ but honest. He confesses that he prefers ladies who walk around in black lace underskirts the whole day and will bring him a good cup of coffee at three o’clock in the morning at the bed. And they should be easy to care for, undemanding, do not hold grudges, and who do not ‘poison’.
The lady here is not a ‘slut’; she is something between a fairy and a witch.
There is nobody in here, so there is no need to whisper, but she does:
«Stranger here. Where do you come from? Where are you going today
?
Do you already have a hotel? There is a very nice room available here.»
Prince of Hell, leave me! (Martin Luther)
This seductively presented offer reminds him that he has to sleep somewhere today and that he is not yet in Biel.
It is becoming clear that his stay in the pub will be much longer than pro-grammed, so he will not make it to Biel in time. Therefore, he must
urgently take precautions and call the hotel in Biel.
He stammers an apology and goes outside. He wants the serving lady not to hear his conversation.
After a closer look at his agenda, he finds the hotel's telephone number. He dials the number on his cell phone. As usual, a monotone artificial voice re-sponds, and, also as usual, he is in a waiting queue. He listens to Vivaldi for minutes before a human voice comes up. He answers with his name and asks for a free room. The response is very liberating.
«Yes, we still have your name on the customer list. Yes, rooms are available. After 10 p.m., you must call the night porter by telephone at the entrance door.»
For once, he had his guardian angel and the luck of the brave. The ‘angel’ in the pub will find another one who will not run away so quickly.
And now he badly needs a beer!
Wait, beer is only permitted at Café de la Place!
Resolutions must be adhered to, even in extreme situations. But it is allowed to offer the serving lady a drink. The answer to his offer comes in a flash:
«A glass of Champagne, thanks!»
Even faster, a filled glass is next to his coffee cup.
«I'm Greti, and you?»
Hänsel and Gretchen is a fairy tale for children. She is not for him!
Even if he is a jack of all trades, he has to avoid sins. She must have noticed this.
«Can I have another glass, Darling?»
That was more of a command than a question. Yes, but the last one. It has always been easier for him to say yes than no.
It wasn't his final 'yes' to the same question. After the fifth glass of Cham-pagne, he knew the entire story of her life.
Alert level one! One minute longer here, and the devil would have won. He disappears like a beaten dog into the profane reality.
The sun disappeared; it is already dark.
There is a yellow signpost in the twilight where he can read: Biel/Bienne SBB 2 hours.
He thinks thoroughly. Something with Greti doesn’t add up.
Her gestures were those of an actress, and her sentences became increasing confident and sensible throughout the conversation. He now soberly analyzes her behavior, and he concludes that she played theater.
She must be very attractive when:
• Her hair is washed.
• Her complexion is well-groomed.
• Having a discreet make-up.
• Elegantly dressed.
He dreams:
• She is dressed almost entirely in black.
• Her stockings from the boutique are without drop stitches.
• Her pointed-heels shoes are from Bally .
• Herr Deux-Piece from Dior fits as if tailor-made.
• Her white blouse is from Seiden-Grieder .
• She wears a diamond necklace and a watch from Bucherer .
In his imagination, she would surpass all the beauties he had encountered so far. To be his number one, she doesn’t need a Rolls-Royce.
«Hans, stop dreaming. You are not yet in Biel.»
Yes. To move forward, he needs profound breathing, complete concentra-tion, and the ultimate mobilization of the rest of his remaining forces. First, he passes a small forest. Harbingers of a bigger city are in sight! Columbus could not have been more pleased when he discovered America than he is now.
Warehouses, factories, shopping malls, and office buildings are passed. The number of people in the streets is increasing, the roads are narrowing, and the city center is nearby. He believed he could immediately find the hotel with no outside help. But the reality is once again brutal: the buildings all look the same.
«Hans, jump over your shadow and ask someone!»
Proud and stubborn as he is, he initially rejects this idea. But then a 'someone' with a black, pointed cap approaches him. A gaunt figure with firm steps, a tall garden gnome.
«Excuse me, can you tell me where I can find the Hotel Central?»
In the broadest Bernese German, the gnome knows nothing.
The next 'someone' is a woman in a light black trench coat. It hasn't rained all day! It's impossible to tell whether she's wearing skirt or trousers under her coat. He asks the same question he had thrown at the dwarf in vain a minute ago.
«Five hundred meters straight ahead, then fifty meters to the right, left again, and then you will see a pizzeria, and then you are there.»
Wow, that was an exact, accurate statement. The lady probably works for air traffic control. An encouraging smile is included in the information.
He thanks her politely. She glanced back at him mischievously, showing a delicate hand clutching a big yellow book.
She waves at him before she disappears.
The hotel is reached. For once, the night guard is on hand, and check-in is easy. To get to his room, he has to struggle through long, narrow corridors. It is hollow in here, and the ceiling is high. The building must have been a royal residence earlier.
It doesn’t matter. He has a roof over his head, a bed under his back, and running water over his head; his body and the world is back on track.
Hunger? Almost forgotten. Oh, it's nearly 10 p.m.!
He goes to the nearby pizzeria; there's a chance to get warm food. That's right; there's
• No beer.
• Water.
• Green Salad.
• Pizza ‘Diabolo’.
Not the same ‘Diabolo’ who has tried to trick him several times today. But the devil didn't have any bread up to this point. So far, he, the hiker, leads the match by a score of 7:0.
He now eats the spicy ’Diabolo’.
The room key also opens the front door. Darkness reigns everywhere, again, as usual. But he finds the room, brushes his teeth, puts on the tracksuit alias pajama, lays flat on his back, and is 'gone'. As if on a bed of roses, he falls into a deep sleep without dreaming of barking dogs, mosquitoes, or quack-ing toads.
It’s better to dream about the three extraordinary ladies today:
• The noble female aristocrat with the Rolls-Royce.
• Greti, the question mark.
• The lady from air traffic control.
The day was, therefore, not too bad.
Day 6: Biel - Le Landeron - ‘Petri Heil’ - ‘Snobingen’.
Even today, Saturday, the alarm clock doesn't wake him up. This time, an unusual pressure on his left wrist did it.
How did the IWC get there?
The film from yesterday flickers through his half-awake upper half and makes something in the under-half inflate.
The IWC is immediately carefully cleaned. He promises not to use it care-lessly in a frivolous game.
The cold water under the shower shakes him completely awake. Today is another full working day.
An inspection of the eatable and drinkable belongings alerts. They must be renewed urgently. Tomorrow is Sunday, and until Geneva, there is no larger town for more extensive shopping.
He goes down through the corridor's labyrinth without looking at the en-trance to the room next door. Nothing in black hangs on the doorknob but a cardboard plaque with the letters: Clean the room/Nettoyer la chambre.
In the breakfast room, he is greeted by a biblical catastrophe: a ‘long dry-ness ’. The 'catastrophe' is female and might have served Giacometti as a model for an iron sculpture. She wears her hair of an unrecognizable color twisted into a bun. Her name is Kunigunde. He can read this on her name tag.
She politely asks what he would like to drink, and if he has any special wishes.
He wants a three-minute egg, hot coffee and orange juice. The order is ac-cepted with a nod, and the long dryness is not to be feared for the moment because she hurries towards the kitchen.
After five minutes, the coffee and the egg arrived on time. The buffet table is loaded as usual for a middle-class business hotel.
He eats, drinks, and says thanks. Then he hurries back to his room and stuffs the backpack. The 'counter-rain items' are placed at the bottom; the day promises to be beautiful and hot. The food and drinks packed in Zurich are now entirely gone, and the backpack's weight is noticeably more portable. The hiking boots are cleaned a little by hand: he is, at least for a while, in a clean city, so the shoes must also be so.
There is a city map downstairs, near the lobby. A large red dot marks the hotel's location. It is close to the center. There will be an approxi-mately one-hour walk to the town’s western edge.
To get there public transport is available.
«Beelzebub, leave me! Otherwise, you'll get a flower vase between your horns!»
Such a vase stands before the window and is, therefore, ready to be used. The devil must have seen this and disappeared with crackling teeth.
The long dryness, which hopefully will never happen, wishes him a safe journey. She speaks in a difficult-to-understand Valais dialect.
He starts the march.
The city has an active life, and the nearby shopping center is crowded with people.
He immediately wants to take the escalator to the basement, where the food department is typically located. Then he remembers that ‘re-fueling’ with cash is overdue. Triggered by the blue plastic card, the ATM spits out three blue bills. His account is not overdrawn; the AHV has paid, so he is not yet bankrupt.
The cash should be enough to get to Meyrin; if not, there are more ATMs in Switzerland than red dogs.
The food department is in the basement and is the size of a soccer field. At the entrance are many varieties of tomatoes, red like the Swiss national soccer team's uniform. Furthermore, there are tons of green cucumbers. Looking at this vegetable immediately evokes con-nections with the Swiss team at the soccer match on Wednesday.
First, much more important than the lost soccer match, is to shop. He needs:
• Dried apricots in a multipack,
• Thinly sliced dried meat from the Swiss Mountains.
• Two large bottles of mineral water.
• The inevitable effervescent vitamin tablets.
In a store he hasn’t been to before, it’s always difficult to find the vitamin. Therefore, he asks a saleswoman in an orange blouse and long brown pants. The lady looks at him with pity, doesn't say a word, gives him a resolute blow to the loin, and points with the hand to his back.
There!»
And the vitamin tablets are right there, just behind his back! He also needs:
• The cheapest disposable razor blades.
• The smallest possible amount of shaving foam.
• The smallest tube of sun cream.
Greti, the lady in black from yesterday, seemed to have liked him unshav-en. Was it just the IWC?
«Hans, forget her!»
But he should not forget to complete his shopping. What else is required? Nothing; his backpack's capacity is limited. But a temptation arises. Why not take a quick walk through the women's underwear department?
«Hans, pull yourself together; you must go to Neuchâtel today.»
True! He's not on vacation, and the target is still far off.
At the exit of the department store, there are tables with low-priced sales
promotion articles. Three T-shirts made in China for ten francs! They are bought immediately. He could make acquaintances with ladies who won't appreciate a sweaty shirt. When you purchase three T-shirts, you get a free red tie. Fine, but is a red tie really useful on the hike?
You don't look a gift horse in the mouth. (a saying)
All the bought articles fit in the backpack, and now it’s hiking time again.
After half an hour, he reaches Lake Biel. Its beautiful blue and gentle waves are calming. The hiking trail around the lake is ideal.
The lake’s western end can be seen, but it is far away. To the right are steep vineyards. The vines will soon be in full juice. It looks like the 'Lake Biel Drop' will be good this year. In the 1950s, Biel was considered the city of the future.
Biel is checked off for him.
Not yet. It had to return as surely as the Amen in church. What is this? Of course, the thought processes. Another of his provocative thoughts comes up.
This place once flourished when watchmaking and precision mechanics boomed. Why didn't this area and, in fact, the whole of Switzerland not develop and produce IT equipment? The infrastructure would have been there, along with the know-how to develop and manufacture sophisticated precision mechanical devices such as card readers, printers, magnetic tape stations, magnetic drums, and disk storage units. Why was Switzer-land not involved in building computers, supercomputers, PCs, etc.?
Is this not a good question?
Switzerland was ready to become a 'Swiss IT Valley ’.
Was it because the leading Swiss industrials believed in the uniqueness and technical leadership of their watches, generators, turbines, web- and knitting machines, and similar products? Where was the proven industrial foresight of people like:
• Escher.
• Sulzer.
• Guyer-Zeller.
• Bucher.
• Hofmann-La Roche,
• G.W. Fischer.
• Chevrolet.
And so on.
In the late 1950s, the ETH in Zurich built one of the first computers in Eu-rope. The scientific computer builder Professor Eduard Stiefel tried un-successfully to mobilize the Swiss industry to design computers.
No comments from the author.
While surfing virtually through the history of the 'von Neumann machines'46, he nearly fell asleep in broad daylight. He reaches the end of the lake. He admires the mirror-smooth water surface for the last time.
Drink, oh eye, as much as you can of the abundance of the world. (Gottfried Keller)
Abundance only exists for the fewest.
He now passes a pretty gate that leads to a pretty little town, probably Le Landeron. Whatever it is doesn’t matter. He needs a place with publicly ac-cessible sanitary installations as soon as possible. The water inside his body needs to be released urgently.
Fortunately, a restaurant appears.
He throws the backpack onto the gravel in a flash and disappears into the house.
This is not polite, but it's urgent. And, as usual, the ladies’ toilet is on the first floor. For the gentlemen, it is downstairs and around seven corners. At the very last moment, salvation in the form of a toilette is reached.
From now on, he vows to pay more preventative attention to these human needs.
Well, things are going better again. Freed, he sits down at a table on the lo-cal terrace, takes a deep breath, and studies the menu list. A half-stooped female figure of the 'Madame la Patronne' variety approaches with a highly disgruntled expression.
A look at the consumption of the other guests shows that white wine is 'in' here. Only one, certainly perfectly chilled, beer can be seen. A genuine Ba-varian must have gotten lost here.
He doesn't have time to worry about the nationality of the beer-drinking guest because the 'witch' stares at him for a long time. The beer from the next table waves at him provocatively and temptingly, and Satan shows up again.
He gives the devil a kick and orders a coffee. Consuming a hot drink in a garden restaurant on a hot Saturday afternoon like this is crazy!
The coffee arrives and is, without a tip, immediately paid for.
He walks through the charming little town. Many stores sell antique furniture and similar stuff. An elegant art gallery, more like a jewelry store, would be worth a visit. In the shop window, he can admire valuable Oriental and Byz-antine works. A stately box with shiny golden contents flashes at him. He would like to know about the contents and the price.
Another time. He leaves the town through the southern gate, the one to-wards the Zihlkannal.
The channel is dozing, bored, and surrounded by poplar trees on one side and the hiking trail on the other. His footsteps become lighter; the air is pure despite the many huge, circular petrol tanks visible on the horizon.
Such a concentration of explosives is dangerous. An explosion here would be of a much higher magnitude than the one he survived at Zurich-Affoltern train station47 in 1994.
«Hans, why do you always only paint black? If you want to become Hans in Luck, you better look into the air instead of predicting disasters.»
He walks along the canal. Almost unnoticed, a larger barge loaded with bar-rels, glides silently along. Up or down the canal? He vaguely remembers that he learned at school that the canal here can flow in either direction.
The flow of the canal is not mission-critical and, therefore, useless.
The male figure, who sits under a tree that could be an oak, is more interest-ing. It cannot be determined to what kind of people this figure belongs to. The truth will lie somewhere between Volga-Tug and Winnetou. He has a gray, unkempt beard and fishes with a fishing rod.
«Do the sardines bite?»
His question must have surprised the man, who hasn’t expected here a trav-eling preacher or the like.
The angler shouts:
«Sh.., you woke me up.»
After a long while, the man realizes that he isn’t understood. Strangely, this seems to make him friendlier. Now, the man calls, this time in German:
«What are you doing here?»
This sounds much, much better.
«I'm on a tour to convert souls!»
This phrase completely changed the man’s mood; he is now very friendly. He waves at him and gives him a sign to get closer.
«My name is Pierre, and yours?»
He sits down next to Pierre, leans against the tree, and rests. The hourly stop can be taken earlier.
An extended conversation follows.
Pierre was a banker in Zurich. Now he is a farmer, a fisherman, and a social dropout.
This very personal information starts a lively dialogue. They talk about mon-ey, the world, God, and the devil. In this order.
Unfortunately, this unexpected pause must come to a halt; he has to get back on his feet; he is still far away from Neuchâtel.
He empties the bottle of his mineral water. He doesn't throw the empty bot-tle in the canal. No, he wants to put it back in the side pocket of his back-pack.
Pierre takes the empty bottle out of his hand. Then he gets a white bottle from a wooden basket, unscrews the cap, pours the bottle's contents into the empty plastic mineral water bottle, and hands the bottle back to him.
«Here, in case of emergency!»
He is entirely perplexed. With all due respect to Pierre, he didn't expect such a noble gesture. He stutters; he is totally embarrassed:
«Vodka?»
«No, apple schnapps, 70%, homemade!»
In the answer lies a particular pride.
Quickly, he thinks about how he could say thanks. The red tie he received this morning is highly unsuitable. A better idea comes up: the can of 'Red Bull ', which he carries an iron reserve for extreme situations. It has to be somewhere in the backpack. He finds it in a side pocket. He throws it at Pierre in a gentle arc. He stutters:
«Mercie, mon Copain, that's very nice of you.»
He packs his stuff, gets up, and says:
«Goodbye, buddy! And all the best.»
He gathers the breath, stops thinking, and goes over to cruising speed. The way moves away from the canal; meadows and fields are again his com-panions. Next is a large village with a train station. He cannot see a name-plate to see where he really is.
Where there is a train station, there is also a train station kiosk.
The headlines in the newspapers posted at the front of the kiosk are the usual ones and don't trigger any desire to buy one. A peppermint pastille is more refreshing. The 'Kiosk Angel', the lady in the shop serves him extreme-ly friendly.
He tries to pay, but the wallet is stuck in his trouser pocket. The lady smiles. She doesn't get nervous or angry that this process takes minutes. Despite counting together all the five centime coins, he brings the sum of Sfr. 2.25 not together. He must give her one of those hundred-francs note he got to-day in Biel.
«I'm sorry, I don't have it any smaller.»
He hates to pay small amounts with large notes, as it strains his sensitive conscience. The lady behind the counter calms him.
«It doesn't matter; don't panic!»
A certain mischief could be heard in this reassuring sentence.
She's wearing a pretty black, sleeveless, half-transparent blouse. The clearly visible black lace bra tempts him, despite the afternoon heat.
«Compliments, there are still gentlemen who hike. I wish you a pleasant evening!»
To hear this in such a friendly manner is beautiful music.
This lady will surely be a highlight of his hike. She is virtually hiking with him for a while, at least until he sees another lady in black.
The next little town is narrow and deserted, but has small hotels. Neuchâtel is still far away, so why not stay here? This thought flatters the legs; the sore muscles also demand to stay here.
The first two lousy buildings, written with something like 'hotel', which he stumbles past, are:
Closed on Saturdays.
The third hotel he encounters will soon be closed, too, because a well-dressed man comes out of the door, closes it, and wants to turn the door key. He asks the gentleman for free rooms. The man checks him critically.
«This is not a hotel; this is a branch of the Hotel Bellevue au Lac, and I am in a hurry.»
The man says that with a penetrating, testing look.
«It doesn't matter. I'm exhausted, and I will stay here only one night.»
«I have something on the third floor. Shower in the corridor, no breakfast, tomorrow on Sunday, nobody is here. Cash payment now: a hundred Swiss francs.»
Without long hesitation, the offer is accepted.
A sparrow in hand is better than a pigeon on the roof. (a saying)
In the usual dark hallway, a blue banknote is exchanged for the huge, iron key attached to a dried large mark bone, and this without a receipt. He hears something like:
«Oh, I forgot to say that my staff also lives in the house, the women on the first, the men on the second floor.»
He dares now to ask this unfriendly ’Gentleman’ about a place to eat here. The hotel owner hisses:
«Here, there is only my restaurant. It’s the best one around the Lake.
The man’s gesture clearly says: Do not dare to go there. It’s not for you! The hotel and restaurant director hurries away like the wind.
He goes up the creaking, tight wooden stairs. Not a soul is to be seen or heard. He searches for the number 35 on the third floor, finds it, and imme-diately opens the windows because it is stuffy here. The room is modest but clean. Red-white checked bed cover, and a small bathroom sink.
A yellowed copy of an Albert Anker painting hangs on the wall.
He unpacks his backpack. At the sight of the until now completely useless red tie, a devilish idea comes to mind.
Why not show this pompous hotelier the other side of the ‘poor’ hiker?
He takes a lukewarm shower, washes his hair and shaves, puts on fresh laundry, unpacks the newly bought T-shirt, and puts it on with his last spare trousers. To complete the fancy dress-up, he mounts the red tie.
A look in the small half-blind mirror testifies to what he expected: with an all-ready nicely browned face and cleaned up, he looks more like an amateur playboy than a dead-tired hiker.
He almost forgot the most important ‘tool’ for the planned, again diabolical, project: the IWC!
The expected super restaurant is soon found. It is exclusive, as the luxuri-ous vehicles in the parking lot prove.
«The terrace is occupied; there is still space in the restaurant.»
Says the guy in the black tailcoat at the entrance. It is the owner in person. He doesn't seem to recognize him, walks ahead, and offers him a chair at a small table in the far corner. Only then does he realize who he is dealing with; he hesitates for a long moment. But then the guy's gaze falls on his tanned left forearm and the IWC. What he saw appeased him because he disappeared from the scene.
Of course. He is here in an area where watches are produced.
His place in the restaurant has one, but the most important advantage is that he can see the entrance door. He hopes beautiful ladies in long black robes will soon appear.
No ladies, but the waiter comes. He orders:
• Brochet à la mode du patron.
• Pommes nature.
• Green salad.
• A large glass of Coca-Cola.
The waiter shakes his head but doesn’t say a word. Even with an IWC, the non-wine drinking quest is undoubtedly classified as a ‘Swiss German idi-ot’ and receives a disdainful look.
The food is just passable; he expected better. The lakeside terrace and the dining room are filling up; the staff is bustling. It is getting too hectic for him here, so he will leave this ‘inflated’ place as soon as possible. He wants to shout:
«Waiter: Pay!»
But abstained from it at the last moment.
Such behavior is out of place in this environment. So, he only raises his left arm.
The bill is presented in the obligatory leather envelope on a porcelain tray with the also obligatory, expensive, gold-plated ballpoint pen. He pays in cash, using the last of the three blue notes he has drawn this morning.
Which is noted with astonishment. The waiter is not used to getting paid in cash.
He goes. When he passes through the entrance, the hotelier looks at him as if he had committed a crime.
After the sun went down, the narrow streets seemed even narrower. His footsteps echo hollowly off the old, moss-covered stone walls. The scene reminds him of the film ‘Death in Venice.’
His serotonin level is close to zero. A medium-sized doomsday mood arises. Then he hears what could be the inner voice in scolding tones:
«Hans, you are not Don Juan, Clark Gable, Alain Delon, or the like. You don't drive a Lamborghini, a Maserati, or a Porsche. Your gold watch doesn't suit you.»
It is not Beelzebub, but his guardian angel who says this. Gabriel is right. He has to keep up; tomorrow is a new and different day. Tomorrow, he has to get at least to the western end of Lake Neuchâtel.
Wishes come true when one does not think about them! (a saying)
So, he has to become wishless. In trying to get to this state, he almost ‘sailed’ past his lousy hotel.
In the shy glow of an ancient, dusty streetlamp that is swarmed by moths, he sees something that inevitably strikes him magically.
Isn't something hanging on a clothesline in front of a window resembling the skirt and sweater Greti was wearing yesterday? But now, they are cleanly washed, without bread crumbs, and without visible Champagne stains.
«Hans, you are now completely crazy. Holy Saint Gabriel, bring me safely to Café de la Place.»
He puts the huge key in the slot, and the door opens with a groan. Light quantum and fragments of Dvorak's New World emerge from the next room.
And Gabriel shouts:
«Hans, go to bed; today's heat wasn't good for you!»
In fact, it burns in the face. Not just from the sun.
He brushes his teeth, does not rinse with Pierre's schnapps, jumps into the tracksuit, and lies flat on his back.
That's it for the day.
«The begging student thanks you, Gabriel!»
Day 7: ‘Snobingen’ - Neuchâtel - Colombier - ‘Eden sur Lac’.
«Open up! Criminal Police!!!»
This is very loud and accompanied by a tremendous rumbling at the door. What's going on there? A nightmare?
With a colossal jerk, he jumps up and immediately sinks back onto the wooden bed. It takes more than the usual fraction of a second before he realizes what's happening here.
That can't be true! And this on a holy Sunday morning!
The plodding gets even stronger, and the voice gets even more intense. He shouts as loud as he can:
«Is open!»
The door is thrown open. Two big, strong men in gray suits jump into the room like black panthers.
Scared to death, he reaches for the plastic bottle on the wooden chair beside the bed, opens the cap, and takes a huge sip.
He would have been better off not doing this!
As if stung by a tarantula, he jumps up and spits the contents of his mouth into the sink. Pierre's apple schnapps is really strong!
For a brief moment, he considers offering the police officers a glass of the schnapps. But there is only one tooth glass here, and the men are on duty, and besides, this 'juice' would be too good for the ‘flics '’.
The officers show astonished grimaces, and one of them roars contemptu-ously:
«On top of that, he is also an alcoholic!»
Didn’t Pierre say for emergencies? This present situation is a big one!
To explain to the officers how he got to the schnapps is in this situation in-appropriate.
Next, the ‘chief’ officer says;
«Your papers and your wallet, please!»
He takes his wrinkled wallet from the chair and throws it at the guy without saying a word. The plastic ID card is checked carefully, and all details are noted. Most of the remaining plastic stuff is briefly skimmed over. The few remaining travelers' checks are held up to the light and counted. The few crumpled business cards from his last professional activity trigger a visible frown and are noted with a hint of astonishment. Likewise, the membership card for the tennis club and, even more so, the GA card. The mini-com-pass is examined in more detail. The coins are added together, including the five-centime pieces. The paper clips in the wallet, which are there for emer-gencies, are ignored, and the wallet is thrown back at him.
«Give me the watch!»
This was much sharper than just a harsh order.
He hands him the IWC without saying a word. Only now does he realize he forgot to put the watch in its usual place last night.
The 'Flic’ reaches into the bag he brought with him, takes out a giant magnify-ing glass, and examines the watch intensively; the other fiddles with an over-sized mobile telephone and starts babbling in a hard-to-understand French:
«We have the number; it is 4683WXA!»
While waiting for an answer, the two men are showing extreme tension. The answer from the other side takes a long time. It was disappointing for the officer because he let his mouth hang. The IWC is thrown on the bed, and an angry:
«Are you sure?»
is shouted into the phone. This must be the case because the communication ends with the usual official phrases.
«Empty your backpack, turn all pockets of your clothes inside out, and no quick movements!»
That was barracks yard tone at its worst!
The other person walked through the small room, casting searching glances in all directions, and started working on the bag for toiletries hung up next to the bathroom sink. The one with the backpack in his claws pours the content at the floor with a violent shake.
But this is exaggerated: the man is holding his noise prophylactically. Of course, the clothes were no longer freshly ironed, and some were slightly wet, but they didn’t smell like manure.
The officer rummages through what's on the floor with his left black shoe. But he finds nothing. The minor, black, potent flashlight criminals use makes his eyebrows shoot up. The pockets of the trousers over the chair, which are now being rummaged through, do not give any sense of achievement. And why not examine his pocket knife with a magnifying glass for traces of blood? This omission will be chalked up to the officer as a negative factor in the next round of promotions.
This ended the embarrassing search.
Where there is nothing, the emperor has also lost his rights. (a saying)
He rejoiced too soon! The other, the apparently subordinate, jumps towards him triumphantly.
And what is this?»
That is like a cathartic roar. Like a tennis tournament winner holding his tro-phy, the guy shows a tiny, transparent, taped-up plastic bag filled with white powder, like a tennis tournament winner holding out his trophy to the audi-ence.
«Wound powder for blisters!»
He says it succinctly, without batting his eyelashes and without looking up. Not gunpowder, not sneezing powder, but simply foot blister powder. On a hike like this, you must be prepared for everything.
The officer shouts:
«Boy, we got you!»
At his age, he is certainly no longer a boy. He is an elderly, slightly eccentric, and sedate hiker.
The chief officer holds the white package up to the bright sunlight, seems extremely satisfied, and puts it in his jacket pocket.
«The contents will be examined immediately! Must be heroin!» The officer’s voice is very threatening and downright triumphant.
«And now listen carefully: until the investigation ends, you cannot leave Swit-zerland! Since you don't have a permanent address, you must call us every day before 5 p.m. to let us know where exactly you are!»
In evil, taking the route from Nyon to Meyrin via Ferney-Voltaire is now im-possible because it crosses France. It's a shame; it would have been in the bird's flight line and, therefore, much shorter than the route that runs along Lake Geneva.
The officer hands him a card with names, addresses, and telephone numbers and then goes out the door without saying goodbye or beating the boots together.
The unwanted guests leave the room without closing the doors.
Now, what does he see here? Was someone listening behind the door? Yes, and the figure looks familiar to him. It is 'Mr. Crook', the owner of this damn place, who now shouts:
And he didn't pay the room, either!»
The chief official replies somewhat angrily:
«That is not our problem; the person is still in the house and, therefore, can't be accused of cheating.»
A massive, uncontrollable anger comes up. Even an ‘ordinary’, usually gentle, hiker could become wild!
He slams the door with the full force of his pent-up frustration. May the whole house wake up; he doesn't give a sh... Please excuse this the vulgar word.
But it expresses precisely the mood he is in.
Fate has struck, but he's not knocked out yet! Strong hikers are resistant. His digestion is also okay, even though he hasn't eaten anything yet, and the excellent sip of schnapps unfortunately couldn't reach its destination.
Retaliation is not the nature of the fine wanderer. Tacking revenge has Always been against his nature. There will be justice sometime, somewhere.
That was a lousy start to a Sunday. He is not yet dressed, and he had no coffee, let alone breakfast, and it's almost eight o'clock!
At least the weather has mercy on him, as seen through the window, which stayed open all night.
The world is suddenly improving because the clean black clothes are still hanging in front of a window on the first floor! So, the woman who slept there was not arrested and did not emigrate.
But now he urgently wants to ‘emigrate’ from this hell.
The march along Lake Neuchâtel will mostly be on asphalt. There is no ques-tion about the footwear. He will save the better sneakers for further restaurant visits. But, after all, he had to go through this morning, he will never again play ‘theater’ with the IWC.
Burned children fear fire. (a saying)
Does this also apply to older hiking children?
A controlling look back, this time with righteous anger, through the 'torture chamber'. What happened this morning was anything but divine.
Out into the dark hallway. The ‘informer’ and the cause of this morning’s ‘plague’ must have a bad conscience because he has disappeared,
On the first floor, sexy female footsteps can be heard.
He meets the lady in the stairwell. Her silhouette is only vaguely visible. She looks, despite the lack of daylight, very familiar. Where has he met her be-fore? Baldegg? Schönenwerd? Egerkingen? Oensingen? Solothurn? ‘Slutingen’? Biel?
«Hans!!! You are here too? Good God!»
It is Greti’s voice!
A hearty laughter overcomes her. It takes a long moment before he realizes who stands next to him. He stammers:
«Uh, is it really you, Greti?»
She steps closer to him, takes his hand, and lisps:
«Come, let's go outside. I must confess something enormous and important to you.»
It sounds beautifully mischievous and overwhelming. She gives him a heav-enly light nudge on the forearm.
In the daylight outside the house, he wakes up. She seductively trails in front of him. Now he can see how beautiful she is dressed:
• A light, airy summer dress in light gray.
• White shoes with high heels.
• A matching, elegant crocodile leather bag.
• Delicately curled black hair.
She looks like a rose in the spring wind and whispers.
«Let's go to the lake; it's quiet there. I know a bench by the water where we can undisturbed chat.»
She steps beside him, touches him lightly on the hip, and makes committed steps. He has completely lost his voice. Without saying a word, they walk towards the lake.
Not a soul anywhere
A light, friendly breeze caresses the sails of the yachts in the boat harbor. The green bench in front of it is empty. She sits down gracefully, crosses her perfect legs comfortably, and seems to have a great time.
«Oh, you'll be amazed!»
Amazement is far, far understated. He's entirely baffled. So far, few events in his life have ever before thrown him over like this one. To meet her here was far more unpredictable than the 'criminal farce' from before.
She looks searchingly into his eyes, and her voice is slightly trembling.
«Please excuse me! I'm not what you thought of me in the restaurant. There, I played a show.»
She sees that he is entirely perplexed, so she continues:
«I am studying psychology and doing behavioral research in restaurants. I plan to analyze people's behavior, especially men’s, in complex situations. I need lived events for my dissertation.»
That was an unexpected, plain text! Where does he start with his questions?
The most obvious are:
«What brings you here?»
«My sister is a secretary at the Grand Hotel Bellevue. Every so often, I visit her over the weekend. Then I sleep here. It's still bearable for one night.»
«Yes, and why your 'masquerade' in this sloppy outfit in the pub?»
«She always lends me the things to make my appearance there more real.»
She looks into his eyes mischievously.
Her eyes are crystal clear, and no water could cloud them. It appears that she is honest. He slowly believes her. As if it seemed that he is not yet 100% convinced, she takes a white card with silver edges from her handbag and hands it to him. Her well-groomed hand made him vibrate. He reads:
Margaretha von Wiesenthal, lic. Phil. I.
He doesn't even pay attention to the address, the location, the tele-phone numbers and the e-mail address. He is too overwhelmed by her title.
She looks resolutely into his eyes.
«So, and now, who are you? I am sure that you played comedy with your watch!»
He blushes extremely hard and stammers an apology. She smiles refresh-ingly and heartily.
This started an increasingly intense conversation. He tells her about his life, his defeats, and his victories, and she does the same.
He could chat with her for weeks!
But the reality calls, rarely as cruel as now.
«Oh dear, I have to move on!»
It was difficult for him to say this. He takes out one of his crumpled business cards, scribbles his private details and numbers on the back with shaking fingers, and hands it to her without saying a word. She reads it and then says, extremely seductively:
«Call me on my cell phone when you're in Meyrin!»
This was more of a plea than a suggestion. A tiny tear appears.
There is nothing he would rather do!
He now says:
«On the return, by train, of course, I will visit you wherever you are. I want to invite you for dinner.»
She smiles:
«Thank you very much! I still owe you five glasses of Champagne!»
Pay all your debts with your rose mouth... (from a song)
He stands up abruptly and slings his backpack over his shoulders. She stands up, too, rocking on her toes. They look into each other's eyes for a few beautiful seconds, probably much, much longer. Time and reality are completely out of control.
«Bye, and all the best!»
It came from both of them at the same time.
Fate is a necessity shrouded in a veil. (Maria von Ebner-Eschenbach)
The veil has lifted, almost literally. And how!
f the state polyps hadn't carried out their fruitless ‘act of violence’ this morn-ing, he would never again have met the future Professor Margaretha von Wiesenthal.
It approaches Neuchâtel. Endless blocks of houses follow, including some in red brick, like in the ‘Early Sunday Sidewalk’ picture by Edward Hopper , his favorite painter.
He still hasn't had breakfast. He did not see a ‘Château’, so he could not judge if it was old or new.
Much more important than this question is to get breakfast.
Hope arises on a side street. An illuminated sign announces a hotel. Why is the lighting on in the bright morning? The people here don't have a pale haze of energy savings.
The hotel is open, and in the large breakfast room is a lot of activity.
In there is a noise like in hell. This does not bother him. He wants a modest coffee, some juice, and a roll. He barely finds a place for his backpack. The large entrance hall is filled with various sporting items: rubber boats, tents, mountain ropes, ice axes, and the like. He sits down in a corner at the only free table. A friendly waiter comes immediately:
«Sorry, Australian teens. They stayed here last night. They came from a 'mountain happening' in Interlaken yesterday and are leaving soon to raft in the Jura.»
That was very detailed information.
He orders and immediately receives the long-awaited coffee, the orange juice, and a roll. He immediately pays in cash and with a fair tip.
Furthermore, he only now notices that his usual personal hygiene care was neglected in the unchristian hectic pace this morning, so he goes unwashed and unshaved back to the main street,
Now, there are more humans there. The people of Neuchâtel are on their Sun-day afternoon walk. With children, alone, in pairs and larger groups, with or without strollers, scooters, mountain bikes, tandems, or other kinds of those modern ‘things’ with wheels.
In any direction, there is no sign of a hiker. Since Zurich, he hasn't met any of those. This type of human being must be extinct.
The sky and the lake compete to see who can present the more beautiful.
Blue. The one from the lake is deeper, the one from the sky is further away.
The air is warm.
No, it’s not warm. It's hot.
He's sweating and already thirsty, but there is not yet time for rest.
Hiking trails? It’s not worth mentioning. He didn't expect such. He. is walking on the left side of the cantonal street because there is a sidewalk. Neuchâtel is already out of sight and mind.
That is not true at all. The ‘flics’ and Margaretha keep his mind busy.
He walks through the following villages at a brisk pace. He doesn't encounter anything worth mentioning except a large gas station with a grocery store inside.
Should he buy a Sunday newspaper?
Nonsense! Let the world do its thing. He's not interested in politics or sports right now.
Politics! That is a topic to think about, but not in this heat. He doesn't feel like conducting heated political debates. This most delicate theme is there-fore postponed.
He is on the main street. Hotels are mainly located there. And there is one, and it is, of course,
Closed on Sundays.
The village he has now reached is much shorter than Neuchâtel. The possibil-ity of another hotel in this lonely, sleepy place is minimal.
But there is a sign: Hotel La Cycone, 500 m.
After hesitating for a short moment, he dares to climb the more than five hundred steep steps. But now, he is totally exhausted.
The hotel is open, at least the pub that belongs to it. Some country people, dressed in Sunday clothes, are sipping white wine under the
plane trees in the garden restaurant.
He drags his tired legs over the gravel and hardly dares to look around. The guests look at him with astonishment. One of them shouts something to-wards the kitchen in a dialect he doesn't understand.
Mrs. Holle appears. She smiles and extends her hand to greet him. She wears a wide dark skirt and black stockings. Her face looks tense. Some-thing seems to bother her. He hopes that it is not her digestion or even her conscience.
She politely asks:
«Wandersmann, are you looking for a bed?»
That sounds so benevolently human.
-
«We have something upstairs for you. The shower is next door across the corridor, and you would be alone on the floor».
Great, that is precisely what he wanted!
She goes ahead. The room is simple, sparkling clean, and has the most beautiful view of the lake and the mountains. On the desk, there is a vase with fresh sunflowers. The window is open, and the room is well-ventilated. The bees buzz in the rose garden.
Utopia?
Mrs. Holle asks with a smile:
«Do you like it? For students, it costs forty francs, including breakfast.»
He could have hugged her.
He lays the backpack on the floor, takes off his shoes, strips off his clothes, goes under the shower, and rolls into the comfortable bed.
Heart, what do you want more of?
T-he bad guys from the ‘monkey show’ this morning are now completely ‘di-gested and forgotten.
Oh, that’s scary! He must call them. It is already a quarter past five!
If he doesn’t call right now, he will be on the police’s ‘Most Wanted list’ to-morrow.
Question: Does his cell phone still have power? The charger was left in Zurich for weight reasons.
The cell phone still works. The officer on the other end of the line, despite being on Sunday evening duty, is friendly and says:
«The test result is not yet available. In the laboratory, they don’t work on Sundays. Bye, call tomorrow!»
The police officer’s voice was encouraging and calming.
Bluffing here is completely out of place. So, today, he will not wear the IWC. As a precaution, the watch is stored in the small drawer of the bedside table.
The menu chart says:
• -Coq au Vin.
• Various vegetables.
• Fried potatoes.
• Green salad.
• Tarte Foiret noire.
Who could resist such a menu? Not he.
Everything tastes just excellent. The vegetable was still in the garden this morning, and the 'coq' only ‘died’ yesterday.
Mrs. Holle serves him in person. When he orders only mineral water, she looks at him with surprise.
Now came a friendly question, presented with a wink:
«Would you like some white wine? Ours is from this area. It is on the house.»
She is so kind, Mrs. Holle. Never on his trip, he has experienced such a friendly gesture. He stammers:
«Thank you very much. I don't drink!»
Which is, of course, not true at all. Yes, he is determined not to drink alco-hol on this trip. He corrects himself:
«I don't drink when I hike.»
That w-as more honest. And not without a particular pride, he adds:
«I hiked from Zurich to here in seven days!»
She accepts this with admiration and a smile. Lost in lovely thought, he en-joys the food and the water. Everything here is just splendid. His attempt to pay is politely rejected:
«Let's do this tomorrow!»
He gets up; the bed is now the most important thing on earth. As he walks past the kitchen, he hears:
«Breakfast is served from 6:30 a.m. in the dining room. I wish you a pleas-ant, quiet, and beautiful night!»
That was an angel's voice!
She laughs and goes about her work. He goes upstairs. It's dark now. The starry sky is even more impressive than that in Solothurn. He doesn’t need a meteorite or any other surprises, not even in black lingerie. What started so badly today has entirely changed. He sits on the edge of the bed for a long, long time. From the open window, he can hear light, melancholic mu-sic played by a harmonica: Valse Musette.
He lies down and falls asleep gently and smoothly.
Day 8: ‘Eden sur Lac’ - Grandson - ‘Nobridge’ - Orbe.
Again, the alarm clock does not need to ‘act’. This ‘thing’ could have stayed in Zurich. It would have saved a hundred grams of unnecessary ballast.
Through the window, left open all night, comes music, played by a harmonica and, once more, with an intense touch of sadness.
And the weather? Simply perfect! The fine morning breeze, birdsong, and the scent of lush vegetation flow into the large room. On the horizon, he sees the entire Alpine massif, from the Valais Alps to the Bernese and the peaks of central Switzerland.
It's time for breakfast. And unfortunately, he must leave ‘Eden sur Lac’. He puts on the same cheap Chinese T-shirt and short trousers as yester-day. The two entirely different business cards he received early yesterday are secured in the wallet. He can’t resist reading the one from Margaretha over and over again.
-
«Hans, forget her; she is too young for you; come on, new horizons are tempting.»
For once, it's not dark down in the restaurant. The clean dining room invites him to enjoy a leisurely breakfast. Large, freshly baked butter braids and other ‘goodies’ are ready on a long table. He is alone in the room. He sits down at the window, from where he admires two horses pulling a black car-riage. Is there a funeral in the village?
Nobody is to be seen, so he helps himself with porridge enriched with fresh apples, fresh milk, and orange juice.
Then, steps are heard. A girl, soon to be a young lady, about fourteen years old, in simple work clothes and with a hand organ slung over her shoulder, comes towards him and says, half embarrassed, half shyly:
«Good morning. I am so sorry that you had to wait! What can I serve you?» He answers:
«-Good day, too; it doesn't matter. I have time. Coffee, please!»
That about time is, of course, not accurate at all.
The girl is relieved, but somehow, she looks thoughtful. A large pot of cof-fee, fresh butter, a pot of honey, and a snow-white cloth napkin are present-ed. The food tastes delicious, and everything is again perfect. He enjoys it thoroughly and would love to sit here much longer.
Unfortunately, this is not possible. He makes himself ready to go. At the reception desk, the young lady is already waiting for him.
«My mom had to leave early this morning.»
-
It sounds like an apology.
The bill is handed to him, almost reluctantly. Unbelievable: overnight stay, dinner and breakfast, all together Sfr 65.-, including the tourist tax. She blushes slightly when he hands her the famous Mastercard.
«Sorry, we are old-fashioned here and not used to credit cards, but we ac-cept Traveler checks»
He still has some worth fifty francs. He gives her the checks along with his last remaining twenty-franc note. She gives him back a five-franc coin.
Without words, he hands her the money back.
«No, no, it's not necessary!»
Her reaction was very definite. But he insisted until she finally accepted the piece. Again, hesitantly, she asks:
«What are you studying, if I may ask?»
-
Yes, what is he studying? A perpetual student specializing in 'hikology', 'fu-turology', ‘Utopiology’, and the like. He doesn’t say this because such terms are nonsense and would hardly be understood.
«Uh, I'm retired. But what are you doing here?»
«I help here during the holidays; I am still at school.»
«How do you and your mother speak German so well?»
«My parents ran a restaurant in the upper Limmat Valley.»
That is a very plausible explanation.
«Thank you very much; say hello to your mom and dad.»
This sentence shocked her deeply. Her facial muscles are showing extreme emotions, and small tears appear.
«My father died exactly a week ago.»
That was a strong thunderclap out of the blue! For a moment, he does not know what to say. For him, this is rarely the case.
«Oh, my condolences! Do you have siblings?»
This question came intuitively.
«Yes, a much older brother.»
And, probably recognizing his questioning look, she continues:
-
«He runs a hotel in Bangkok. My father was frequently there.»
The tone of her answer was strange. It contained upset and anger. He would have liked to know why. But first, it's impolite to ask strangers about their fate, and second, it's almost nine o'clock. He says:
«Unfortunately, I must go; I have a long way ahead. I hope to see you again soon. Goodbye.»
This girl must be an incarnation of Gilberte de Courgenay .
He walks thoughtfully through the still sleepy village. There is no traffic; only an older yellow postal car bumbles up the hill.
It is empty, except that a black female figure is sitting on the seat directly behind the driver. A vague memory comes back. Didn’t he see her before, somewhere on his hike? Where? Wasn't it in the pouring rain in Oensingen in the pastor’s limousine? Now, the lady stands up and prepares to leave the bus. It's Mrs. Holle!
She recognized him, too, and smiles. Her facial expression is sad and thoughtful again. She waves extremely friendly greetings at him. and he happily wave. This is a place to come back to. From now on, it will be a pilgrimage location for him.
A face smiles so kindly from the windowpane; I would love to stay with the Linden tree, but the cart that rolls, but the cart that rolls. (from a song)
The chorus resonates for a long time.
He doesn't roll; he walks. He soon reaches the village exit. At the very end, unusual in a village, is the older church. Right next to it is the cemetery. No cemetery gardener is to be seen.
Now, a black car with Zurich license plates shows up. The same car as the one in the rain in Oensingen!
• AIDS.
• Thailand.
• Restaurant in the lower Limmat valley.
• The pastor’s brother-in-law.
• Black limousine in front of the church.
• Funeral at the Lake Neuchâtel.
• Mrs. Holle and Gilberte in deep sadness.
• Her dad died last week.
• Funeral in the village today.
This list of known facts leads to a deeply sad conclusion. There must be a close connection between these events.
«Hans, your fantasies are hitting hard again. Don't freak out! Keep going!»
Yes, Gabriel, he must go on and must ‘physically’ leave this place, which was a paradise for him.
Now, why not move on to a provocative, heretical thought? What about this idea to bring paradise back to earth?
Here is a prototype of Utopia, the new paradise.
There is a country somewhere on this earth. Not necessarily in the back of Mongolia. Better on an island or in Burgundy. Or why not in Switzerland? People of all ages live in Utopia. The number of residents is balanced.
Everyone who can work has the same income. Those unable to contribute to the gross national product also receive the same amount of national curren-cy. This unity is called UfM (unity for material things). With this money, the residents of Utopia can buy anything that is touchable. Accommodations are available in apartment buildings, single-family homes, shared apartments, wooden huts, or tents. Depending on the comfort the habitant desires, they pay a few or many UfMs. There are no privately owned properties.
Everyone lives close to their workplace. The people there don't need vaca-tions; they live in paradise,
To travel from A to B, they use ultralight bikes made of carbon with narrow spoked wheels powered by pedals or have sails driven by the wind. Electri-cally powered vehicles are available in emergencies. Public transportation, when required, is free.
All kinds of food are available in abundance: millet, oatmeal, rice, fruits, veg-etables, milk, eggs, bread, and whatever else. There are also grapes, beer, vines, Champagne, tobacco, hemp, chocolate, Black Forest cake, and so on.
The products that require more effort to be produced cost a little more UfMs.
Clothing can be chosen individually. The clothes are all equally decorative, fashionable, and comfortable. There are no brand names for bluffing.
There are plenty of places to have fun: tennis courts, golf courses with any number of holes, swimming pools, stadiums, saunas, and racetracks for alternative vehicles. And everything else the people of utopia enjoy or need to relax: circuses, theaters, concerts, cinemas, discos, bars, fairs, open-air events, and anything else you can think of.
The inhabitants of Utopia are free to pick their way of life, their prefer-ences, their priorities, and the fulfillment of their wishes. They are also free to have children or not.
• There is nothing to inherit.
• No interest is charged.
• There is no private ownership.
• Taxes, insurance, and banks don’t exist.
• There are no armies or police.
• But not everyone is the same, but everyone is equally rich. Questions:
• Would the residents of Utopia take narcotic drugs?
• Would anyone have a guilty conscience?
• Would there be cases of suicide?
• Would there be any crime?
Was there a culture or an epoch in human history where crimes, violence, and drugs did not exist or were not required?
As far as he knows, narcotic drugs have always existed. So, why do people need them? Why not the animals? Unless they accidentally eat something that gets them ‘high’. Then, they want more, like humans.
Why do we take narcotic drugs? The reasons are many.
A provocation: Isn’t addiction to power the worst of all addictions?
No narcotic drugs are growing on the side of the road. They couldn't thrive here because the air up here is polluted. But vines grow here; they are ap-parently less sensitive.
He passed Vaumarcus long ago. He missed the first marching pause of the day for more than two hours because he was 'virtually', but without drugs, in Utopia.
But now he's thirsty! There is no sign of hunger; the breakfast was sustain-able. At Grandson, there is a castle, and where there is a castle, there will
undoubtedly be a bench or something like it to sit on.
Wow, here is one! The bench is shaky. Charles the Bold had probably used it. Charles has terrible memories of this place, where things went utterly wrong for the war hero.
The Duke had severe problems with his troops. The information flow did not work. The strength of the Swiss armed forces was incorrectly transmitted. In reality, only a small group of the Swiss were reported to him as having mili-tary superiority.
Charles then commanded:
«Forward, escape!»
The Swiss won the battle.
He is heading along the lakeshore in the shade towards Yverdon, where he arrives after an hour.
A new, crucial question comes up: stay here or move on? It's almost 3 p.m. The next possible place to stay overnight is Orbe, but getting there will take more than three hours. He can see this on a map kindly placed at the station square. The map shows that the route follows the right side of a little river. After about five kilometers away from Yverdon, there must be a bridge, and then the route follows the left side of the river.
Unfortunately, the bridge cannot be seen on the map because a crack in the glass window is precisely at this point.
He goes on.
The world belongs to the brave. (a saying)
Up to this point, hiking along a river was always enjoyable and easy.
The route along the river is quickly found. ‘River' is an exaggeration. It's more like a small stream with almost no water.
Beside tall poplars, there is nothing to be seen, no houses, let alone peo-ple. The sun is burning, and the poplars are becoming fewer and disappear-ing altogether. The little street is dead straight and is getting longer and longer. He almost dozes off. His steps are ‘sleepwalking like’.
.
The expected bridge must finally come.
It comes!
And how!
As a ruin!
The bridge had collapsed! Rusted iron profiles protrude into the air. The broken remains of the wall make it difficult for the water to squeeze through.
The rusty plaque with the inscription
Passage Interdite! (Access denied)
This is sign is entirely superfluous. On the other side, he can see a nice path towards Orbe, but it is absolutely impossible to cross the river.
He stands there like
The donkey on the mountain. (a saying)
«Sh..., sh..., sh...!»
The author apologizes for his vulgar language. However, those were the on-ly adequate words to describe the situation.
He just learned something new:
When walking along a river, a railway track or a freeway, walk on the side where your next destination is. (Quote from the author)
He breathes through, drinks water, adjusts his brain cells to the problem, and hopes for a solution.
This helped because now he sees that a narrow path leads around the barri-ers and that there is something like a dwelling in the scrub. As he comes closer, it turns out to be a half-ruined wooden shack. All kinds of junk, mo-torcycle wrecks, and car parts are lying around.
But there are also motorized two-wheelers that are more or less roadworthy.
And there is someone there. Rübezahl in person!
Unkempt long beard of an indefinable color, with a crumpled peaked cap, in an oily overall, in tattered boots. He tinkers with a motorcycle manufactured before World War II without paying attention to him.
He shouts:
«Hey there, how do I get out of here?»
The hiker's call towards the figure could have been more friendly, but the hiker is outraged, angry,
The ‘figure’ turns around, looks at him with watery eyes, and then grins from ear to ear. It doesn't seem like this is the first time someone has asked him this. Without getting up, he grumbles something incomprehensible, points to the right, turns back, and continues working calmly.
Now, the guy notices that he did not move. Without getting up, he picks up a fence post lying on the ground and waves it phlegmatically to the right.
The wave with the fence post. (a saying)
This gesture shows that there is a possibility moving on. Indeed, there is a tiny footpath, only ten centimeters wide, that leads out of this highly un-comfortable situation. He calls, this time much friendlier.
«Goodbye roughneck Rübezahl.»
He follows the small path, which is prickly and riddled with nettles. Soon, there is no path at all.
A hiking man always knows how to help himself. He takes the backpack off, opens the top, grasps the long-leg trousers, puts them over his shorts, and continues along the hedge. Being dressed like this is very uncomforta-ble, and he starts to sweat, but it protects the skin from the thorns.
After a kilometer or even more, he crosses a dirt road, which doesn't lead in the direction he wants. But dirty roads will eventually cross others.
Wider streets must be nearby because he hears a very violent and penetra-tion tone.
The siren of a police car!
Which frightens him terribly. Despite the heat, it runs icy cold over his back. He completely forgot to call the police in Neuchâtel, and it's already past five again!
Are they already chasing him with flashing blue lights? Apparently not be-cause the sound of the siren goes away.
He searches for his cell phone in the backpack, finds it, dials the number and hopes.
Oh, luck! There's still someone on duty! The officer says friendly:
«The result is negative; you can go abroad again. You don't need to call us anymore. Where should we send the powder?»
He would like to scream:
«Send it to the devil!»
But he leaves this as a courtesy and says:
«Please dispose of it appropriately!»
If he hasn't needed the powder until now, he certainly doesn't need it any-more.
He wants to turn off his cell phone because the battery is almost as empty as his water bottles. He should have done it sooner because the officer at the other end cries nervously.
«Hello, are you still there? There is something else: please report to the can-tonal police station in Orbe tomorrow!»
That is what he still hears. And then the battery gives up.
What the hell is this again? He has a clean conscience. But you never know what knowledge the police have.
First, he sits down, not in the nettles, but in a North Vaud bush next to the nettles.
In such a situation, there's only one thing that helps: total fatalism. Tomor-row is tomorrow.
After a few minutes of meditation, he stands up and realizes he is still in the middle of nowhere.
The walls of Orbe wave in the distance. They seem to be as far away as those of Jericho.
It is hard work, but he manages to claim the last steps to Orbe.
It is hectic here for a Monday evening. In this weather, everyone can frolic outdoors. Those who pay attention to him smile or even laugh shamelessly.
A small hotel to the right of the main street inspires hope.
At the reception is an ugly, old ‘dragon’. Before he says something, she shouts:
«We are booked.»
He doesn’t believe this because, after a quick look through the lobby, he notices that most room keys are hanging on the wall.
But so what the heck, he's used to Strokes of fate.
«Are there other places in town to stay overnight?»
«Yes, there is a motel on the right edge of the town.» He expected her to say:
«Certainly not for you, it’s far too expensive.»
That is what she thought. He can see this on her face.
Should he show her the IWC? Better not because she would immediately call the police.
He thanks her with a nod, leaves the reception, and heads in the direction he suspects is the right one.
The people he meets look at him strangely. Some even giggle loudly. Only now does he realize why: he's wearing filthy, sprinkled with leftover berries, trousers over his shorts, and looks like a clown in a circus.
Let the people grin.
The expression on the face of the next crossing person is friendly and all-most admiring. This ‘person’ is a pretty, middle-aged lady dressed in a mar-velous transparent black silk blouse. Didn’t she even give him an over-whelming smile? Wasn't her hand movement a promising gesture, like a greeting? Or is she wishing him a steep career as a clown?
Usually, at these temperatures, ladies don’t wear black. Her skirt is of the right length and fits her perfectly. She looks like Liz Taylor. How and why did this beauty end up in this provincial town?
It's better to bathe in illusions than to drown in reality. (Quota from the Author)
Illusions? What he now sees on the right side of the street is not an illusion. It's reality! What is this? It is, of course, the most attractive show window of a luxurious lady's fashion shop that makes it, because of his abnormality, impossible for him to move on. Now, his protector, the archangel Gabriel, shouts:
«Hans, move on as quickly as possible! It's hazardous for you! In this 'out fit’. You will provoke another police intervention, with or without blue alarm lights.»
He nearly collapses, but he must walk at least another kilometer before he gets to the motel.
The reception is cool and neutral. The usual ’verse’:
«Show your credit card and sign here.»
Doesn’t surprise him.
Here, hot food is not served on Mondays, but there is a sandwich machine in the hall and a minibar in the room.
Avoiding unnecessary steps, he lets out a ham/cheese/salad structure and goes to his room. He leaves the minibar alone; the beer stays there. The rest of the day is proceeding as usual: drinking, showering, eating, drinking again, brushing teeth, in that logical order. He does not put on his tracksuit. There's nothing better than getting naked in a comfortable bed! In such a condition, any bed is comfortable.
Just sleep and don't think about tomorrow!
-A clear conscience is an excellent pillow to rest on. (a saying)
Half asleep, he thinks he hears something like Ellington's Mood Indigo
Day 9: Orbe - ‘Poste’ - La Sarraz - ‘Massager’ - Lavigny.
The same ‘song’: No alarm clock required.
A terrible, loud meow wakes him up. This immediately knocks him off his comfortable mattress. He opens the window. The weather is okay. This is not the case for a red cat, who stares at him as if she were asking: Don't you never feel like this?
What kind of omen is this? There is still a trace of superstition in him. He suddenly remembers that he has to go to the police. So, he requires the help of all the good fairies. Is a red cat a bad omen? If yes, then trouble will wait for him.
The program for today is not yet set. The soon-coming ‘facts’ must be await-ed before any detailed plans can be established,
He closes the window and sees a cat running around the next corner at full speed. The birds chirp their morning serenade in the trees between the motel and the freeway. They sing him a ‘thank you’ for forcing the cat to flee.
The Lord gives sleep to those he loves. (Psalm 127:2)
The obligation to visit the police office and the desire to get at least to Au-bonne today made him hurry for breakfast. Nothing is worth mentioning. The morning food is all the same in motels, good enough to provide the calories and vitamins for the day. While eating, he realizes with some horror that he needs food and water; his reserves are running out. Should he shop before or after visiting the police station?
And what do they want from him? The worst crime he has committed since Zurich is throwing his ‘Philishave’ into the wrong container, and he scared away a stray cat today.
His current worry about getting food may be in vain. There may soon be free water and bread waiting for him in prison.
There is no waiting line for check-out at the hotel reception. The lady at the front desk is not worth a glance. Because he is already, in thoughts, with the police, he exceptionally doesn’t care how she is dressed.
His walk is becoming more confident and defiant. The police station is soon found. It differs from the other staid buildings in its modest splendor. Hand on heart, go in, and don't show any insecurity!
The door creaks as in a crime novel. He enters and calls out loudly:
«Good day. I should come here!»
If required, he can adopt an authoritarian tone.
The officer on duty looks up from reading the tabloid newspaper 'Le Matin' and puts it aside. He seems to have been waiting for him.
«It's nice that you're already here; please sit down!»
The man tried his best German.
With a wave, he points to the chairs behind the table. He puts the backpack on one and sits on another, crosses his legs, folds his arms, and waits for things to come.
«Do you have an identity paper?»
After looking closely at him and the ID card, the officer seems satisfied. And now, he let the ‘cat out of the bag ’.
«Where have you been between 2 and 3 p.m. last Saturday?»
«At the Zihlkannal between Le Landron and Lake Neuchâtel!»
When interrogated, he gives quick and precise answers. With extreme ten-sion, the officer now asks:
«Did you meet anyone there?»
«Yes!»
«Can you describe the person to me?»
He can. He describes Pierre as precisely as possible. Now, the officer shows him a colored photo.
«Is this the man?»
«Sure, it is Pierre!»
He says this with complete conviction. His subsequent reaction is to reach into his backpack's side pocket and take out the plastic bottle.
A hearty sip is needed. This is again an emergency. And he can also prove that what he told the officer about Pierre's present is accurate. But at the last moment, he holds back from doing so. Such a gesture wouldn't leave the best impression.
A piece of paper is held out to him.
«Please sign here!»
There is written in German:
I hereby confirm that I saw this person at that time and place.
He immediately signs the paper. Now, he cannot resist taking a big sip. The officer coughs and laughs. Even officials can laugh.
«It's okay, it's okay, you can go!»
It sounded almost like an apology.
But he's definitely not leaving yet. He wants at least to know why he had to testify that he was with Pierre then. He gets this information:
«A theft was committed in Le Landron at this time. A box with precious con-tents was stolen. Passers-by said they had seen the well-known farmer in the art shop.»
The officer apologizes for not introducing himself and hands him a business card: Gaston Pelier, Inspector General, etc.
«We can drive you to La Sarraz, with or without blue lights!»
He makes this very noble suggestion with a smiling face.
Resolutions are resolutions! He thanks him and explains to him why he, un-fortunately, has to decline. This is also acknowledged with a sign of recogni-tion and a nod.
«Toi, toi, toi, I wish you a problem-free trip.»
A wave of his hand accompanies his words. He could much longer chat with this gentleman.
He goes. Outside, he lets out a deep sigh of relief; now he can hike freely. In his good mood, he almost forgot that ‘essentials’, such as water, food, and money, must be obtained.
Even in a town like this, there are ATMs and grocery stores. He finds what he wants, including the replacement for the energy drink he gave away. Fresh Cervelats wave at him and are purchased. A good sausage is always better than yesterday's 'automatic terrible' sandwich.
The main road to the next destination is soon found, and so there is no need to search for a hiking trail. The road is under construction and is, therefore, closed in both directions for motorized traffic. These are ideal conditions for covering many kilometers directly.
The road is dead straight. The landscape is dull. But now passes a ‘passage‘ of the most modern street construction machines. He is overtaken by a truck loaded to its limit with gravel. After a few minutes, the same truck comes back. Empty, but even more frenzied. The same vehicle runs continuously back and forth.
Now, the driver waves at him and makes a sign to sit beside him. That is very nice, but it is a useless offer.
The construction site ends, like everything mortal.
The regular traffic is back. The street is getting very narrow. Luckily, there is a sidewalk on the left side. The vehicles pass very close. At every moment, he must be ready to jump into the grass. This concentration pre-vented him so far from detouring his thoughts into the clouds.
But the pseudo-philosophical escapades are now coming. After what he heard this morning, denunciation is a theme. Is it true that passers-by saw Pierre? Or is it pure denunciation? Pierre is definitely not the person everyone likes. Those who swim against the current have many enemies.
Other ‘subjects’ worth discussing are envy and jalousie. What can ‘trigger’ envy or jalousie?
• Money.
• Power, in the sense of dominance.
• Success.
• Looking good.
Pierre and he will hardly create envy. The balances of their bank accounts do not cause jalousie.
Success is also primarily measured with the money it brings
A success in sports is only worth mentioning when it brings more than a mil-lion Swiss francs, euros, or dollars. Art, music, theater, writing, and so on are only achievements when they bring money.
Of course, envy, or jalousie, is not equally distributed among human be-ings. And the reasons for these behaviors are also very different.
He is no longer jealous, even if his chosen female creation prefers another man. Then it is up to him.
• to better avoid mistakes,
• to hide them better,
• to bluff better,
• to earn more,
• to find more affluent parents as his opponent.
With these conclusions on envy, jealousy and success, he reached La Sar-raz. And this without the nine 'clock coffee! Getting a coffee was impossible because, since Orbe, there was not even the smallest village.
There is a café next to the charming, with flowers decorated village fountain. The whole little town is a perfect subject for Sunday and other painters. He has neither the talent nor time to paint. The entire scene exudes the classic late Middle Ages. It is as if medieval knights were riding in at any moment.
The blue dragoons ride through the village with a ringing sound; fanfares accompany them, brightly rising to the hills... (from a sol-dier's song)
The Jura heights on the western, distant horizon greet and sing back:
It's a long way back to your homeland... (from a song)
For him, it’s a long way to today's goal.
«Hans, stop quoting soldiers' songs; take over the soldiers' steps.»
His ’tour’ slowly becomes torture because the asphalt is becoming his sec-ond home. As long as there is a relatively safe to use sidewalk, the hard sur-face can be survived. But there are only sidewalks near and inside a village. After he walks through an almost deserted, nameless village, he continues on the left side of the street. Walking on the left side is advised by the police.
However, on the recommended side are concrete walls and barbed wire fenc-es right next to the road’s edge. In such a situation, he inevitably has to switch back to the right side.
The road makes a right-hand bend, and on the left, there is a ten-meter-high, steep concrete wall. Fortunately, on the right, there are low, dense bushes. But they make a very prickly impression, and red, juicy berries ripen on them.
Suddenly, a sound like the howl of a pack of wild wolves comes up
Not wolves, but military motor dragoons armed to the teeth, are racing up the street, so close at him that his cap is blown away. And this at the street’s most narrow point!
The soldiers were ordered to move as fast as possible. The final act of the maneuver reached its zenith.
Columns of Piranha tanks follow. Fortunately, these military beasts are not too wide; their edge is still outside the sidewalk.
Now, it rattles many decibels louder. With the speed of a hunted monkey, a huge, jagged shadow approaches from behind. It’s not a monkey, it is the first of a dozen Leopard Tanks.
To survive, he must jump into the bushes. The length of his jump is suspect-ed to be a world record, but the landing is rough, scratchy, and 'juicy'.
It wasn't a rushed monkey that made him jump; it was the first of a Leopard battle tank column.
The Archangel Gabriel and all other available guardians had to work over-time to protect him.
damn
He gets up, shakes the remains of the berries from his pants, rubs a thorn out of his forearm, puts the cap back on, and gets away from this corner.
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. (Friedrich Nietzsche )
Hiking men are stand-up men. Once again, he escaped with an enormous fright.
The horror ends as rapidly as it came. The army vehicles disappeared.
What doesn't disappear from his mind so quickly is the shock. He takes a deep breath and looks for a place to rest. But there is at least another kilo-meter until the landscape becomes humane again. Along the cantonal street, there is nothing useful for much-needed relaxation. So, he takes the next dirt road to the right and hopes.
After a hundred meters, there is a lovely apple tree. The surrounding grass is neatly mown, and no farmer is in sight.
Good! He removes the backpack, lies flat on his back, and closes his eyes. In less than a minute, he is no longer on the 'here side'; he gently dozes off.
I was recently a guest at a wonderfully mild innkeeper whose sign was a golden apple. (from a song)
e must have slept for a good while.
Suddenly, he is woken up. A heavy object fell right next to his left ear. A juicy, large-caliber apple! Gravity was once, so the story, proved by a falling apple .
He believes the story, so it had not to be proven again using his head.
But isn't that a gift from heaven? No, from the apple tree, and it is gratefully accepted; it is certainly healthier than the emergency schnapps.
After the 'William Tell Leap’ into the bush earlier, he deserved the apple. The fruit is chewed with pleasure. The apple fell on him; it wasn't stolen. But he is thirsty: Water, an emergency drink, or Pierre’s schnapps?
«Hans, be tough, and drink water.»
A delicious Cervelat is to be seen in the half-open backpack’s side pocket and seduces.
No, not yet; festive food is only allowed after work. He will not change his menu plan only because he has survived a potential accident.
Back to the place of the crime: the main street.
He walks on for another hour, and then he is in Cossonay. It's dead quiet in the village; most windows are closed, and the residents seem to be at the 'dolce far niente' or have emigrated. Lowered iron roller shutters prevent him from looking through the windows.
Cossonay is more than a mile long. After the seemingly endless longitudinal crossing, he is on the western edge of the spot. There are no sidewalks any-more.
The next ‘burst’ of associations and fantasies is due again. But it's getting too hot to think; he marches like the foreign legionnaires in the song:
A battalion marches in the African rocky valley... (Gottfried Keller)
Time slips away. It's slowly, but surely, time to search for a bed. It's still a long way to today’s target.
Fate strikes, for once, instantly. On a somewhat brittle wooden tablet, he reads something like:
Auberge for tourists. 300 m.
This is something different and worth trying. After the 300 meters, there is a wooden structure. It looks like a military hut situated alone outside a small village. In front of the hut is a children's playground and an open fire pit. Nobody is in sight, so he looks through an open window.
He sees what was common during his duty periods in the Swiss army:
clean cots covered with solid blankets and narrow metal cupboards. He doesn't need a luxurious interior, so sleeping here would be fine.
He enters. The place is sparsely equipped; a large kitchen and laundry room can be seen through the open door. There's a stool in the hallway. He sits down, takes the backpack off, and stretches his legs. Stretching exercises are good for sore muscles. He waits for something to happen.
While he is waiting, he looks around. There is little to be seen. At some dis-dance, there is a pretty, larger yellow villa. Next to it is a garage; through the open gate, he can admire a shiny, dark blue Peugeot convertible parked pre-cisely in the middle. In front of the house is an exemplarily maintained lawn with rose bushes, asters, philodendrons, and lush gladioli. A wide, clean, and well-maintained gravel path leads to the artistically carved main entrance gate. On the first and only floor, the windows are wide open. Through one of them, he can see a picture. It could be from Edward Hopper. Of course, it is not an original. But you never know; the owner of this house seems to have good taste and a lot of money.
The noise of an arriving motorcycle turns him away from his contemplations. The motor stops, some misfires coughing. He gets up and goes to the door. He sees a man beside an old, small Motosacoche . The ‘guy’ gives him a pointed look, puts his helmet off, and raises surprised his eyebrows.
He looks like Pestalozzi
In fact, short black hair, beardless, a simple linen jacket, and simple wool trousers.
«Hello, welcome here.»
That was refreshingly friendly.
He asks about the possibility and price of a one-night stand. Everything is okay, and the usual formalities are completed smoothly and bilingually. It is cheap and clean, and it is the right thing for him in the right place. He asks the hut warder about other guests.
The hut warden answers:
«There are a few more coming, at least two, but we are certainly not fully booked.»
Great, here he feels himself comfortably. He occupies a cot in a corner, drops his backpack, takes off his shoes, and lies down. Unpacking and showering can wait; he is too worn out from his near accident.
When he wakes up again, it is already dark. Two other guests have arrived. In the room’s corner are racing bikes, helmets, cycling equipment, and a pink shirt like the one the Giro d'Italia leader proudly presents. That doesn't bother him; he strips his clothes and showers. The washroom is spartan; the water is lukewarm. Before returning, he quickly looks down the hallway. There is nobody here.
Unfortunately, no ladies.
He gets into the tracksuit and thinks about what to do next. He doesn’t want to go out to look for food.
And where is he here? The orientation board posted in the hallway next to the house rules provides information: he is near Lavigny.
The village is far too far away from here; in his current condition, he would not be able to make it there.
He still has water and other liquids. And, oh, yes, there are also sausages in his backpack!
Good. There will be a barbecue party this evening. He will be all alone, and nobody will bother him.
He asks ‘Pestalozzi ’ for firewood and matches. Which are quickly brought, together with a grill rack.
«Would you like a piece of bread?»
He gratefully accepts. He sits on the small wall next to the fireplace and en-joys it. The barbecue dinner is far more delicious than some of the stuff he was served on this tour.
The hut warden comes with two cans of beer under his arm and sits beside him. He holds out one can to him:
«You have deserved it!»
He is again obliged to explain his refusal.
A pleasant chat follows, which turns into a more intense conversation. It gives him enough to think about. He received new ‘material’ to ‘process’ in the hike’s remaining days.
He doesn't even notice that it's a bilingual dialogue. It is a dialogue and not a discussion because the two men agree entirely. The hut warden speaks French; he speaks German.
Understanding each other doesn’t require speaking the same lan-guage. (Quota from the author)
The themes of military, power, and violence are inexhaustible for both:
• Why does humanity need armies?
• Is it not possible to resolve conflicts in another way?
• Why are people so convinced that their beliefs are the right ones?
• Where is the objectivity in all this?
• Are wars being waged deliberately to reduce the earth's population?
Isn’t the main reason for wars, as always, money and wealth? The only army that has a right to exist is the Salvation Army.
One is proud to be German, one is proud to be French, one is ashamed to be German, one is ashamed to be French. (Kurt Tucholsky )
The right of the stronger is the wrong of the stronger. (Bertha von Sutt-ner )
They agree, again in French and in German.
For such ideas, they both will end up in the desert. For the first time, he will not be alone there.
The hut warden’s name is Jean-Claude. He says good night, hops on his motorcycle, and disappears towards the village.
It's high ‘time’ to get to bed. His plan for tomorrow is to get to Nyon. He wishes himself a good night. Without turning on the light, he sets the alarm time to exactly 0600 a.m. and places it on the floor.
The other 'comrades' who will also spend the night here are not present.
Well, that's it for today! He makes a last quick inspection through the open window. The air is clear, and stars are everywhere. Tomorrow, the weather will be great, even without a weather forecast.
Day 10: Lavigny - Signal de Bougie - ‘Thunderstorm’ - Duilli-er.
What! Already morning? It can't be!
The much-needed sleep is abruptly interrupted.
He becomes half-awake. He is in a sparse dormitory, and a light is on. The two shaky shadows that can now be seen are doing their best not to make any noise. They fail because they repeatedly giggle, which turns into loud laughter. Their speech is more of a stammer. He cannot classify to which language family their sounds belong to. It appears that they drank more than enough.
A look at the cheap multipurpose watch on his arm shows that it is almost two o'clock.
That's it for the rest of the night! Rolling around on the hard surface doesn’t make sense; getting fresh air is much better.
He doesn't even look at the guys who disturbed his sleep, and steps through the unlocked front door into the fresh air.
The night is warm and dark, and the stars are blurred at their edges. He sits on the doorstep and looks around. Apart from the grunting from the inside, no sound can be heard, and no glimmer of light is noticeable. It's pleasant here, but sleep would be better.
After a few minutes, the noise stops. The light is off; only a few flashlight rays reflect on the walls. Soon, he hears a loud snoring that makes him shudder.
He closes the door behind him and tries to relax. His body prefers a horizon-tal position, but his brain doesn't mind when he sits.
Why not sleep out here?
It doesn't get that far because a tentative, slightly reddish light appears at the next house's window, and a curtain is opened.
By a fairy?
It is a fairy!
A female shadow in a wonderful dark-blue silken blouse and looks straight at him.
Then there is a slight, instinctive movement backward. But she apparently hesitates to disappear. She is fully visible back at the window.
Wow, what a perfect body she has! Her female figure is just perfect.
Where are her thoughts? Are they in the same place as those spinning through his brain?
Their glances collide in the middle between the villa and the hut, triggering unimagined and unexpected emotions.
They looked at each other for a minute.
Who has the more extended breath? Who has the stronger desire?
The wonderful spook, which is not a dream this time, ends as suddenly as it came. The transparent curtains are slowly drawn back.
And he is back to the now even more brutal reality!
He must pull himself together. He creeps in a daze into the now quiet dormi-tory and lies down. It takes a long time until he is in the dreamland.
The nights are long in Hamburg... (from a song)
The ones here near Aubonne aren't, at least not for him. Unfortunately, the night will soon be over. Daylight enters through the shutter-free windows.
The alarm clock rings; it is 5:45 a.m.! He gets up more badly than right. He needs precious time to think about where he is again.
Getting up is a problem; the inner bastard wants him to stay longer on the cot.
In such a case, a stream of cold water always helps. There is no possibility of shaving because there isn't a mirror here, not even a cracked one.
He drinks from the water he bought yesterday. Of course, as usual, it is en-riched with the mandatory vitamins.
He only wants to get away from here as soon as possible.
The backpack wasn't unpacked yesterday, which saves time. The question of hat clothes to wear is also unnecessary because they are the same as yes-terday. He puts on his hiking boots and laces them twice. The daily 30 kilo-meters must be accomplished without fiddling with the shoes.
He didn't notice that one of the roommates had crawled out from the blanket while he was preparing for departure. The man holds his head. The other stranded ‘wreck’ is still sleeping soundly and snoring loudly. The awake one stands up and whispers:
«Do you have a coffee for me?»
He doesn't have coffee. He wants one for himself as soon as possible. But, for fun, he could offer him a tooth glass full of Pierre’s seventy percent schnapps.
«No, I can't serve you coffee, but do you want schnapps?»
That was brutal! The guy is shocked, jumps off the cot like a wild animal, and throws his arms through the air, as Don Quixote did to scare away wind-mills.
“Hans, you now better flee. You risk getting beaten.”
So, he goes. The air outside is as clean as his conscience, making it easier to tolerate an empty stomach. The next village is within reach. On Sunday, the distance to cover for breakfast was much longer.
He almost thoughtlessly strolled past the magnificent neighboring villa. Be-cause of this morning’s stress with the bike racers, the fantastic nightly scene with the lady had not yet entered the topmost level of his mind.
But now he is inevitably drawn closer to the mysterious house.
The green shutters are closed, and the dark blue Peugeot has disappeared. The villa resembles the castle in 'Sleeping Beauty'. The lady yesterday sure was a beauty.
The large iron garden gate is open. On both sides, there is a two-meter-high square stone pillar. Maybe he'll find a name tag there with something like:
Baroness and Baron de Lavingy.
It would be even better without the Baron.
There is nothing to be read on the pillars. He will never discover the owner’s name because he doesn't dare go to the front door for further investigation.
In the daylight, a badly needed meteorite can hardly be seen.
But why not an UFO?
UFOs are a good theme for the next brainstorming session.
He likes them because they are so fantastic unreal. He admires the well-known ‘specialist’ in those who said:
Only dreamers and not the bean counters change the world. (Erich von Däniken )
How right the gentleman is! He, the hiker, entirely agrees.
As hard as it is, he must escape from the UFOs and return to the hard can-tonal road. There isn't a morning pint concert in Lavigny or a breakfast source.
He must wait for the next village. He walks alone but would appreciate inter-esting extra-terrestrials companions.
A fantastic outlook brings him back to reality:
The Lake Geneva area here is breathtakingly. If the Lord has been once on earth, he must have lived here. Those who live here are entitled contentiously to the highest privileges. They can easily pay for their Jaguars, Bentley, Rolls-Royce or Maybach’s from their petty cash.
If one has too much, then another has too little. (Quote from the author)
«Hans, not even in this most beautiful scenery can you stop your attacks on the privileged.»
Signal de Bougy is not precisely on the shortest route to Café de la Place, but there is a marvelous park sponsored by Migros that is open for the public.
Gottlieb Duttweiler , a pioneer in food retailing, founded Migros. He was also a ‘funny’ member of the Swiss parliament. Once, in a bad mood, he threw raw eggs at the walls of the federal government building. He created the term ‘social capital'. This gentleman had a strong personality.
Before reaching the famous park, he walks through lush vineyards. With the deep blue lake at his feet and the western Swiss Alps as the crowning back-drop, hiking is again one of the world’s most enjoyable ‘hobbies’.
On the other side of the lake, he sees Evian, a larger town with a famous casino.
Life is a game of dice; we roll dice every day; for some, fate brings a lot, and for others, it brings nothing but trouble. (from a soldier's song)
Where will the dice fall for him? He is an outdoorsman and not a gambler. Fate always happens as it has to, even without dice.
The Lord does not play dice. (Albert Einstein)
«Hans, leave the oracles to others; go your own way! It will, anyway, inevita-bly come as it must!»
The first to come is the Signal de Bougie charity park. This facility is pretty.
• Playgrounds.
• Mini golf.
• Majorette theater.
• Animals.
• Grill facilities.
• Jardin de Madame.
• A large restaurant.
This place will undoubtedly be crowded on Sundays. Today, finding a free table and the always needed 'parking space' for his backpack is present.
The menu in the restaurant for today, Wednesday:
• Filet de Perche.
• French fries.
• Green salad.
• Mineral water.
It tastes better than just excellent. The reasonably priced 'Mont-sur-Rolle wine is ignored. The preconceived restrictions must be adhered to.
There is also a grocery store, although with a limited selection. Cervelats have proven extremely useful, and a splendid piece of Emmental cheese is not to be despised. They sell energy drinks, homemade and 'sugar-free'.
Freshly strengthened, he feels very comfortable; half of the daily ‘work’ is done.
Up here, it is simply like being in paradise. The path to follow is wide and comfortable. The scene is too exciting; the thoughts don’t escape into the cloud; they stay on earth.
They better do, then the ‘real’ clouds make slow but sure no longer fun. A thunderstorm is threatening. In ever larger masses, becoming ever blacker, the water-filled mischief approaches. He hasn't gotten wet since Egerkingen, but now he will be soon.
Yesterday, he hadn’t seen a weather report. Jean-Claude's refuge did not have a TV. Being outdoors and grilling sausage was definitely much better than any television program, even if those are available on a hundred or more channels.
Question: How many TV channels are needed by a normal ‘human being'?
«Hans, can't you suppress your socially critical lateral thinking? A storm is coming up»
First, he has to get down from the heights as soon as possible. At the top, he is closer to the megavolt of the lightning. This isn't as easy as it seems. All the accessible paths go parallel to the Jura chain; going downward is impossible. The sky darkens, turning day into night. The storm, with its ever-increasing lightning and thunder, becomes more menacing. He is at risk of being struck by a lightning bolt.
Fortunately, he doesn’t carry many metallic ’gears’ with him, only a pocket knife and two keys. The razor was thrown away, and the cell phone is made from plastic. He has to get out of this dangerous zone as soon as possible. The only solution is to take the small footpath between the over a meter-high vine. It is not harvesting time yet; the fruits are still awaiting the final ripening stage. He didn't see any display boards or barriers indicating a ban on enter-ing the vineyards because he had to concentrate on his increasingly small steps.
Down in the flat, they begin to lighten the streetlamps. At the still visible parts of the lake, he sees a yellow storm warning signal blinking at very short inter-vals. The sails of the two lonely sailing boats are bent and will soon touch the water.
But, at least he is now near the lake.
The road now leads through a tunnel under the freeway. On the freeway, the vehicles crawl at an appropriate low speed, at least those in the right lane.
he speeders in the fast lane race as usual, now with nervously flashing head-lights.
«Hans, instead of criticizing again, ask yourself where exactly in the geogra-phy you are!»
According to his intuitive ability to estimate, he is about eight kilometers be-fore Nyon. Two more hours! He'll never be able to get there without getting soaking wet because it's starting to rain.
And how! Drops the size of a category 1A egg are hitting the hot asphalt. If there were real eggs, the hot street would now be littered with fried eggs.
As far as he can see, there is no village, no barn, let alone an illuminated object. The thunder is getting closer and closer; there are only a few seconds between the lightning and them. The rain is reaching its ultimate in-tensity.
He dashes forward, his heart pounding in his chest. The storm is so fierce that he almost misses a potential refuge. His desperation is palpable, and his need for safety is overwhelming, but not under the nearest tree. Not to do this in thunderstorms was drummed into him as a child.
He rushes straight ahead at the fastest possible speed. It is so stormy that he nearly overlooked the possibility of being protected.
It must be a carpentry shop's storage shed. Whatever it is, it doesn't matter. A protective canopy covers almost twenty meters between the hut’s wooden wall and the street.
This is an emergency; he is a victim of the weather.
So, he could permit himself a sip of Pierre’s schnapps. But he refuses this and grasps a sugar-free energy drink. A dried sausage and half a portion of the Emmental cheese round up tonight's dinner.
With so much good food, the 'blessing' from above has lost its cruelty. The rain is still pouring, but the lightning and thunder are decreasing.
The time? A look at his watch shows an unlikely 8:30 p.m. And now, good advice is costly.
He has no idea how far away he is from his intended destination. In any case, it's too far! He has already survived a several-hour walk through the pouring rain in Oensingen. That was enough.
He listens to the raindrops singing on the canopy. He hopes it stays tight.
A faint glow of light approaches, accompanied by the deep hum of a motor. A covered tractor pulls a tire trailer filled with large empty barrels. The driver seems to have recognized him because the vehicle slows down, moves to-wards him, and stops. The tractor driver throws aside the tarp that protects the driver’s side and calls:
«Come on, there's still a place behind me.»
He hesitates for a long moment. Resolutions, temptation. Or is the man Mephistopheles?
Or is he man he Socrates?
Socrates must have looked like this: a long white beard and small, cunning eyes behind the circular lenses of the glasses. Behind Socrates, he could see an iron seat. Is it the emergency seat for Xanthippe ?
What would Socrates, as a hiker, decide in such a case?
He is not Socrates; he is the Hans! He is stubborn, even in delicate, challeng-ing situations. He steps through the heavy rain closer towards the man and says:
«No, Mercie beaucoup!»
In this situation, he cannot explain at length why he has to turn down this very generous offer. He asks the friendly driver:
«Can you tell me where I am here? How far away is the next village? Is there a possibility to stay there overnight?»
The answer is as exact as brutal: he is near Duillier, the nearest village, which is still three kilometers away. There are no hotels or anything like that. To Nyon, there is a two-hour walk.
He immediately realized his lousy situation. He thanks again and steps back-wards, deeper under the roof. The one minute he stood in the rain had swamped his clothes.
‘Socrates’ says, somewhat disappointed;
«So much for you; goodbye and good luck.»
‘Socrates’ buttons the plastic window and steps violently on the gas pedal. The rear left tire sprays a ‘farewell' at him in the form of a vast water wave.
This water wave must have cleaned his brain because he got an interesting idea.
Why not stay here?
The 'bed' will be hard and relatively uncomfortable. So, what, tomorrow, he will be at the Café de la Place. In a soft, comfortable double bed! After a T-bone steak! After one, two, or more beers! After having a Cuba’s Cigar!
He will celebrate one of the greatest successes in his life!
Isn’t there a more plausible reason to stay in this friendly, dry oasis? And doesn’t have to sleep under the stars; he is under a waterproof roof.
Said and done! It's not necessarily ideal, but it can be accomplished. The boards are stacked up to a height of 150 cm and are around 80 cm wide. The solid, waterproof canopy covers an empty, air-filled space.
He changes his T-shirt and puts on the only fresh pair of socks. No pillow? No problem then the tracksuit will do it.
A good conscience is a good pillow. (a saying)
He ignores the schnapps and the energy drink and drinks water. He finds the tiny, pencil-thick laser flashlight he took with him for reasons that only now became apparent. In this situation, it’s worth its weight in gold.
The pile of boards he is lying on is slightly tilted, ideal for blood circulation. He throws the backpack in the grass and positions his legs so that the back-pack is protected while he sleeps. He takes off his shoes and places them within an easily reachable distance from the ‘bed’. They could serve as a throwing weapon in the case of an attack.
In this situation, the monotonous crackling of the raindrops sounds like Asian music, like the hum of the Brahmins' prayer wheels. The monotonous noise helps to fall asleep.
Day 11: Duillier - ‘Queen’ - ‘Puzzle’ - Ferney-Voltaire.
The night was restless. The wood is harder than all the materials he has slept on so far.
He is immediately wholly awake. Today is the last day of the trip.
The weather? About thirty meters away rise mall white clouds of mist. The sun's rays have not yet reached the ground, but they will soon.
He starts the last day fully concentrated. The first step is to sort his belong-ins. Those are the articles against the rain, the spare pairs of shoes, a red tie, and the ‘stuff’ he bought yesterday.
Then he checks the utilities:
• Wallet.
• Alarm clock: used only once in Lavigny.
• Pocket knife. Not used so far.
• Cell phone, very essential.
• Key for the camping van.
• Lay for his apartment in Zurich.
• Mini flashlight, used yesterday.
• Mini compass, used at the south wall of the Born.
• Ballpoint pen.
Pharmaceutical department:
• Soap: hardly used.
• Toothpaste: seldom used.
• Razor blades: not used today.
• Sun protection cream. This ‘stuff’ is no longer needed.
Today’s breakfast: cold water without bread but with vitamins, the last dried meat sausage, and half the remaining dried apricots.
It is not precisely a royal meal. It is more food for a beggar.
But, and this is for sure, he will eat like an emperor this evening.
An uneasy feeling comes up. Isn’t there something crucial missing? Where is the IWC?
A chill runs down his spine, even though the temperature outside is already warm. The watch is not here!
Of course. It is in ‘Eden sur Lac’, in the drawer on the bedside table. Forgetting the IWC was a careless mistake because he was too occupied by Mrs. Holle.
He must immediately call her! The hotel's business card with her telephone number is in his breast pocket, but his cell phone battery ‘died’ already before Orbe. He can only hope that there will be a public telephone booth somewhere.
This place for the night was a heavenly blessing. If he had oil with him now, he would use it to embalm the boards he was lying on . An energy drink and schnapps would be available to accomplish this sacral ‘act’, but he prefers to drink those.
The sun is now fully present. The meadows are steaming, and the puddles along the road are shrinking.
The white mist rises from the meadows, wonderful... (from a song)
The direction is to the west. It’s not the ‘promised land’ he gets to Duillier. A village like so many others. Even before coffee, he must call ‘Eden sur lac’! For once, he had a bit of luck because of an old Swisscom telephone box stands in a gras field that had survived the cell phone age and is ready to
be taken out of service.
He takes out the telephone tax card and puts it in the slot. It's a hassle in vain because the opening is, as is often the case, blocked.
Which, of course, immediately results in wild cursing.
A boy who strolled past by with an Appenzell Mountain dog on a leash and a skateboard under his arm heard this.
«Do you have a problem?»
Indeed, he has a big one! With angry gestures, he makes this clear to the boy.
«Voila, take my handy !»
He thanks him kindly and asks him to dial the number.
He doesn't dare operate other people's cell phones. Handling them is so different between the different models.
He takes out the hotel card from his breast pocket and hands it to the boy. Only now has he noticed that the 'B' in the name G. + B. Guinchard had been crossed out with a small black cross.
The friendly boy quickly types in the number. Mrs. Holle’s voice cheers him up. He greets her and explains the reason for his call.
«Yes, of course, it's there. It's locked in our safe!» Her answer calms him entirely.
Once more, he would hug this woman, but his arms don’t reach as far as ’Eden sur Lac’.
«I tried to call you in Zurich. I didn’t want to involve the police.»
That was brilliantly clever and very thoughtful of her. Then she added:
«On your way back, please stop here. We would be delighted. We will have a marvelous time.»
Great! This is superb news. He loves to visit the friendly environment with its lovely female residents.
«Of course, thank you very much. But I am so sorry because I’m speaking on a borrowed cell phone. I have so much to tell you. I will call again when I am in Meyrin.»
She understood and replies:
«Oh, have a pleasant trip, and I'm excited to see you soon!»
Without a word, he hands the boy for the so badly needed telephone. The boy says, in pure Swiss German:
«I understood everything. Sir, you're still in excellent shape.»
That was a nice compliment.
He now wants to say thank you. But how? He opens his wallet and looks for a five-franc coin. The boy discards his hands, violently rejecting the gift. Should he give him the can with an energy drink? Or one of the Cervelats? The dog smelled them; he was already sniffing the backpack.
«Here, at least take this Cervelat. It's fresh from yesterday. If you don't like it give it to your Barry!»
The boy laughs, takes the sausage, and walks away. After a few meters, he turns around again and waves goodbye. What will the boy tell his friends, siblings, and parents about him? He will probably report:
«I met a crazy, forgetful old hiker from Zurich.»
There is no suitable place in the village to have a cup of coffee, so it is postponed until the next opportunity.
He comes to the lake. According to what he learned at school, he will soon cross the St. James Way , which he will follow for a while. Not to Santiago de Compostela. He leaves that to others, to the believers.
This famous pilgrimage route is reached. It is very well-marked, better than most of the standard walking trails. But those are not holy.
There are people here, even on an ordinary, non-holy Thursday. They of-ten nod at him in admiration. One man even lifts the hat. He leaves them in good faith.
Even an unbelieving hiker is allowed to use the St. James Way.
Here, too, the landscape is beautiful. The sun is shining, and the nature is in full early-fall development. Only his outfit and three-day beard deface the scene.
«Hans, look at the floor and feel, just a bit, ashamed of your appearance.»
When you look at the earth, you see little. He almost missed this unique picture, which now appears. It is a gentleman sitting high on a noble white horse, wearing a green doublet with gold buttons, a leather riding crop, and a military cap. He looks like General Guisan in the well-known picture. A slim, light-brown greyhound constantly gazes at the equestrian.
«Ah, chemin Saint James, Felicitation!»
The gentleman puts his right hand on the cap. This movement is perfect; it shows many years of experience in correct military greetings. Then, a light pat on the horse's loin. The three disappear behind the bushes at a light trot.
He is approaching a castle, certainly the residence of the noble gentleman he just met. Long black wrought iron bars with gold-plated tips shield the property. Through the wide-open gate, he sees, at a noble distance, the proud construction covered in ivy. The garden is well-kept, with roses, dahlias, green ornamental bushes, substantial old maple trees, and unknown plants in marble vases. At the end of the wide gravel path, below columns holding a large terrace, is the open entrance to the castle.
In front of it is a table covered with a white cloth. He sees a figure leaning slightly forward on an armchair next to it. He involuntarily steps closer and dares to look curiously at the lady.
She raises her eyes and looks intensely at him. Then, her decision is made; she waves at him energetically with an unambiguous gesture to come closer.
He gathers all the self-confidence and moves forward.
What does he see now?
This must be the rebirth of Maria Stuart.
Maria Stuart doesn't wait for him to talk. She presses the mechanical bell in the middle of the table. Its pleasant, non-shrill sound fits to the surroundings.
He hears steps. A classic maid in a black skirt, a short white apron, and a bonnet appears.
«Bring John a Tea!»
This order must be familiar to the maid. It’s not the first time she has heard this.
She carefully looks at him. His appearance worries her a bit, but an order is an order. She prepares to retreat into the castle.
Maria Stuart turned away slightly and petted a light-brown greyhound, the same breed he had seen with ‘General Guisan’ a minute earlier.
On the way to the entrance, the maid looks at him and whispers in Swiss German.
«She thinks you're her brother!»
She taps her index finger to her forehead almost invisibly and moves her eyeballs towards the lady, indicating that the lady is slightly confused.
With a severe glance at him, Maria Stuart now says:
«John, tell me where you have been!»
This was a command. This lady is not used to contradictions.
He answers slowly, using his best English. First, he tries to excuse his appearance. Her light-gray eyes inspect him thoroughly.
«You will be thirsty!»
Yes, he is!
The maid brings a fine teapot and a cup, a small silver spoon on a silver tray, puts it in front of him, and cautiously fills the cup.
The lady now says with undisguised pride:
«This is a gift from Queen Elizabeth the Second.»
She points at the spoon and suddenly speaks pure stage German.
«So, tell me about your trip!»
He's happy to do so. From now on, in German.
She listens attentively, occasionally sips from the teacup, nods or shakes her head, and seems to enjoy herself. At least for a while. Then, her head dips slightly forward, and she is far away.
This gives him time to catch his breath and look around. While concentrating on the conversation, he didn’t notice they weren’t alone in this feudal garden. A few meters further, two children are playing at a large, light oak table under the trees.
They are very busy because they haven’t noticed the involuntary guest. They need their attention for what they are doing: putting together a giant puzzle.
The two, a girl is about seven and the boy are around ten years old. They are beautifully dressed: the girl in a pink flower-embroidered skirt, the boy in black long checked trousers and a white shirt.
They argue loudly; they don't seem to agree on where the next puzzle piece has to be placed.
The lady hears this, too, but it doesn't seem to faze her. She must have thought about what he told her. Questions seem to have arisen in her mind:
«So, you walked from Zurich to here in ten days?»
He confirms with a vigorous nod.
The 'Queen' rises majestically. With a committed wave of her hand, she made a sign to him to stand up and come closer. The fingers of her right hand are clutching the silver teaspoon.
He is now standing before her, not even a meter apart.
He notices that the lady is almost as tall as he is and that she is surprisingly securely standing upright. She raises her arm, which holds the spoon. Then she gently lowers her hand and touches his right shoulder smoothly.
«I hereby make you a knight of hiking!»
And she drops the spoon into the left breast pocket of his shirt.
The maid, who heard everything, can hardly contain her laughter. Such a scene had apparently not happened for the first time.
According to the 'Etiquette', how should he react as a newly promoted knight? How can he show his gratitude?
The IWC is in ‘Eden sur Lac’, and you shouldn't give to the ones who all-ready have everything. An 'Elizabethan' teaspoon is genuinely a royal gift. Once again, he feels like being the:
Donkey on the mountain. (a saying)
Maria Stuart seems to have recognized his embarrassment.
«Sir Hans, you deserve it! May he bring you the happiness you are longing for! We have everything! I wish you a nice happy end to your trip. Goodbye!»
And away she rushes, lifting her skirt lightly and skillfully. As in a dream, he puts on his backpack and steps towards the gate.
The children are again at peace with each other. He calls an 'Adieu' at them.
Only now do the children briefly glance at him, answer something incomprehensible, and bend over the puzzle again.
The picture is nearly complete. It shows the Castle of Chillon. This castle is a prevalent motif for puzzles.
But he does not want to visit Chillon. It's time to come down to earth and move on. The maid accompanies him to the gate.
«You can accept the gift with a clear conscience; Madame really blossomed during your visit.»
He asks the maid for a business card from the lady to prove that the 'Elisabethen’ spoon is a gift in the case the police, customs officers, or others ask questions. He receives the card. On the back is a handwritten confirmation that the virtual 'Knighthood Sword' is a gift from the slightly confused lady.
Once again, his walking is somnambulist. The path leads through a small forest. The sun has passed its zenith. For the last time on this hike? At least the last time in the fields. Tomorrow, he will sit in the Café de la Place’s Garden all day long and mentally repeat the entire trip.
Life is not just a game of dice. It's also a gigantic puzzle. He is tempted to invent a parable between puzzles and real life:
At first, there is a pile of disorganized, apparently shapeless parts.
They must be put together to form a picture.
In a real puzzle, the final picture is known; in a ‘virtual’ puzzle, it is not.
You start to put the pieces together.
First, you use the parts with straight edges.
Then, you find the pieces that form a rectangular frame.
After the frame is formed, it becomes more difficult. Objects cannot be seen yet.
Now, color patterns are becoming visible. One way is now to follow the colors. You find pieces that fit.
But then there are long pauses to place the next piece. Isn’t this frequently the case in real life?
You are blocked; you hold a piece in the hand that you are convinced should fit here.
But it doesn’t. The temptation is great to get a hammer and force the piece into the place you believe it should be. In real life, such situations are well known. In this case, you need a time-out. In a play-puzzle and in real life.
Now, the only thing that helps is to mix the remaining parts thoroughly. Pieces that were impossible to be placed before can now easily be placed.
That helps to progress. The picture becomes clear and starts to make sense.
Is it the beautiful picture you want? In a puzzle, it will always be a beautiful one. Not so in real life,
The accurate picture you only see shortly before you die.
You have no other choice but to accept it. It is not possible to get another one than the one that the destiny gave you. And then you realize that every piece fell into the right place, even without violence. Telling this parable to the two aristocratic children is a waste of time. They wouldn't understand it yet.
Solving puzzles makes him thirsty, and the sun heats. Once again, there is nothing to sit on. But a felled tree trunk lies on the side of the path. He sits carefully between the resin spots, breathes, and drinks water. It's a shame; it blurs the taste of the fine Indian tea, which pleases the palate.
There is not a soul to be seen, not even a pilgrim. He is no longer on the Saint James Way. He has turned further inland again and should soon be in Chavannes-de-Bougis.
It's time because he is ‘physically’ almost 'flat'. His ‘batteries’ are running low. He is mentally okay, more than is needed for the approximately last twelve kilometers.
He has entered a cool forest and reached the small valley of the Versoix. Because they are not nocturnal, he won't meet the beavers resettled here.
The river’s water is spotlessly clean; he sees his now hideous beard. To shave and wash his face is definitely required.
He puts his backpack onto the grass, digs out the toilet articles, puts his head close to the water, and wets it thoroughly with both hands. He re-moves the shaving blade's protective cover, squirts three portions of shaving foam from
the can at his face, and plays for himself the Barber of Sevilla . He rinses away the remaining foam with cool Versoix water, and the procedure is completed with no bloodshed.
Under these circumstances, he couldn't feel any fresher. He uses the last bit of sunscreen cream as an aftershave. At least his face is clean and friendly now; he likes himself a little better. He will soon be able to march into the Café de la Place, proud as a gladiator, even without being accompanied by Verdi's Triumphal March.
It is so wonderfully relaxed in this little forest. The shade in there invites him to take a late siesta. Why not? The Café de la Place stays open until midnight.
So, he lies down, stretching his legs wide apart, resting his head on a pile of green leaves and falls gently but firmly asleep.
He is roused by a bee’s buzz close to his ear. He rips his eyes with amazement.
Meanwhile, it became dark. He must have dozed on the hard surface much longer than scheduled.
He struggles to get up, puts on his backpack and continues to wobble in the direction he believes to be the correct one.
Switzerland is geographically very narrow at this point. At its narrowest point, only two kilometers separate the canton of Geneva from the rest of Switzerland.
The border posts at the Collex border crossing are deserted on both sides, so his fear of being to a body inspection by the customs officer was entirely in vain.
Why are boundaries even necessary? Unfortunately, human beings need separation, protection, and restrictions.
Only those who go to the border can blow them up! (Quote from the author).
Certain boundaries should, in fact, be blown. First, the most important is the one between wealth and poverty.
Why not by him? He is one of those who goes to the border! But he is strictly against all violence. The boundaries must be eliminated in other ways.
The town, with the honorary title 'Voltaire', is reached. Here, Voltaire did not rage but thought. The statues erected for him everywhere in this town confirm this. There is very dense car traffic and enormous shopping centers in and around the town. These serve the 'shopping tourism' of the Swiss.
He is now in France. It's getting very dark now, but he can still see an open window on the first floor of a one-story brick building next to the street. Behind it there must be the kitchen because he sees a massive, old-fashioned stove. On top of it is a large cauldron made of black cast iron.
A female figure wearing a headscarf is standing there, busily stirring the contents of the pot.
Is she Mére Royaume ? Did she get lost in Ferney-Voltaire?
Her 'season' is in December, and it doesn't smell like vegetable soup here. So, it can't be Mére Royaume; the woman must be her sister.
A sharp taste comes toward him, whetting his appetite. It's been a long time since he has tasted something that tickles his throat and makes him breathe fire.
It's Couscous because the guys at the entrance must have come from the Maghreb. They discuss with wild gestures in a language that is reminiscent of Mohammed.
Only now, he notices the half-dilapidated inscription at the house:
There is a cardboard cover hanging underneath, which is difficult to decipher:
‘Chambres libre/Free rooms.’
Whenever he doesn’t need it, something like this happens! Today, he doesn't need a place to stay overnight; Meyrin is only a stone's throw away.
Way why not stay here for the night? Then he could walk tomorrow to the Café la Place in the peace of a Sunday stroller. He wants to arrive there cleanly washed, shaved, and better dressed, not in the lousy shape he is in now. He would be better off getting there tomorrow. Staying overnight in Ferney-Voltaire won't cost much, and the budget has already been over-run. These arguments persuade him to rest here.
Ignoring the North African figures, he bravely strides into the usual dark hallway. One guy gives him a more than astonished grimace and calls something towards the kitchen.
That's good. The woman at the stove wipes her hands on her thick, long apron and approaches him.
He asks her about the possibility of staying overnight. She reacts to his question with great surprise. She certainly didn't expect a non-African in her house. Slightly grumpy, she explains to him that her establishment isn't a hotel but a temporary refuge for asylum-seeking emigrants. But then, she shows something like pity:
«Yes, you can stay. However, the price is slightly higher than normal because the laundry must be changed after just one day: 50 euros. Couscous is included this evening, and a simple breakfast tomorrow. The shower is on the second floor, and the room has cold water. And by the way, all the croissants are gone after ten o'clock.»
A large key is held out to him. He stumbles up the worn-out wooden stairs, finds his room, and, as usual, throws the backpack onto the floor. The room is simple and clean and is, therefore, okay.
A glance through the open window does not bring excitement. Further away are some unkempt, steppe-like, sandy front gardens and children's playgrounds with ruined swings and slides.
He is not on vacation here, so the unfriendly surroundings don't bother him.
He lets cold water run over his body and puts on his tracksuit. Here, you won't have to wear a tuxedo for dinner.
The e delicious Couscous with tender sheep meat tastes excellent.
A bearded, medieval patriarch of the type 'Maitre d'Hotel' hands him an overfilled glass with a dark red, opaque liquid substance. He 'blows' at him in a strong, hoarse voice:
«Take it. It is for free. It is wine from Algeria! »
He thanks him in his sparser French. He doesn’t feel able to explain in details why he's turning down the friendly offer.
He goes into the rickety bed without looking through the window. Despite the babble of voices under his window, he takes less than ten minutes to fall asleep.
Day 12: Ferney-Voltaire - ‘Davidoff’ - Café de la Place.
He wakes up by a loud babble of voices. It's coming from the same voices as yesterday evening. They probably rambled all night long. They didn't need sleep because they don't work. Don’t they find a job or are they not allowed to work?
Whatever, it's not his problem. Or is it? He is a human, and emigration is of humanity’s concern. Solution: Distribute all the goods on earth evenly. Point.
Even on the last day, he can't help but be provocative.
Today’s shaving must be done particularly precisely and cleanly. Why? A beautiful lady might give him the hardly earned victory kiss.
Which lady? He met many, mostly dressed in black. Which one would he like most? Good question, but it is an entirely unnecessary one. Margaretha and Mrs. Holle are miles away.
The weather is not dressed in black. He doesn't care about it; a three-hour walk can be done regardless of any meteorological phenomenon.
It is only half past nine, so he is early enough for the croissants. He now enjoys them in the garden with strong black coffee. An unforeseen but realistic vacation day is coming up.
First, he has to pay for the night. The bearded ‘Maître d’Hotel’ sits bored behind the counter in the entrance hall. As usual, he shows his crumpled, worn-out golden Mastercard to pay the hotel bill.
Grumpy grunts, accompanied by violent head shaking, are the response to his gesture:
«No, not here!»
Once again, good advice is expensive. He has no euros and only a few Swiss francs in his wallet.
There will surely be a bank here. He is near Switzerland. He explains to the landlord that he has to get money.
Again, an enormous suspicious face stares at him, and he is commanded to leave his backpack here as a deposit.
After a few hundred meters is a building marked 'Credit Lyonnais'. This seems to be a bank. A big sheet at the door says:
Closed from 1100h. to 1400h.
This looks very familiar, but there is an ATM. His blue bank card is not accepted, so he must use the credit card. Cash withdrawals by credit cards are more profitable for money dealers because customers pay them a hefty treatment fee.
How many euros should he lure out? Better enough, you never know. With two hundred euros, he should be on the safe side.
It is market day in Ferney-Voltaire. So, why not look around? He now has cash and might find a bargain.
He finds no bargains and nothing of interest.
But he encounters, no, not a lady in black, but an elegant house with an even more sleek shop on the first floor: a 'Vinothek' .
He examines the articles in the show window. The selection is very tempting. It is customary to bring back a souvenir from a trip or vacation. He could bring a gift to somebody, for example, to Mrs. Holle. He can't bring her flowers because she has a beautiful garden, but he could get her a bottle of wine.
For Margaretha, it will definitely be a lavish bouquet of fresh red roses.
A 'Volnay' , vintage 2005, seduces him so much that he buys a bottle.
Twenty-nine euros, more or less, doesn’t matter. He will, anyway, soon be bankrupt.
The wine is packed in a paper bag with the shop’s name in large gold letters.
He hurries back to the ‘Pension des Philosophes’. The owner is standing under the door. As he reads the writing on the wine bag, he forgets to swallow and doesn’t say a word.
A fifty euro note and a few coins are thrown onto the sticky bar counter. The man simply shifts the money away without handing him a receipt.
He starts the final stage by following the main street and, as always, walks westwards. It's oppressively humid, and he can't see the sky. He feels good; he has 300 kilometers behind him. The few to come will be a pleasure.
He is very near the airport here. Switzerland lacks space for its dimensions, so the larger part of the airport is in France. Not even the constant loud noise caused by the starting airplanes can spoil his good mood. He feels like being an airplane that takes off for paradise. He is ready for it, relaxed, healthy, and has a clean conscience.
Oh, something very significant needs to be added to complete the party. To crown the celebration, he will enjoy a mighty cigar.
Doesn't he deserve it? For some people: Yes. For others: No.
This reminds him that he doesn't have anything to smoke with him. There is no possibility of getting cigars until Meyrin. And there, they only sell the cheap brands he usually smokes. Today, there must be something far better. It must cost at least twenty euros a piece!
He looks in all directions to find a cigar shop. In vain, then he is here far away from any shopping center.
The one who seeks will find. (a saying)
Found!
A few hundred meters to the left is a large, two-story high concrete building: a modern, fancy four-star hotel.
He enters it. The entrance hall is air-conditioned, bright, and elegant. Nobody can be seen. Several square columns with mirrors on all four sides are in there.
Accidentally, he glances at one, and with astonishment, he sees the following:
Standing upright, he looks dazzling.
• With a sun-kissed face.
• Freshly dresses.
• Standing upright.
• With a slim, sporty figure.
• With fat-free arms and legs.
He looks like a professional tennis player, soccer hero, ski instructor, movie star, cowboy, or something similar. Those who are known to be the idols of women.
But, unfortunately, there are no ladies present.
A considerable souvenir, newspaper, and tobacco shop stretches along the teak wall. Newspapers in all possible languages and with the usual provocative headlines are neatly laid out.
In this fancy place, they will undoubtedly sell high-class cigars. On this lazy afternoon, no visitors are expected, so nobody is behind the counter.
But now he's being noticed. An elegantly dressed lady in a black trouser suit, white blouse, and high heels rushes at him:
«What do you want?»
The expression on her face shows that she wants to send him to the devil.
In this situation, the IWC would be highly justified. But the watch is in Eden-sur-Lac.
A lightning idea pops up! He takes the golden Master Card from his wallet and hands it to her.
«Do you accept this?»
After a strict look at him, she nods. Without twitching with his facial muscles, he orders three Cuban Cohiba Robusto .
This completely embarrasses her
«We don't sell Cuban cigars; we're an American hotel chain!»
Her tone is poisonous.
He replies:
«Do you have equal-quality cigars?»
He would have loved to continue teasing her, but she obviously doesn't want to be teased, so she abruptly turns away.
«Please don’t leave. Please give me three Davidoff Coronas.».
That sudden decision was triggered by the cigar of the month advertisement posted on the cash register. The introduction price is five euros per piece.
The lady opens the humidor with a disdainful expression on her face. Three brown sticks are carefully taken from a wooden box. Her skillfully red-colored fingertips handle him a tiny pack with exceptionally long matches:
«They are for free.»
his is truly grateful, so he thanks.
His credit card is swiped through the credit card reader. Her heavily enhanced black eyebrows monitor everything cautiously. The liberating rustle caused by the printer printing the receipt calms her inner life. She now smiles. The red on her lips and the seductive scent of expensive perfumes trigger enormous serotonin shuts.
«Come on, Hans, don't let yourself be diverted from the path of virtue on the final stretch!»
The ‘shortcut’ through France is now ‘history’. He is at the border near Mategnin.
On the French side, there is only a tiny wooden barrack, which once was the customs house.
On the Swiss side, there is a stately, flat, and proud office building. There is nobody in there. The only living creature here is a black cat. She's lying lazily on the hot tin roof .
He passes the tin roof and is back in his home country. The grass is not greener here than on the other side of the border.
He will not take a coffee in the restaurant de Mategnin to his right. He is not even glancing at the pretty waitress in the garden.
He is getting closer to the village. Big apartment blocks, school buildings, and a soccer field are passed before he arrives at the church.
On the tree next to the school building, he can see two black heavily fighting crows.
Are they the cranes of Ibycus ? Or the ravens of holy Saint Meinrad ?
They must be from Meinrad; Einsiedeln is closer to Meyrin than Greece. What omen is the presence of black crows?.
He would like to know this because he will soon call two fabulous ladies: Margaretha and Mrs. Holle.
Near the soccer field is an old-fashioned telephone cabin.
Great! He collects all the coins left in his wallet and counts them. It should be enough for the two urgent calls. He finds Margaretha's visit card in the breast pocket. With trembling fingers, he drops some coins into the apparatus and dials the number. It rings at the other end of the connection.
The call is immediately answered:
«Hans, I'm so happy; I've been waiting for your call all afternoon.»
Hearing something like that is fantastic; her fine, feminine voice brings a powerful boost of happiness. He is unable to say a word.
«Are you still here?»
She sounds worried.
He is only partially here and out of control. He whispers:
«I love you!»
He never thought he would ever whisper this most misused of all sentences again.
«Dear Margaretha, Sorry, I'm in a telephone box! I will call you tomorrow. When is the best time?»
«Always!»
End of the conversation.
Is this the beginning of an entirely different kind of 'connection'? In this illusion, he hears Gabriel say:
«Hans, you're in love!»
Gabriel is right. But with whom? Margaretha or Mrs. Holle?
There are a few coins left, enough for the last call. It's the same 'procedure' as just before.
She is also seemingly drilled to hear him. Again, he has to explain why the conversation is so short and that he will call her tomorrow for a more intensive chat.
He hangs up, this time without saying:
«I love you.»
As if in a daze, he staggers into the garden.
Now, this is the incredible moment he has waited for since Zurich. He elderly gentleman made it from Zurich to Geneva in twelve days.it!.
He steps into the garden and shouts:
«Madame, une Canette !»
But nothing is happening!!! There are no souls nor tables in the garden. The entrance door is blocked with massive wooden blocks. The place in front of the house is littered with rocks, wooden boards, and construction tools. At the locked door hangs a large piece of cardboard. On it is written in trembling, shaky red letters:
Due to renovations, the restaurant will remain closed until further notice!!!
A world collapses! The worst of all catastrophes has hit.
«Gabriel, what did I do to deserve this?»
A large maple tree is at the garden's edge, or better yet, at the construction site. Underneath is an 80 cm high stack of bricks, high and wide enough to sit on. With an angry kick, he throws the backpack onto the sandy ground, sits on the pile, leans against the tree, and closes his still tearless eyes.
Time for meditation: what shall he to do now?
He's dozing off until disturbed by an intensive chirping of birds. Two large birds, like the crows of Ibycus, approach his backpack. Did they smell the only Cervelat left in there?
Black ravens promise lousy luck!
Fortunately, they no longer stay around because a big black cat rushes up. The cat also seems to have smelled the Cervelat.
Black cats also bring mischief!
The unwelcome 'critters' somehow calmed him down. He also hears Gabriel calmly say:
«Hans, switch off and sit down. You’re used to such blows of fate. Celebrate your success anyway!»
First, he takes off his hiking boots and lets his legs dangle. His right foot touches the backpack, causing a sound like clinking glass.
Aha, the 'Volnay’!
Why not celebrate his success casually with wine and a cigar? Thought, ac-cepted, done!
He takes out the bottle, a Davidoff, and the last Cervelat from the backpack and places them on the brick stack beside him. The table for a big victory gala dinner is ready. The only thing missing is the Triumphal March.
But before enjoying the meal, the bottle must be opened. This is no problem for an experienced hiker like him because he has a pocket knife. So far, he has not used it, but it is very helpful in the present situation. The knife also contains a cork puller. This tool immediately does its job.
The next decision is: grill the sausage or eat it raw?
All kinds of wood are lying around, and he has matches from the ‘Kiosk-Lady’ at the four-star hotel.
Why not light a little fire in the big sandy spot in the corner of the restaurant garden?
Good idea.
He sticks the sausage at the top of one of the iron rods lying around and spins it over the fire. The emerging, pleasant taste stimulates the appetite. On a construction site, there are usually no wine glasses, let alone cutlery, avail-able. Never mind! He eats the Cervelat by hand and takes a huge sip from the full bottle.
Great, he feels much better now.
The cigar is carefully lit, and the smoke is deeply inhaled. The first sip of wine is followed by many more. After half an hour, the cigar is finished, and the bottle is half empty, but the morale is rising. Entirely relaxed, his eyes wander up the wall of the house. The windows on the first and second floor are closed by shutters. It seems like there is nobody leaving there anymore.,
But what does he see now? Is he drunk?
A lady is opening the right shutter. She sees him, looks at him with visible surprise for a long moment. And now, oh wonder, she sends him a marvel-ous, extraordinary smile before she slowly steps back.
«Hans, now you're completely crazy, looking at strange shadows. You badly need to relax. You better do this right now!»
This was a harsh order from Gabriel!.
Gabriel is right, so he better follow the order. But the brick wall is dirty, hard and does not invite to lay on it. But he needs most urgently a nap. But where and how? There is only a lousy one-star hotel in the village and most likely closed this week.
Now he is close to despair. But for once fate is kind to him. Right next to the locked entrance to the restaurant there is an old, worn-out sofa, ready to be thrown away. But it is clean and urgently needed. He stuffs his things into his backpack and throws it in front of the front door. He puts the shoes, which he had already taken off earlier, next to the sofa. Now he lies down on it with a mighty jerk, turns into a comfortable position and immediately sinks into a deep sleep.
He has just moved into his new house. A dream house. In a beautiful loca-tion, probably on the Côte d’Azur. A hundred meters above the Mediterrane-an, facing the sun. Built according to the latest architectural trends. It has ten rooms with huge windows, three garages and a large, paradisiacal park.
He doesn't really know how he got this house. It could have been a multi-million dollar win in the Swiss lottery. Or he could have just sold his millionth book. Then he would have deserved it too. The house is surrounded by a three-meter-high barbed wire fence. The gatekeeper at the entrance is the Quasimodo from Olten. His two assistants are the cyclists from Lavigny with vicious dogs of the same kind as the beast in Schinznach. In front of the gate is a dilapidated bridge, and further down are tanks. Must be those from La Sarraz.
«Who am I?»
A whispering, pleasant female voice shakes him awake. He wants to open his eyes. in vain. A gentle, slight pressure holds his eyes closed. He only sees black.
Where is he? In Nirvana or in a coal mine?
He runs both hands over his eyes. He must be in Nirvana because he feels the fine fingertips of a woman's hand gently touching his shut eyes.
The fingers are moved away, and he feels a tender push on his right shoul-der. Gently, he turns around and is close to falling into a trauma. Who stands before him?
Juliette! The landlady of the Café de la Place!
She is wonderfully wrapped in a beautiful black satin dress and with skillfully made-up red lips and shining eyes.
He stands up, trembles heavily, and steps closer towards the beauty. His movements become uncontrolled.
He hugs Juliette!
She snuggles up gently at him, moves her eyelashes seductively, and whis-pers:
«So you remember me?»
He has never heard a more senseless question in life, because he has such fond memories of his time with this incredibly charming lady. He knows her for many years.
«It's impossible to forget you!»
His speech is a stutter.
She smiles mysteriously and seductively. Is this indescribably happy moment reality?
Yes, she IS reality
She takes the half-empty bottle in her left hand. With the right one, she points at his backpack, signals him to take it, and gives him a sign to follow her.
She prances forward; the echo of her pointed heels exceeds the fascination of the triumphal march’s final crescendo.
They go around the corner of the house. There is a door is not barricaded. They go up the stairs; she opens an apartment door and pushes him to-wards the living room.
She brings two champagne glasses and a bottle of ' Dom Pérignon ' and fills them. Then she gently pushes him onto the big pink sofa and sits close to him.
«So, Hans, now tell me everything!»
The 'story' he will tell her is many thousand words long and is titled: 'THE EL-DERLY GENTLEMAN’S ULYSSEE’.
To do this, he has all the time in the world. Where he isn’t anymore. He is:
In the seventh of all the heavens. (a saying)
From now on, he will never again have to seek a place to sleep. For the first time in life, he feels like Julius Cesar, who said:
I came, I saw, I conquered. (Julius Caesar)