Butterfly robes until the Cows come home
On the way to the swimming pool, I was sliding out the door when Nazy, using the extra sensory skills that are her speciality, called. Sweetly. She followed with words that spread fear into the strongest of men: “While you’re out.”
I cringed.
“... stop by the laundry, the dry cleaners and the post office. Then recycle the PET bottles, the glass and the (non-Aluminum) metal.”
“Yes dear.” I said. “That’s really exciting,” I thought.
“At the laundry make sure that Angela gives you my butterfly robe. She forgot it last time.”
The swimming pool was crowded. But, as soon as I entered, everyone else left. I had a lane to myself. In fact, I had the entire pool to myself.
“Is it me?” I thought. “Or do they know something that I should know?” Then I heard the screams. A large class of prepubescent boys launched themselves into ‘my’ pool. I had a sinking feeling - just like the one I always get when the hydrogen in my Zeppelin ignites.
Swimming became tricky because I had to follow a path like the one used by a convoy to avoid a pack of U-Boats. The evasive maneuvers slowed progress. “I could use some torpedos or depth charges,” I thought. The swim took much longer than normal. Finally, back at the car, I carefully planned my task route to avoid backtracking. My first stop? The dry cleaners! I delightfully noticed that there was only one customer in the shop ahead of me. Accordingly, I entered with a jaunty step.
The (sole) customer was negotiating a volume discount; he had brought every textile that he owned to ‘my’ cleaner. Thankfully, the price was agreed just as I arrived.
“Whew!” That was lucky.” I thought. Prematurely.
With the price agreed, the customer began analyzing each item in his enormous pile. He pointed out specific areas that needed special attention. The clerk carefully (and slowly) pinned tags at each spot. I thought of leaving, but a queue had built up behind me and I was reluctant to lose my spot. Eventually (i.e following the same time frame that Mother Nature uses to convert dinosaurs into fossil fuels), the customer in front of me departed. My request quickly. (And as I left three additional clerks materialized to handle the crowd.)
I was pleasantly surprised at my next stop - the Post Office. There was no line and I bought stamps without any delay. I stopped at the ATM to get cash. Instead of giving me Francs, the ATM took my bank card. As I looked for help, I noticed the crowd. “People from the dry cleaners are following me,” I thought. I took a number (93) and noted that they were serving number 21. Eventually (i.e. the same speed that Monarch butterflies use to migrate to Mexico), I found someone who could extract my card. Since I was still ‘sans-Francs’, I diverted to a backup ATM which (astonishingly) worked.
I drove back to the laundry - noting sadly that backtracking was mandatory; my planned route had disintegrated. Angela wasn’t there but her husband Pažur was running the show. And Pažur, a Croatian, had a dissatisfied customer.
“It is a very nice shirt, but it’s not mine.” the customer said.
“It is a white shirt. You said you had a white shirt.”
“My white shirt had long sleeves.”
“Ah. This must be yours.” Pažur said after a long look through the shop.
“The one I’m looking for was a formal shirt. It had ruffles.”
“Ruffles?”
“And no buttons. Studs and Cufflinks.”
“We don’t wash cufflinks.”
Eventually (by ‘eventually’, I mean the amount of time that it took the solar system to form from the primordial nebula.) Pažur found the shirt. This amazing development was followed by an elaborate ritual in which Pažur pretended that he wouldn’t accept payment because of the time it had taken to find the shirt. He found The Martin Family laundry at once. Except..
‘Where is the butterfly robe?” I asked. Unfortunately neither butterfly nor robe was part of Pažur’s english vocabulary. I was prepared. “Wo ist die Schmetterling Robe?”
“He should have been able to figure out the ‘robe’ part,” I thought as I wondered whether the correct article was der, die or das. Eventually (by ‘eventually’ I mean the amount of time it takes a sailboat to get from Europe to Asia in a totally becalmed sea), I got the robe.
I drove to the recycling depot - and got trapped behind a massive truck that was attempting to make a U-Turn in a street the width of a driveway. Seeing no parking spots, I put the car on the sidewalk and carried bags of bottles and cans to the bin. I failed to spot the traffic warden.
Miffed, I got in the car and started home. I was behind a non-polluting bus that was powered by an overhead electric line. It was hard to navigate in the narrow streets - especially since construction was in progress on both sides. The hook that ran from the bus to the power line disengaged. The bus stopped. The one-way street was narrow, so I couldn’t turn around. The bus driver unloaded a giant stick and replaced the hook on the power line. I got home.. late.
“Where were you?” Nazy asked.
“Good question.” I replied. “I thought I’d be out there until the cows came home.”
“How appropriate, Dan.” Nazy replied. “This week the Swiss cows do come home. We can drive to Albeuve to see the traditional parade of the Bénichon Festival.”
“Great idea! Let’s get up early..”
“That won’t happen, Dan, even if the cows do come home.”
The drive to Albeuve, which is in Canton Friborg, close to Gruyère, was smooth and quick.. until we got close to Albeuve. Then about every half hour, a group of cows would commandeer the road. All (automobile) traffic had to pull to the side.
The village (so small that it didn’t have an ATM) was filled with people wearing traditional costumes, selling traditional crafts and speaking traditional French.
At this time of year, the farmers bring their cows down from the mountains where they’ve spent the summer. Each farming family ‘dresses’ their cows in flowers (The ‘best’ cows lead the parade and have a crown of flowers.) Every cow has a bell - usually a large bell. Thus each passing herd is a cacophony of ringing and a rainbow of color.
“Bénichon began as a Swiss tradition of Thanksgiving,” I explained - sounding erudite because I had done research on the web. “So this is similar to a tailgate party at a football game in the USA.”
“Really?” Nazy replied.
“I wonder which farmer will win.” I thought.
“These cows...” Nazy began.
“... are natural,” I concluded.
“... are smelly,” Nazy interrupted.
“Naturally smelly. It’s organic. It’s good for you.”
“Hmm..” Nazy replied. “Make sure you leave your shoes outside the door when we get home.”
After the parades, we drove to Gruyère for lunch. They had an ATM and lots of cheese there.
We had a great weekend. For more photos of our trip, click here.