Switzerland. Where a "torch" is not a torch.

Today, we are in Switzerland. 

I can't get the song out of my head that has the line, "I come from a land down under" because I hear it everywhere that Europeans think that Americans will be, because they think that Americans love this song. And you know what, I just might.

We're in our Bed and Breakfast now, watching the clock until 7. At 7 we get to eat dinner. And dinner is what keeps us alive.

Last night, I packed my bags and laid out my clothes for the following morning. I knew I was going to be waking up early, and I didn't want to do very much thinking. I kid you not, I set 3 alarms. I didn't want there to be even the slightest chance that I'd over sleep. I wanted to have ample time to eat breakfast and embrace the day before I had to embrace human company. 3 alarms. One for 4:45, One for 5:00 and one for 5:15. 

At 6, Brenda sends me a text asking if I was ready. She was in the car, just outside. I still had eye boogers and a crusty nose. "Stinkin piece of garbage iTouch, I hate your miserable guts!" I screamed at my iTouch/alarm clock as I slid into my clothes and tumbled down the 90 degree stair case with my luggage. "Frickin'! frackin'! stinkin'! blasted! I KNEW it'd do this! the shoot, darn garbage they give me! can't count on a blasted thing, with the durned alarm and the STUPID thing and now I'm late, and the....GRRRR!" I murmur as I stumble out the door and onto the cold pavement of the outside, barefooted, blindly trying to cram my key in the lock behind me, literally within seconds of my waking. 

A mess, I climb into the car. "Rough go?" 

"No, I planed to look this wonderful."

We board the plan about 2 hours later. It's an "Easy Jet" which is just a nice way of saying, "Sick, nasty, fast and easy." I was glad for the "fast" part. I sat down, next to a member of the French Mafia. Pin stripe suite and all. I sat down, instantly aware that I'd forgotten to put on deodorant in my haste this morning. A few seconds later, I realized that I could spend 6 years sitting in a honey bucket without deodorant and not produce a smell of that magnitude. It was my Mafia friend. And oh my lands....it burned my eyes. I let my hair down, so that maybe the smell of my shampoo would over power the rank of my friend. It did seem to make the odor less overwhelming, at least when I buried my face in it. And he seemed to like the smell of it too. At least I assume he did, considering I caught him very close to my head inhaling it a few times. It was at this point I put down the arm rest between him and I, and virtually SAT on Brenda's lap. Aww. Good times. 

Give us a break. We'd been up for a loooohong time.

After a mere 1 hour flight, which felt like a 13 year excursion, we landed. AIR! FRESH AIR! Sweet Lord in Heaven, I give thanks to thee for thine precious, precious gift of FRESH AIR! 

Once we got our rental car, we headed into down town Geneva.

psssssssssssssst. this is the rental car.

 In Geneva, we found a boat to climb aboard. Matey. No, we didn't say, "Matey." And I didn't even think of it until now. I'm not gonna lie about that.

This means we're in Switzerland.

There were zillions of swans, just within reach. I pondered long and hard, about how it would be to ride one. How they had the perfect necks to hold, the perfect backs that seemed to be warm and enrapturing. I decided that if ever I were to write a children's story my characters would get around by way of  swan back. Be it land or sea, they would do what I've often longed to.

This made me think of Postcards from Italy.

Aarg matey.


Nope, still not good.

Note my nails. And how they are long(er)ish. It was one of my goals. Note also the lovely hang nails. Yup, just longing to be pulled until they ache and bleed.

This fountain's in the middle of the lake. Pointless, lovely and oh-so-photogenic.

This man is wearing a speedo. Not such an usual site here. And generally the men who feel as though they can "pull it off" have round, hairy and sun burnt bellies. Good for you, Sir. But shorts are nice too.

I decided that I should probly get a hair cut. And maybe I'd try this. Maybe I'd love the result. Who knows. Sara? You don't mind, do you, Love?

"Go on kid, just smoke the ciggy already. You'll be instantly smoldering, just like me." he encourages us as we walk past.

Oh Brenda, where HAVE you taken us now.
(we get lost some[allthe]times.)

But hey, we in SVITZERLAWND! EEEEEE!

This is our B&B. Insanely cute. Insane insane in the membrane.

The small one is definitely more my size, but I've decided it's not as comfy as the one with the seat. 

This is my room.

S'more of my room. Oh gosh, I could use a s'more right now.

another view of our B&B. I sound pretty cool saying "B&B" huh? Just admit it already.

It was nap time. And I could not nap. It was infuriating. 

So that brings us up to now. We're sitting on Brenda's LESS comfortable bed (Sorry Bren, it's true though.) and playing around on our computes until 7 so we can eat dinner. They don't even BEGIN to serve dinner until 7 in this country. How completely and utterly stupid. My stomach is eating itself it's so hungry. I'M AMERICAN! GET THIS BELLY SOME FOODSES!

The lady who owns this B&B (again with that cool abbreviation thing that I made up) gave us WALKING directions to the nearest town. We scoff. Yeah. RIIIIGHT. Like my lazy bones, and Brenda's pregnant belly are gonna hike over the meadow and through the woods on some supposed "mere 20 minute walk" to a dinner that doesn't even start till 7, which means that we wont eat until 7:30 and that we wont even start our clamber back until 7:35, by which point it will be dark and we'll be HUNGRY AGAIN! Although....she DID offer us a "torch."

My brain snags visuals of all the people on the shows and movies I've seen with torches. Jack from Lost, with his shirt darkened in a perfect "V" shape on his chest from the sweat. Harrison Ford, with his khaki and whip.

Yes. We'll take the torch. We'll brave the mad cows in the fields. I'll do anything. Give. Me. A. Torch.

Sometimes there's this voice inside me that says, "No, Grace. Don't say anything just yet. Just be quiet. You might not have enough information yet. You'll very likely make a fool of yourself." That voice was poking me in the back of my eyeball. And so I stayed quite.

And a few moments later, I realized that she was probably referring to a flashlight. It would probably be neon orange at that. Definition of disappointment, right there.

Dad, I looked everywhere. But I can't find John Calvin.

Bye Loves.