Mothers’ Land…
Sunday 21 July
We started the day with a nice sleep in, in this warm cosy dynamic home come museum. Time spent re-plunging into the artworks that cover every inch of spare wall, time spent reading the spines of the countless books that line the walls, time spent reading up on the saints that we had been introduced to over the last few weeks – most notably Saint Remi who crowned Clovis.
We’ve finally got access to internet again. It’s been hit and miss over the last few days as we travelled through the beautiful region of Lorraine. There was news from Italy via Australia. Zio Rudolfo is very unwell and two weeks ago the doctors told the family that there isn’t anything more they can do and to take him home. The hope was that we would see this last remaining uncle. There are so few of that generation left. Visiting Montelanico will seem emptier and with less memory.
Jean made us a beautiful mustard rabbit and Arsène, born on the same day as his late great grandmother and a lover of odd bits and pieces was given ‘la piece majeure’, the head of the rabbit. He ate the brain, the tongue and the best pieces – the cheeks.
After a lazy start to the day, we mounted our bikes minus the baggage. So light, so free, although we had to navigate the obstacle course of the haphazard bike paths of Strasbourg which kept us focused. We learnt later these were done quickly so that Strasbourg remained the number one city in France for cyclists. We made our way to the cathedral, visited the Pont de Corbeau where people who committed infanticide in the Middle Ages were put in cages and descended into the water. We visited the Neustadt area the Germans started building after their victory of the Franco-Prussian War. We saw many examples of the architecture that marked this period – Art Nouveaux, baroque, renaissance and gothic revival. Napoleon’s many visits to the area also left their mark. As we enjoyed the refreshing sweetness of the local sorbet, a car went by that reminded us all of the noisy attention seeking cars in Sydney.
We realised that despite being in one of the most important cities in France and indeed Europe, Strasbourg and its people are calm and relaxed which paves the way for a tolerance and acceptance of others that might – in greater numbers drive you mad. We acknowledged how there was not one high rise in sight, aside from the ornate spire of the Cathedral of Notre Dame. Most buildings were no more than three to six stories. We could hear the birds, people talking, laughing. Beautiful. The role of noise in a city and the impact it has on its many residents can’t be underestimated. The constant noise created by cars, buses, trucks and churning buildings are simply life sucking.
We finished the day with a trip to a traditional Alsacienne restaurant with Jean and Marc. We savoured the ‘Flammekueche’ a type of very flat pizza which can be ordered with various toppings, we then ate a traditional potatoe and fresh cream dish and finished with a sweet version of a flammekueche with apple and calvados. Found out from one of our oracles that we can thank the Roman Vespian for the lack of public toilets, for having invented the “Dame Pipi” and for having to pay for every time you need to service your natural body’s desire to rid itself!
Monday 22 July
The day started with the news that Lisa’s last remaining uncle in Montelanico passed away in the early hours. There are now only two remaining auntie’s which we will see when in Italy.
We picked up yesterday’s exploration of Strasbourg with a particular focus on the JugenSthil.
Tuesday 23 July
Today Xavier’s cousin, Ninon and her boyfriend took the boys to Europa Park over the border into Germany which will give them and us a much needed break from one another. In preparation for our departure early tomorrow morning, washed clothes were folded, bike mechanics completed and then another lovely family BBQ dinner with Jean, Marc, Ninon, Ferdinand and Claire. The boys came back full of gut-turning stories. Today was the first of three very hot days unfortunately. We have to arrive in Geneva by Friday when there is a big storm expected. We’ve got some way to go before we get there. Tomorrow we begin our exit from France and entry into Switzerland. We will catch the train from Strasbourg to Mulhouse and then follow the canal to Fesches-le-Châtel where we’ll camp for the night. Our oracle told us that we would do well to go via Saint Dizier L’Eveque, where Xavier’s parents were married.
Wednesday 24 July
This morning we left Strasbourg. We are very excited about the prospect of returning for New Year to bath in the wisdom some more before we return to Sydney. A few nights ago we also found out that we will have the rare occasion of meeting again ‘en famille’ in Rome in late September for Anna’s baptism, Sebastien’s newly born daughter. It’s incredible and feels like the stars have aligned. Such an exciting prospect, that will help us get to Rome.
From Mulhouse station we rode next to Fesches-le-Châtel, the town Xavier’s maternal family were raised.
Heatwave – very hot riding along the canal. We got smashed by the heat. There may have been water but we couldn’t jump in it, although we did think about it. It looked a little too green. We kept on stopping to take sips when all we really wanted to do was guzzle it down. Despite frugality we were quickly running out of drinking water. What we really needed was a good drenching but there are no fountains or water sources. It’s moments like these the importance of water is made brutally clear. When the situation became dire, Lisa went to the nearest house. She saw a tap and called out to see if anyone was home. After a few moments a man came up from his underground cave where it seems he may have been having a nap. At first he was confused by our presence and then after we explained what we were doing and where we had come from, he seemed to have woken up and was very happy for us to fill our bottles and put some water down our backs. That was a god send. After that we were able to get back on our bikes without too much trouble. We travelled a bit further and stumbled upon a water hole pit stop. Here we could fill up with ‘eau potable’ and get well drenched.
And that was all we needed. With that, we rode all the way to Fesches-le-Châtel. The first thing we went to do was visit the grave of Xavier’s grandparents. We then went to the Cristel outlet and bought pots and pans that weigh a tonne which we will take to Geneva with us and eventually ship back to Australia. Xavier’s grandfather worked in this factory, which is why this place remains the epicentre for Les Jardini. Aside from the family connection, the products are of excellent quality and we wanted to support this factory for it’s impressive history and lesson in camaraderie. Started in 1826 as Japy, when the business went bust all the workers decided to turn it into a cooperative so as not to lose the well established factory, the jobs, the know-how and the economic soul of the town. It was eventually taken over in the early 1980’s and became Cristel. We’re crazy having this extra weight but it’s either now or never. We went for ‘now’ because the story will continue forever. These pots and pans will eventually go to the boys, layering the already existing history with new layers of memories that will fill their hearts, souls and spirits as well as their bellies. Léon seems to have understood that connection and insisted on carrying some of the newly acquired weight.
We took the boys to show them the modest and cosy house where their great grandparents lived and where Xavier’s, mother, aunty and uncles grew up. The wooden textures, dainty garden, sweet fairytale entrance has all disappeared now, but we superimposed the picture for the boys. Just up the hilly road, we went into the forest that Xavier and his grandmother used to visit. Lisa also remembered the spot from where Xavier collected some clay when they first ventured into this forest together and he made two small pinched bowls.
For Xavier all his childhood memories came flooding back and the physical distance from this place was hardened by time passed. Xavier told the boys the story about when as a young boy his grandmother woke him up before dawn. Together without lights and relying only on the light of the moon, she took him by the hand and ventured through this forest to reach the pond where they just sat quietly. With the changing light signalling dawn, life started to flutter; the dragon flies, lady bugs in flight, the birds, the frogs, insects of all sorts. Xavier remembers that what became a stir eventually turned into a symphony.
We visited to the spot where we are certain ‘la Mamie’s’ spirit lives. Moved by the experience we decided to sleep under the stars. It was so hot today and no chance of rain, so no concerns there. We are totally alone here with the sound of the crickets, the frogs, the birds. It was hard to fall asleep given the light, but lids started to get heavier as the darker veil of night came down. We covered ourselves in tea tree oil to keep the blood thirsty suckers at bay which seemed to work. We’re running low on tea tree so having to be very careful when and how we use it. Tomorrow is going to be hotter than today so better that we have less to pack away and we can leave early in the morning. We’re heading into Switzerland tomorrow so expect to have a very physically challenging day – with pots and pans in tow!
Thursday 25 July
Our sleeping bags got a little damp from the condensation over night so we had to wait for the sun to dry them out while we had breakfast and prepared everything else. The aim was to get away as soon as possible although we moved with weights on our feet. There was a great sadness in leaving this place. We found ourselves having internal conversations with Mamie and eventually saying goodbye – again. Silence is the only constant that one can take from these moments into which you can glide during waking and sleeping hours for the remainder of your time. The act of turning one’s back is an acceptance of mortality and moving forward is accepting that life will continue, which was the only solace in getting on that bike.
It was a hell of a day. Very hilly, literally and metaphorically, from the start. By the end of the day even the down hills seemed deceiving.
Left the forest of Fesches-le-Châtel and rode to St. Dizier L’Eveque, where we visited the church where Xavier’s parents were married. It was no surprise that Xavier’s mother chose this incredibly enchanting, modest, beautiful church drenched in history and legend. According to the legend of Saint Dizier, it was at this site that Saint Dizier was buried after being murdered at a nearby village called ‘The Cross’ by bandits in the 670s, while on his pilgrimage to Rome. Around 736, Count Eberhard, son of the Duke of Alsace, donated the Villa Datira (Delle) as well as the church. The church we see today was rebuilt at the start of the 11th century. We were able to go into the dark underground belly of the church and stumble upon a transparent sarcophagus in which there is an effigy of Saint Dizier, endowed with flowers and jewels.
Originally, below the sarcophagus of Dizier which had a hole at its base so the liquid from the decomposing body could exit, there was ‘la pièrre des fous’ – the mad man’s rock. This rock was the subject of important pilgrimages to which the mentally ill were brought. The therapy consisted of, among other things, of the patient crawling through the narrow passage. We all passed through the narrow passage while the original sarcophagus observed us from the corner of the room. Never before had we gotten down on our hands and knees in any church, let alone crawling through tricky passages. Feeling equally mad or possibly madder, we jumped on our bikes with a great sense of happiness at having had this unusual yet joyous experience in this grand dame of a church.
We continued on our way after playing with the local cat and rode down a hill behind the church that went straight down into a very deep and green valley. We stopped at la fountaine du Val which quenched the thirst of workers who built the crypt for Saint Dizier. Unfortunately for us the water is no longer potable so we drenched ourselves to keep the heat at bay as we went straight back up the other side of the valley. At least it was cool in the valley, covered by all the trees but as soon as we got back to the plateau, we were in the scorching sun again until we reached the next pocket of forest in which we came across ‘les pas du diables’, another legendary location in the Franche-Comté region where it is said that in this location a battle between Saint Dizier and the devil took place. There’s a hole in one place which is said to be the foot/hoof of the devil which remained stuck and in another carved section, the imprint of Dizier’s shoe.
We had a bite to eat in this legendary place before riding up through the Jura mountains and into Porrentruy in Switzerland. We came in the back entrance and slowly watched the more organic organisation of France give way to the regimented Swiss approach. You could see and smell the difference. Layout of bricks, nice flat roads without too many pot holes and of course clean. Fulfilling the role of Swiss customs officials, we were scrutinised on entry by a herd of cows that came over to see us. No smiles, they just wanted to taste our smell with their thick, wet tongues, before letting us continue on our way. A great entry. A very hot day. We rested out the front of a shopping centre for an hour before we built up the courage to take on the most demanding climb from Porrentruy via Courtemautruy to St. Ursanne. We felt the difference financially too. Food is so much more expensive in Switzerland. We spent 50CHF on just two tomatoes, cheese, ham, bread and a salad. Porrentruy is such a pretty, typically Swiss village town. Its flags, its sculptures, its fountains, outdoor seating, quietness, calm – on the outside in any case.
On our way back into greener pastures, the heat was cranking up. We could see the mountain we had to climb up and over in the distance. We stopped under a tree for some respite and asked the farm workers whether we could fill up our bottles at the organic veggie garden. On our way up, we were warned by the locals we passed that ‘ça monte’ (it climbs!) but we were determined to do the remaining 12kms to St Ursanne. We went up to about 350 metres in about 7kms. Walking, pushing, huffing, puffing. Couldn’t feel our legs anymore. Tour de France riders came to mind and the speed at which they go up those serious climbs. The steep down hills were frighteningly beautiful. Constant breaking. Weighty bikes. Cramping hands. Sheer cliffs. Very beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful.
Thankfully, there are so many more water fountains in Switzerland.
We stopped in St. Ursanne to have a breather and an ice-block. Even the ice blocks had licorice as sticks to avoid waste. Love it. After our ice block we went on to our mountainous even if very busy camping ground for the night. On our way there, under the shade of towering pine trees, we noticed for the first time people swimming in the rivers. Something we didn’t see at all prior. We couldn’t wait to get to the camp ground to have a refreshing dip. It was the first thing we did. The tent and dinner came later. We were set upon by what looked similar to sand flies so covered ourselves in Eucalyptus to keep the critters at bay. It worked but unfortunately some damage had already been done, including nice big welts on bums. Tonight we started preparing psychologically for the very big day ahead tomorrow.
Thursday 25 July
A day intensely lived. We climbed up to 1000 metres in 19 kilometres of which 500 metres were climbed in the last 7 kilometres. Brutal, but so excruciatingly exhilarating.
We started out the day from Tariche, not far from St. Ursanne. We bid farewell to our very curious, welcoming and content hostess at the camping ground and were on our way up hill to “Les Enfers” – translated, means “hell”. We particularly enjoyed the idea that in Switzerland you climb up to hell. The gravel road out was enough to make you want to turn back and catch the train. We rode at least a 10% climb up out of the camping ground. The terrain was undulating but in the extreme. The first few kilometres were simply preparation certainly physical but most importantly pschycological. It was hard. We tried to prepare the boys as best we could for this last night. Oreste and Léon took it on with minimal anxiety. Léon is still carrying some of the pots and pans. Arsène struggled so Xavier and Lisa stayed close by him for the first few kilometres offering words of encouragement, philosophical reflections, reminders of history, tips on how to breathe and reminders that it’s ok to stop, drink and take a break – but that it’s also much harder to get back on your bike once you’re off in this terrain. It really is very hard on your legs and so every time your legs are not under stress, they relax and when you start pedalling again there is a painful sensation that is a mix between numbness and burning that starts deep in your guts.
Arsène struggled but kept riding the whole way through.
We stopped for a last drenching – although it wasn’t as hot as yesterday – it’s much cooler up here, we knew that we were going to need to feel as cool as possible for the next and most challenging stage. In fact the most challenging we have ever done. We dropped our bikes in the meadow by the bike path and went to the river Doube where we took off our shirts and dunked them in along with our caps, arms, feet and heads. Lisa lost her glasses in the long grass, but luckily her sight was returned for the big ride ahead.
And then we started. It started. Unrelenting. For some stretches we were shaded by the awesome pine trees, other stretches we were exposed to the full heat of the sun. Beads of sweat pouring down our foreheads, necks, backs. Every single inch of our bodies were beading with sweat. A sensation not had since the hot steamy days of Japan.
We stopped as needed. After about an hour, we knew that there was only one way out of this. Together, we all went into our own meditative states. We didn’t ride as a group but each at our own pace. Calling out to warn each other of approaching cars or motorbikes. As we got closer to hell, the road zig zagged upwards. Xavier, Léon and Oreste were able to look down a few metres to Arsène and Lisa who were still on the lower hair pin road. There was a moment where we could see three rows of the zig zagging road either above or below. It was oppressive but impressive to see how high we had come in such a short distance.
We were so relieved when we saw the sign signalling that we had finally reached the peak of hell in which there is a very small village and a coffee shop that doubles as a post office. We stopped for a hearty lunch in what seemed a forgotten local park where we breathed a deep sigh of relief knowing we couldn’t go any higher – today at least. Hard to believe, but the boys played on all the equipment as if they had just come out for recess.
After about an hour we got back on our bikes to do the remaining 40kms to get us to Bienne. To all of our surprise, this was probably the toughest part. Although we weren’t constantly climbing, our bodies were aching, we had just had lunch and all we were wishing for was to be in Bienne. The pedals felt like iron slabs. Despite this, the scenery we stumbled upon called for a break out into song. The hills were indeed alive with the sound of music. About 20kms out of Bienne we learnt how badly educated the Swiss drivers were when it comes to sharing roads with bikes. Sydney feels so much safer in comparison which is hard to imagine. Here there is a real sense of privilege spewing from the cars as they rip on by. They don’t like using breaks and they don’t have a very good sense of distance, personal space or vulnerability. Many drivers came way too close and instead of slowing down and waiting behind you – we were riding in a line on the right hand side of the road – they will speed up to squeeze in to the gap between the front rider (Xavier) and the oncoming car. Insane.
We eventually made it to Tavannes, a town before Bienne, and stopped for another drenching before the final 10kms. Much to our amazement, when we were rinsing the raspberries in the fountain we had just bought from the supermarket, we noticed that there were fossils in the stone tub. The water magnified them. It was a bit of an ‘of course!’ moment. We passed by a museum of fossils on our way into Tavannes and remembered that we’ve been going through the Jura mountains, named after the Jurassic geological period. So incredible to have that grander history laid bare during what would otherwise be considered a banal moment out the front of a supermarket.
As we were leaving the village, a moron with Bernese number plates was drifting his way around the sharp corners at god knows what speed. We were climbing at that point and so had separated. We all heard this idiot coming. Lisa was signalling to slow down concerned for the others around the corners ahead but the arsehole just kept going. The rage was overwhelming. An absolute turd. On questioning how it can be that the so-called educated, civilised Swiss can be so ignorant, dangerous and disrespectful, Xavier put it down to insurances. That is, everything has a price and everything is covered by insurance so irrespective of the emotional, psychological and social damage caused when someone is killed, there will be a payment to see you through. The callousness was wildly, mouth frothingly infuriating. It called for a different approach. That is we realised that in Switzerland, we ride aggressively as we do in Sydney. We assume our place vehemently.
We should have known that in such a mountainous country that we were about to stumble on some tunnels but we didn’t think it was going to be as dangerous as it was in Japan. Nonetheless, we found ourselves in a very similar situation but this time having to manage the absolute fear and panic attack while riding through three lots of 200m tunnels going at least 40kms/ph downhill. The only saving grace was that the dark tunnels had a bike path marked out on what felt like a busy, noisy freeway packed with truck and cars. What really shot our nerves was the truck that came flying by us just as we were about to get into the first tunnel. The wind created could have easily taken someone off their bike. But once again, there was no way out. Only one way. That pressure sent Lisa and Léon into a head spin which they each had to manage themselves for the next 10kms. A very tough gig. The moment we got out of the third tunnel if felt like we were simultaneously sucked into a heat vacuum and slammed into a wall of heat. At that point we realised how high up we had been because it was, at least, 7 degrees hotter.
We made our way straight down to Le Lac de Bienne via the local supermarket for a quick ice block and debrief. We dived into the refreshing water of Bienne where we frolicked for a good hour. The scenery was beautiful. The humidity enveloping Bienne gave the majestic mountains a dreamy haze. Alpes in front, Jura behind. A haze that wrapped itself around you in an intoxicating sultryness that makes Switzerland one of the most gorgeous places in the world. As we bobbed up and down on the floating platoon, taking in the goodness of the sun and meditating on the plethora of foreign languages that carried in the air, others young and old enjoyed the delights of the water. On opening our eyes, we saw the storm that had been predicted coming. We went for a few last dips and then were back on our bikes headed for the train station with the intention of arriving in Geneva tonight. As we made our way the accepted and celebrated edginess of Bienne made itself clear. Music was pumping from a festival that had either started or was about to kick off the weekend. People were out. The young guy breezing through on roller skates, the content elderly couple taking their time on their bikes waiting for the guy whizzing by on his electric bike without a helmet, as a very stylish tattooed mother and her confident toddler daughter rode their trottinettes (scooters). People walking, talking, bantering. Cars being made to be patient. The sense of ease and acceptance was so wonderful to experience. It was a lofty moment. One that seemed so natural and executed with such ease that it’s hard to believe societies function in any other way.
After a few more moments of taking in this highly developed sense of self, acceptance of others and oneself, with tickets in hand we were heading for Geneva.
Unfortunately Xavier and Arsène were at one end of the train and Lisa, Léon and Oreste at the other. A super stressful moment. Thanks to a total stranger, we managed to get the bikes in the train before the doors locked and we started zooming towards Geneva. It took Léon and Lisa another 15 minutes to sort out the bikes and the bags while juggling falling bottles and snacks. The train was going so fast, was so full and with so much going on, Lisa got queezy. We were split up according to which ever seat we could find. We sat amongst a group of young Swiss from a variety of backgrounds. We struck up a conversation, in fact more a game of hide and seek. The last hour of the trip was wonderfully playful – hiding behind anonymity, taunting the other with vocabulary and bravado, holding your breath to avoid being exposed, guessing what was behind the stares, the smiles, the smirks. They had a rebounding, sassy sense of humour that was as elastic as their youthful skin. They explained why Léon’s bike lock was no good, making it a bike easy to steal, something they were professionals at. The boys loved it. By the time we got to Geneva, Lisa got each one of them to work. They each grabbed bike bags, helped get them off the train and two of them helped with getting the three bikes off too. They were fabulous.
As we were taking photos and exchanging moments of appreciation, Xavier fell back into Geneva – literally. He feel as he was taking one of the bikes off the train and sprained his ankle and was lucky he landed on the platform.
Incredibly fatigued yet high on life, our sore legs and feeling rather used knees, we started churning our way up to Chambésy. A town with great significance for us, not least because it was the town Xavier grew up in but it was also the town where Lisa and Xavier met, just at the entrance of the forest. The euphoria filled every cell as we climbed yet again. We could have burst but we were excessively pumping our way through the magnificence of it all. We rode our way through the haphazard spouting water fountains in front of the United Nations to see which one of us would get the most wet. As we screamed and giggled our way through we continued upwards to the local watering hole which the boys remembered fondly. We stopped at the lookout point from where you well and truly understand you are just in front of the alps with the elegant old lady of the Lac Leman gracefully showing her best. With the sunset, we made our way down to Chambésy, riding by what used to be Xavier’s mother’s favourite boulangerie, passed the local grocer Lisa used to go to when she was living here, we visited the public artwork that Xavier made many years ago and just before coming to live in Australia, followed by the entrance to the forest where we met, just a stones throw from where Lisa lived for a year and then to the entrance of the family home. What a moment. So many memories came flooding back for us all. Not least the memories of Xavier’s mother whose birthday it would have been today. Tears of pure appreciation were shed as the garden she tended was visited. The trees have grown ever more gloriously. Triple their size. The house hasn’t changed. The conflation of time and memories made this moment not of this world. Life is worth living when we are reminded of our littleness.
