War and Peace

Human beings are capable of amazing things – some good, some bad.  And in the last 24 hours, I’ve seen a little bit of both.

On Saturday, I traveled from Beaune back to Switzerland, and saw a fistfight while waiting for the train.

On Sunday, I spent Easter in the city of Bern, and received a gift while waiting for the tram.

* SATURDAY *

Between trains, I ducked into a little café/sports bar (an odd combination that’s probably only found in France).  And as I ate, I noticed a young man and an older woman having a heated conversation.

The young man was wearing a gray hoodie.  He had short dark hair, and was probably in his mid-30’s.  The woman was wearing a light collared shirt and had flowy gray hair. Her back was to me, but I guessed she was in her 60’s.  She was a little bigger than the man, but he had about 3-4 inches on her.

As the minutes passed, they continued jawing at each other and even did a little pushing and shoving.  At one point, the older woman turned around and I realized that SHE was actually a HE.  I smiled to myself about the mistaken identity, but then, things quickly turned ugly.

The old man did his best Mike Tyson impression and punched the younger guy in the mouth.  It wasn’t a KO type of swing, but I’m sure it didn’t feel good.  The younger man looked stunned, but kept his cool.  He pushed the old man to the side, and walked away in a daze.

Meanwhile, there was another man in an obnoxious green t-shirt watching all the action.  He was sipping on some sort of slurpy equivalent, and occasionally he’d pipe in, and then back away.  Weird.

By now, it was getting close to my departure time, and I needed to check the board for my platform number.  But to get there, I had to find a way around the 3 muskateers.  I walked over to the register to pay my bill, and pointed out the situation to my server and a man standing at the bar (who I thought was the manager).

I don’t know much French, but I understood the next part.  He flashed the waitress a look and said under his breath, “sécurité.”

Sensing that I needed to leave, the manager walked me to the front door.  The 3 men were now standing right outside the café.   The manager slowly opened the door, and while the men were distracted, he gave me the go sign and I slid past without them noticing.

Safely inside the train station, I went to check my platform number.  But there was still another 30 minutes before boarding, so I grabbed a seat in the waiting area – where the 3 men returned, and the fight escalated.  The younger man pushed the old man into a teenager sitting next to them.  The older man got in a few more punches to the face.  Hello?  Where was sécurité?

Eventually, 6 officers arrived in an SUV – and it wasn’t a moment too soon, because the old man now had his hands wrapped around the young man’s neck.  They pulled the two apart, and a paramedic quickly tended to the young man’s face.  As they escorted the older man away, I noticed blood running down his forehead.  I had no idea how everything started, but the end wasn’t pretty.

* SUNDAY *

I’m still on South America time, so I went to bed late last night.  And by the time I rolled over to hit my alarm, it was 9:22am.  CRAP.  I sprang out of bed.  I was planning to go to the Bern Cathedral for the Easter Service – which started at 10am.

There’s a tram stop right outside my hotel, and by some miracle, I got there a little before 9:45am.  Even though I know how to get from the train station to my hotel, I still haven’t completely figured out the tram system.  Exhibit A: my first night in Bern.

[Flashback to Wednesday night…]

My hotel was just 3 tram stops away from the train station.  And with the help of several locals, I figured out which tram to take and when.  But unfortunately, I didn’t know how to pay.  I stared at the ticket machine.  On the right, there was a series of buttons.  On the left, a huge pricing grid.  And the only word I understood was “Wilkommen.”

I was supposed to go to Kursaal, so I hunted for “Kursaal” on the list of prices.  But instead of giving me a price, it said “KS.”

What on earth was KS? After searching through the endless selection of buttons, I narrowed it down to 2 possibilities: one read “Kurzstrecke 1/1” and the other one said “Kurzstrecke ermassigt.”  That must be KS.  But which one do I choose?

To complicate things further, it looked like the machine only accepted Swiss francs.  Seriously?  All I had was Euros.  Since I was in Europe, I had foolishly assumed they would work.

I turned around and scanned the crowd for help.  There was a CBSBWB standing near me (Cute-Blond-Swiss-Boy-With-Backpack).  I looked his way and made eye contact.

“English?” I asked hopefully.
“Yes, a little.” He replied.
I pointed to the machine, “It only takes Swiss francs?”
“Yes,” he nodded.  “Do you have any?”

“No,” I said – trying to keep the frustration from creeping into my voice.  It had been a long day, and this just the latest installment in my long line of currency adventures.  I actually jammed a pay phone in Chile because I was trying to put a “new peso” into the slot, and later learned they only accepted “old pesos.”  Really?  How am I supposed to know that?

“Which one do you need?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said.
I showed him the two mystery buttons: “It’s either this one or that one.”
He pointed to KS 1/1.
“This one,” he said.  “The other one is if you have a special pass.”

Of course — the special ermassigt pass.
Never heard of it.

He pushed the button.  Then pulled 2 francs out of his pocket and dropped them into the machine.  I was pleasantly surprised: “Thank you – you didn’t have to do that.  Here, let me pay you back.”  I rustled around in my pocket and pulled out a 5.  It was more than the cost of my ticket, but I was happy to give him a little extra for the effort.

I held it out to him, but he said, “No – it’s too much… it’s ok.”
I pushed it towards him again, “Please… it was so kind of you.”
He shook his head, gave me a big smile and walked away.
I love you, CBSBWB.

[Flashback ends and we return to this morning, where our heroine is once again perplexed as she stands in front of the ticket machine…]

I turned to a young woman standing next to me, “Could you please tell me how much it costs to get to Kornhausplatz?  I’m going to Munster for the Easter service.”  She said, “It’s two francs, but it’s just across the bridge so you can walk if you like.  It’s only about 4 minutes.”

I glanced up at the tram board.  My train was arriving in 4 minutes.  Six of one, half a dozen of the other.  So I decided to stay and talk with her.

“Where are you going?” I asked.
“I’m on my way home from work,” she replied.
“Oh, where do you work?”
“I work at a home…. for crazy people,” she said, as she gave me a grin.
I laughed.  She was clearly telling me the truth, but she knew it sounded funny.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a brown egg that was covered with white swirls and blotches.  “Here,” she said.  “Do you want an Easter egg?”

It was a small act of kindness, but very genuine.  So I accepted.  “Thank you,” I said.  “What’s inside it?”  I imagined there to be some decadent Swiss chocolate or a Cadbury-egg-esque concoction.

“Egg,” she said flatly.
“Right,” I said, as she started to giggle.
“We made them for the patients, because many of them don’t see their families at Easter.”

I wasn’t seeing my family today either, so even though she may not have realized it, there was wonderful symmetry in her gesture.

(Except for the part about the crazy people.  Because clearly, I do not fall into that category.  All of you, shut up…)

I hopped on the tram and rode over the bridge.  Now, it was 10 minutes before 10.  The doors opened, and I jumped out and started to run.  As I neared the cathedral, I heard the church bells funneling through the narrow streets, beckoning me towards Munsterplatz square.  It was absolutely gorgeous.  I turned the last corner and entered a long hallway with high arches – a seemingly sacred path to the church.

The morning air was crisp and cool, but it didn’t bother me.  And even though I was tired, my legs felt fresh.  As I jogged along, I thought about how lucky I was to be in such an amazing place.

Now the bells were right above me.  As I came out of the dark hall, I stepped into the bright morning – and looked up at the church towering above me.  At 300 feet, its bell tower was the tallest in Switzerland, and its gothic architectural style added to its grandeur.

I slid into a wooden pew and listened to the service in Swiss-German.  I didn’t understand much, but that was ok, because the incredible music didn’t need any translation.

The organist, choir, and strings were perched in a loft overhead.  Their ethereal tones ascended toward the highest points of the cathedral and then floated down to the seats below.

After the service, I lingered awhile and took photos.  I was the last person out of the sanctuary, and greeted the pastor as I exited: “Thank you – I’m visiting from the US.  This was a beautiful service,” I said.

“Oh, thank you,” she smiled, as she grasped my hand.  She looked to her right, “Here is our organist, you can meet him.”  She introduced me to a thin man wearing all black.  His dark wavy hair was unkept, and there were strands of gray starting to show.  He wasn’t as I’d envisioned him, but I was happy to talk to him.  I told him how much I loved the music, and he gave me a sheepish grin.

I bought a ticket for the bell tower, and started to climb the narrow, circular staircase to the top.  After stopping for a photo op, I took a large step up to the next level…. and suddenly, I realized something in my pocket had cracked.

Ohhhhhhh….. the egg.

In my hurry to get to the church, I’d stuck the Easter egg in my pocket and subsequently forgotten about it.  But I remembered it now.  Unfortunately, it was more soft boiled than hard, and liquid was leaking into my pocket.

Since I was in the midst of a 254-step trek, I didn’t have many choices.  I could hold it (ick).  I could set it on the stairs and leave it (but I’m pretty sure God doesn’t like it when you put runny eggs in his bell towers).  So I carefully put it back in my pocket and hoped the oozing would subside.

When I got to the top, I was greeted by one of the churchworkers.  I said, “Is there a garbage can anywhere?”  She said, “No – what do you need?”  I revealed the egg in my pocket.  “Oh,” she grimaced, and then asked if she could take it for me.  “Are you sure?” I said.

I wondered if she was trying to be helpful, or if she was just concerned I was going to chuck it over the side.  She took it out of my hand, and then disappeared behind a small door.

The tower provided fabulous views of the city.  It was a cloudy day, so you couldn’t see the Alps, but it was still a great sight.  As I started the long walk down, I checked my watch.  Ooo, I was going to be late for my reservation.  I was supposed to be back at the hotel for Sunday Brunch (which reportedly, was over-the-top – and I never say no to a great brunch).

Luckily, they still had a spot for me by the time I arrived.  I dropped off my bag and went to survey the smorgasbord.  There was a complete breakfast offering – fruit, yogurt, eggs, cereal, etc., plus anything you could possibly want for lunch.  Made-to-order pasta, meats and cheeses, salads and bread.  A slicing board with lamb and pork, potatoes with gravy, and a host of other savory eats.  To top it all off, there was a brilliant buffet of desserts – complete with crepe station.

Between the egg, cathedral visit, and scrumptious Sunday brunch, you would’ve thought I’d had the quintessential Easter experience.  But there was something missing.  What was it?

I was in Switzerland.
On Easter.
Switzerland = Swiss Chocolate.
Easter = Chocolate Bunnies.
Switzerland + Easter = SWISS CHOCOLATE BUNNIES.

There weren’t many stores open, and I wasn’t up for a full-blown rabbit hunt, so I went down to the hotel gift shop where they boasted about their “wide selection of Switzerland’s choicest chocolate.”

I surveyed the options, and there, on the highest shelf, was my prize (cue dramatic music) — right above the Toblerone.  Perfect.

I bought my bunny and promptly ate the ears off.
Easter was officially complete.