Angels in the fields

If you'd asked me, back when I lived in a big city, what I thought life would be like in a village of 500 people in the countryside, I would have said dead.

So certain was I that culture and distraction and all things interesting could only ever be found in a big city, it never entered my little head that people living elsewhere might organize their own entertainment. And that it might even actually be entertaining.

I've seen a bit more of the world since then, but even so, I'm impressed at how many regular events are organized in and around our small village. There's an open house day for the artists - good artists, too. There's a ballade gourmande, where you walk through the vines, stopping along the way for the four courses of your lunch. And there's a half-marathon.

Last weekend was the first year we participated - Téo and I walking as angels, Cédric running as himself, all of us eating at the mini-festival afterwards, the kids dancing along to the band as dusk deepened on a lovely Indian summer eve.

There are things I miss about living in a big city, cultural and entertainment options that will never be on offer in the village. But while it's quieter, life here is most definitely not dead.

A different way of seeing things

Me (looking around our bottom floor, at the toys scattered around, the socks under the table, the shoes in a corner, the mess on the table): Téo, there's still a lot of things you need to put away.

Téo (looking around): Where?

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Téo: Did Madame da C come today?

Me (looking around our bottom floor, all tidy, floor vacuumed and washed, surfaces dust-free, kitchen shining): What do you think?

Téo (looking around): I guess not.

Holiday snap supplement

So yes, August. A whole month gone by, and not even a single blog post. Sorry.

One reason was our summer holiday, during which Facebook was just easier. More gratifying too, with the likes - and comments even! (hint hint) The only problem is that you have to post right the very second you do something, or it's too late. Well, at least on the right day, and that proved too much sometimes. Plus I kind of felt I was hogging the news feed for a while there, and that maybe it was better if I just stopped already with the holiday snaps. But you, you're still coming here even after a long silence, meaning you must be interested, right? So here are some photos I iPhoneographed but never posted, as well as a few of the ones I did for those of you not on Facebook cough mum cough.

The Dolomites are beautiful.

Beautiful...

...beautiful...

...beautiful.

We did a lot of hiking the first week.

Sometimes it was a little hairy.

About 2 seconds after I took this photo, Téo spied a spider... and in order to see it better, stopped, turned 90 degrees to the right, and took a step backwards - yes, in the direction of the sheer 700 m drop to the valley below. I had a little trouble sleeping that night, thanks to visions of him taking a second step back.

And then there was the hail storm. The hail wasn't actually a problem, despite the kids being convinced - loudly and inconsolably convinced - that its appearance heralded their imminent death.

What was a worry was the lightning, our proximity to the summit, and our choice of the less travelled path.

The way up, on the travelled path, involved a bit more tricky, slippery cliff-traversing than we expected, with the expectation being no tricky, slippery cliff-traversing bits at all. Having gone up, we weren't too keen to go back down the same way. Especially after it started to rain.

So we kept on going on our chosen route, which turned out to be a very untrodden route. Untrodden to the point of no actual track, so that when the mist rolled in we had to keep a sharp eye out for the path markers. 

It was a little hard at this point not to wonder exactly why no one ever goes this way.

We saw edelweis though.

And a friendly marmot too, so the potential danger was totally worth it.

Happily, it turned out that even with the lightning, rain, wind, hail and mist, our chosen route was way safer than turning back, with no cliffs to traverse or descend. And the storm passed, the kids calmed down, and all was well.

Lukan found this rock - sorry, ghost! - on one hike. He so badly wanted to take it home with him, but we kept to our mean routine and said he'd have to carry it himself. He tried, he really tried, but it was so heavy he just could not walk with it. It's still up in the mountains. 

The region was the front line between Italy and Austria in WWI, with both sides digging tunnels in the mountains and even a glacier. This one, dug by the Italians, is over 1km long. It's true that there was less chance of tumbling down the mountain while inside the tunnels than out, but nevertheless the only hiking injuries - to me and C - were sustained here. Couldn't those soldiers have dug out just a bit more and made the roof higher?

We ate here pretty much every night. I was so excited that there was both pizza and strudel on the menu, but then I was always too full for the strudel. Life, it is hard.

The second week we were further south, and it was hot. Very very hot. We mostly hung around rivers and lakes.

There's newts in them thar waters! 

Also some kind of long, thin, unpleasant-looking worm thing that can swim, which lessened my enthusiasm for a dip somewhat. Like, to zero.

We also went to Venice for a day. Lukan was disappointed that he couldn't actually see the buildings sinking.

Here's a tip: should you find yourself nearish to Venice in the peak tourism month of August and during a heatwave, give it a miss. Although, the kids couldn't quite believe their luck that I was ordering them to soak themselves in every fountain we came across.

We set out for home two equally hot days later, yet the trees were already turning as we crossed over the Alps - which seemed a bit rude given that hello, it was still August which is SUMMER and do we really need reminding of what's coming next? It turns out though that it is no longer summer in Switzerland so the sighting of those yellow leaves really did mark the end of everything: our holiday, the school holidays, the season, and a couple of life phases too. But that's for another post.

Doing something right

Weekend rambles

So after the success of The Hike, we've been out walking again. First, a stroll in the hills behind the village. 

 On the way up.

And then back down. Bonus points if you can spot Téo without enlarging the photo.

Another somewhat more civilized lunch than the bush walking lunches of my youth.

Followed by wild strawberries for dessert.

Next, a stroll up to ... teepees!

Checking out the sleeping quarters.

Three very happy boys. Happy parents too.

Campfire sausages... also somewhat better than the bush walking dinners of my youth. Why, mum and dad, why the textured vegetable protein stews?

Toasted marshmallows. Once again, somewhat better... oh never mind.

And sadly cancelled last weekend due to rain, a hike to see dinosaur footprints. Oh well, another time.

Metamorphosis (an apparently unhelpful guide)

- I want to be a tortoise.

- A tortoise? Why?

- Because dey live to be two hundwed years old.

- Well, you know there is a way for you to become a tortoise.

- (Face lights up) How?

- Well, you go lie near a tortoise and let it eat you.

- (Face falls) Not twue.

- Yes it is, all the atoms that make you Lukan will become part of the tortoise. You will be transformed into a tortoise. You won't be you any more, but you will be a tortoise.

- (Disdain) Dat's not what I want.

- Actually, not all of you would become a tortoise. A lot would become tortoise poo.

Pondering the unanswerable

Why is it that pretty much all efforts to set a good example - even the hard efforts, like not burping or farting or yelling - are routinely ignored, yet despite the presence of bees in our lawn, and despite already having been stung, the kids refuse to wear shoes outside unless I am too?