Visiting the annual Huttwil cheese festival was possibly one of my most memorable days yet. It started when my Ramesh, who lives in the room directly below mine, wandered through the kitchen on a Sunday morning, and I convinced him to come to Huttwil with me. Considering that I come from Sugarcreek, with the annual Swiss (Cheesy) Festival, I just had to go see the real thing.
Now, before I continue this story, I have to explain the context of how I interact with Ramesh. Our primary means of communication is me waking him up with my outrageously squeaky floor. (He lives right below me, remember?) Next, let me explain the fire escape system for the fifth floor of my apartment building. Since we’re right below the roof, there are no balconies, and thus, no means of having a legitimate fire escape. No worries. In the hall, right in front of my room’s door, there’s a trap door you can lift. Next, you calmly climb down the ladder to the fourth floor, walk up to the glass box with a key dangling inside, break the glass, retrieve the key, unlock room number 45, walk through it, go out on the balcony and climb down the fire escape. (I mentioned that I live in “affordable” housing, right?) So, when I’m sitting at the table in the communal kitchen, Ramesh’s head might pop up through the trap door to shout something to the fifth floor. I love this place.
So, we went to the festival. On the way there, Ramesh left his coat in the train (because he was too distracted by our “discussion” of American politicians), which set the tone for the rest of the day.
I ate half of ton of cheese, by sampling from every cheese stand I passed. They were competing to win the prize in one of 25 or categories of Swiss cheese. No joke.
Then I milked a plastic cow, which was, basically, the highlight of the day.
I watched people dance and sing traditional music, etc. etc. On the way back, Ramesh jumped into the train forgetting that he hadn’t yet bought a ticket. Somehow (and no one believes that we pulled this off) between him talking English in a thick Indian accent, and me talking High German at 98 mph, we managed to convince the conductors to let us get off at the next station instead of paying the outrageous fine. This left us in a tiny village, with nothing to do but look at the llamas. (?!)
Now, before I continue this story, I have to explain the context of how I interact with Ramesh. Our primary means of communication is me waking him up with my outrageously squeaky floor. (He lives right below me, remember?) Next, let me explain the fire escape system for the fifth floor of my apartment building. Since we’re right below the roof, there are no balconies, and thus, no means of having a legitimate fire escape. No worries. In the hall, right in front of my room’s door, there’s a trap door you can lift. Next, you calmly climb down the ladder to the fourth floor, walk up to the glass box with a key dangling inside, break the glass, retrieve the key, unlock room number 45, walk through it, go out on the balcony and climb down the fire escape. (I mentioned that I live in “affordable” housing, right?) So, when I’m sitting at the table in the communal kitchen, Ramesh’s head might pop up through the trap door to shout something to the fifth floor. I love this place.
So, we went to the festival. On the way there, Ramesh left his coat in the train (because he was too distracted by our “discussion” of American politicians), which set the tone for the rest of the day.
I ate half of ton of cheese, by sampling from every cheese stand I passed. They were competing to win the prize in one of 25 or categories of Swiss cheese. No joke.
Then I milked a plastic cow, which was, basically, the highlight of the day.
I watched people dance and sing traditional music, etc. etc. On the way back, Ramesh jumped into the train forgetting that he hadn’t yet bought a ticket. Somehow (and no one believes that we pulled this off) between him talking English in a thick Indian accent, and me talking High German at 98 mph, we managed to convince the conductors to let us get off at the next station instead of paying the outrageous fine. This left us in a tiny village, with nothing to do but look at the llamas. (?!)
1 comment:
Mary Ann,
Your pictures are breathtaking. Your blogs make me want board an airplane right now!!
We have Skype and would love to talk to you. My son is in London attending LSE, but he is actually in Belgium as we speak on holiday.
Mary Roscoe
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