Basle and babies; an interesting week
Nov. 7th, 2005 08:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smokingbootIt's been quite a week; I am contented at heart if uneasy in stomach, (explanations for that will come later) Basle is pretty; perhaps not different enough for those who holiday to enjoy total cultural contrast, but very easy indeed for Brits on work relocation.
Basle's very cosmopolitan, but with its own charm of pointed roofs and wooden shutters; it reminds me of London in its verve and acceptance of other cultures, though not in dirt and tension; the city is old (houses aged from the 14th to the 19th century are all around) but alive and moving; there's this tiny waterpark full of steampunk water-engines, and a wall covered with white broken crockery where you can come and write your graffiti. The Rhine sparkles, old boats and cantankerous swans pottering along its length. People sit at the waterside chilling out, and the fairs are a curious combination of calliope tunes, sweets and sausage stalls, old fashioned merry go rounds and the usual bangenzoomenthrutheroofen stuff we all remember.
Green men are carved here and there, and the cathedral entertained me with a synchronicitous stained glass of horned Moses and various random carvings; a set of under pew depictions of the zodiac, starting with Aries the Eagle, ignoring Taurus, going on to Gemini the twins who appeared to be fighting, then to Cancer the crayfish and Leo the camel. The front of the cathedral showed a knight of some kind killing a rather pathetic dragon; it was about the size of a terrier with wings and scales attached; he should have been ashamed of himself. On the other side two saints laugh at you with a kind of smiling madness invariably associated with too many tokes. I often suspect that drugs were more readily available in pre-industrial Europe than historians admit.
We ate in different countries; Switzerland on Monday, Germany* on Tuesday, France on Wednesday. I loved it all and am prepared to be wooed, but I am not yet won. Yes, relocation looks less traumatic than one might expect, but all that stress-free cleanliness is expensive, our life here is full of happiness, and though the bend in the road is very tempting, the offer had better be good cos we don't shift our glorious bums if it isn't. So let us see what they offer.
Everybody speaks English there, and they speak it well. This was a real necessity for me because...
I needed the morning after pill on Tuesday, and was dreading the attempt at translation. Turned out the pharmacist understood perfectly, and took me through the questions and explanations clearly until she asked me when I had last had what sounded like a 'chinocacoka,' or something. I looked blank, she floundered and translated it as 'the test gynacologique,' which, after a moment's wild imagining ('Do you have a punami?' 'Yes' 'Can you point to where it is?' 'Yes' 'Congratulations on passing your baccalauriat from the New London Guild College of Excellence funded from the estate of the late lamented Robin Cook MP. Oh, and have this pill...') I realised meant the smear test.
I took the pill. They don't know how it works (I am not kidding, I've still got the leaflet that says this) Now I feel really rough. It might be the pill or it might be London cooties that got me; but even as I write, I have really painful cramps with bouts of vomiting and other stuff no-one needs to know about. My heart is light but my stomach is lead.
London was pleasant; Positive experiences of motherhood, old and new, surrounded me. I saw my mum, who's on an up, looks great and had a wonderful time dragging me round shops forcing me to try on beautiful coats, and I stayed with Carrie sans lj, meeting her six week old son, Eden. Carrie is a loving and wonderful mother, who fills her son's ears with classical music; I, on the other hand, was decribed by said mum as 'Heavy-metal-zany-outer-space-fairy-godmother,' as I introduced Eden to the pleasures of MTV, Kerrang and other slightly more raucous forms of expression; He likes Nirvana, Madonna, Joss Stone, Prodigy, Faithless and Outcast; it helps if you sing, shout, dance along, headbang, airguitar and rock his chair until he looks likely to bounce off the ceiling. Our only moments of musical trauma occurred for Britney and Spandau Ballet. There is hope for the boy yet.
We went to the rather sweet cafe next to the kiddies playground in Highgate woods, a place populated by screaming children in beanie caps and booties, and mothers wearing south american fair trade jumpers and big woollen hats; There I sat, surrounded by women who, even in the driving winds of November, flopped out their mamms for their wee sucklings, knocking back big glasses of organic white wine all the while. The whole thing was terrifying. Brunch, cava and good company was all around me from Thursday to Sunday, but excellent hospitality aside, I could not avoid noticing how diligent and tireless, how sleepless and patient the new mum was. I could never do it, never, ever, ever. I am too selfish, and really, honestly, too sane.
Other beloved friends made contact over the weekend; it led me to have doubts about the possible move, until the train journey. Liverpool-Basle £50 return airflight, time taken; two hours at check-in, one and a half in the air. London-Manchester, £54 single trainfare, time taken;40 minutes (20 in 2 separate queues)ticket buying, plus three and half hours on the train. One will be an easy way to see chums; the other will teach you to make your temples throb to order.
And home, with cats and pear tree. Dodgy tummy aside, it's all right here, innit?
*This probably requires the application of the offside rule to be strictly true. It all depends on where the border guards are standing...
Basle's very cosmopolitan, but with its own charm of pointed roofs and wooden shutters; it reminds me of London in its verve and acceptance of other cultures, though not in dirt and tension; the city is old (houses aged from the 14th to the 19th century are all around) but alive and moving; there's this tiny waterpark full of steampunk water-engines, and a wall covered with white broken crockery where you can come and write your graffiti. The Rhine sparkles, old boats and cantankerous swans pottering along its length. People sit at the waterside chilling out, and the fairs are a curious combination of calliope tunes, sweets and sausage stalls, old fashioned merry go rounds and the usual bangenzoomenthrutheroofen stuff we all remember.
Green men are carved here and there, and the cathedral entertained me with a synchronicitous stained glass of horned Moses and various random carvings; a set of under pew depictions of the zodiac, starting with Aries the Eagle, ignoring Taurus, going on to Gemini the twins who appeared to be fighting, then to Cancer the crayfish and Leo the camel. The front of the cathedral showed a knight of some kind killing a rather pathetic dragon; it was about the size of a terrier with wings and scales attached; he should have been ashamed of himself. On the other side two saints laugh at you with a kind of smiling madness invariably associated with too many tokes. I often suspect that drugs were more readily available in pre-industrial Europe than historians admit.
We ate in different countries; Switzerland on Monday, Germany* on Tuesday, France on Wednesday. I loved it all and am prepared to be wooed, but I am not yet won. Yes, relocation looks less traumatic than one might expect, but all that stress-free cleanliness is expensive, our life here is full of happiness, and though the bend in the road is very tempting, the offer had better be good cos we don't shift our glorious bums if it isn't. So let us see what they offer.
Everybody speaks English there, and they speak it well. This was a real necessity for me because...
I needed the morning after pill on Tuesday, and was dreading the attempt at translation. Turned out the pharmacist understood perfectly, and took me through the questions and explanations clearly until she asked me when I had last had what sounded like a 'chinocacoka,' or something. I looked blank, she floundered and translated it as 'the test gynacologique,' which, after a moment's wild imagining ('Do you have a punami?' 'Yes' 'Can you point to where it is?' 'Yes' 'Congratulations on passing your baccalauriat from the New London Guild College of Excellence funded from the estate of the late lamented Robin Cook MP. Oh, and have this pill...') I realised meant the smear test.
I took the pill. They don't know how it works (I am not kidding, I've still got the leaflet that says this) Now I feel really rough. It might be the pill or it might be London cooties that got me; but even as I write, I have really painful cramps with bouts of vomiting and other stuff no-one needs to know about. My heart is light but my stomach is lead.
London was pleasant; Positive experiences of motherhood, old and new, surrounded me. I saw my mum, who's on an up, looks great and had a wonderful time dragging me round shops forcing me to try on beautiful coats, and I stayed with Carrie sans lj, meeting her six week old son, Eden. Carrie is a loving and wonderful mother, who fills her son's ears with classical music; I, on the other hand, was decribed by said mum as 'Heavy-metal-zany-outer-space-fairy-godmother,' as I introduced Eden to the pleasures of MTV, Kerrang and other slightly more raucous forms of expression; He likes Nirvana, Madonna, Joss Stone, Prodigy, Faithless and Outcast; it helps if you sing, shout, dance along, headbang, airguitar and rock his chair until he looks likely to bounce off the ceiling. Our only moments of musical trauma occurred for Britney and Spandau Ballet. There is hope for the boy yet.
We went to the rather sweet cafe next to the kiddies playground in Highgate woods, a place populated by screaming children in beanie caps and booties, and mothers wearing south american fair trade jumpers and big woollen hats; There I sat, surrounded by women who, even in the driving winds of November, flopped out their mamms for their wee sucklings, knocking back big glasses of organic white wine all the while. The whole thing was terrifying. Brunch, cava and good company was all around me from Thursday to Sunday, but excellent hospitality aside, I could not avoid noticing how diligent and tireless, how sleepless and patient the new mum was. I could never do it, never, ever, ever. I am too selfish, and really, honestly, too sane.
Other beloved friends made contact over the weekend; it led me to have doubts about the possible move, until the train journey. Liverpool-Basle £50 return airflight, time taken; two hours at check-in, one and a half in the air. London-Manchester, £54 single trainfare, time taken;40 minutes (20 in 2 separate queues)ticket buying, plus three and half hours on the train. One will be an easy way to see chums; the other will teach you to make your temples throb to order.
And home, with cats and pear tree. Dodgy tummy aside, it's all right here, innit?
*This probably requires the application of the offside rule to be strictly true. It all depends on where the border guards are standing...
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-11-08 08:29 am (UTC)