Don't forget an umbrella
We’d been eyeing the weather forecast since before we left home, mindful of the need to pack the right clothes for the weekend. Though temperatures were going to remain fairly warm, Saturday was forecast to be wet.
So feeling quite pleased to wake up to blue skies and sunshine, we nevertheless took umbrellas with us as we headed out for the morning, across the bridge (look! - not a single lock in sight!) and over to spend the morning being in one of our favourite places.
It being Saturday, it was Farmers Market day and the stalls were doing a brisk trade, much the same as when I was last here. In fact, rather than repeat myself, I’ll just add a link to an earlier post.
One or two small differences though. In the Covid times, the cheesemonger created a safe space for himself and his staff by putting a perspex screen across his display. He took orders and cut the cheese for each customer, wrapped it and passed it to the cashier, who completed the transaction through a small opening in the perspex. Sensible.
The queue at this particular bakery was huge, with many people patiently waiting their turn.
The bakery just two stands along, though, had hardly a queue at all. Would we choose to wait or not?! (I’d probably wait, thinking that those who know that sort of thing were leading the way here!) Of course, we had no reason to buy anything from the market, however delicious the cheese and charcuterie appeared, we must resist. So we crossed the street and walked along the pavement alongside banks and local government offices.
In the window of one, however, was an interesting display. Someone was promoting her hat-making classes and judging from that dear little hat alongside her details, I’d be very interested in joining her!
We used the subway to the station though, using it as a direct route to the lakeshore, where we might spend a few minutes watching the steamers come and go.
We found a couple of places on a bench by the water and sat watching a while, wishing we had time to go off on one of those roundtrips, maybe as far as Brunnen, where we’d driven the week before last. But as we sat watching, dreaming, remembering, we noticed a change in the air. I turned around and looked back at the old town…
Those clouds didn’t look so promising! Although we’d brought umbrellas with us, we remembered how the rain had pelted down last evening. In those circumstances, our umbrellas would be of little use. Perhaps we should move on.
Making our way back past the landing stage for the paddle steamers, my Hero looked at the schedule. One left here at 12 minutes past every hour. This was the 11.12 service just getting ready to leave.
As we walked over to the wooden bridge - the Kapellbrücke - we heard the sound of the paddle steamer’s horn. It was off on its way, packed full of people both inside and out. We wondered how far they’d get before the rain began.
Not very far was the answer to that, for as we walked over the (covered) bridge, we felt a few drops of rain blowing in and by the time we reached the other side, the decision was whether to wait it out under cover or put up our brollies and step out and see how far we got.
The market stallholders were making quick adjustments to their stands though since most of their business had been done earlier in the morning, there wasn’t so much to move about.
We headed across to Schwanenplatz, thinking we’d make our way back up through the old town to our hotel, but we hadn’t got very far before the heavens opened and the rain began to pour. How fortunate then to find these two chairs underneath an awning outside a bakery! We sat and waited the storm out in comfort!
Others were not so lucky.
Eventually, of course, we had to make a move and thankfully, managed to reach the hotel and remain reasonably dry. At least when it rains heavily like that, the shower doesn’t last long. It was still pleasantly warm so we took out books and sat on the hotel terrace a while. It was a funny kind of day - a relaxed morning with much to look forward to in the late afternoon and evening.
Since we were unlikely to have time for dinner later, we thought that perhaps a late lunch would be sensible.
As we ate, there was the unmistakeable sound of a yodel choir outside, making excellent use of the cloistered area outside the restaurant. I didn’t manage to find out the name of the choir, but they sounded rather like this . Wonderful!
Full of lovely food, drink and music, we staggered back to get changed and ready to go off to meet our friends and attend the premiere performance of Die Eifersüchtigen in Arth, a small town about half an hour’s drive away.
Those who know my Hero will know how everything was planned and can only imagine how it was when, having requested our car be brought from the car park for us to leave at 4pm, someone abandoned their Maserati in a way that meant nothing could go anywhere until it was moved!
Thankfully, all was sorted and we got on our way in time to savour the journey along the lakeside. The rain had passed through by now and the afternoon/early evening was still and quiet.
We parked the car by (another) lakeside and soon heard the voices of our German friends Volker and Sabine, from Stuttgart. The four of us went in search of a drink and an opportunity to catch up on each other’s news.
But Arth was quiet and peaceful in more ways than one - we tried several places but it seemed like every bar and restaurant was closed. At last, we put our heads around the door of the Rössli, prompting the five locals sitting at the bar to turn around as if in a Western, probably thinking “There’s strangers in town!” We weren’t strangers for long however, for no sooner had we settled into our corner than there was another arrival. This time it was Res and Yvonne from Lachen, with Severin and another friend. When there’s only one bar open in town, the chances of bumping into one another were somewhat shorter!
It was a jolly little procession that made its way to the theatre a short while later, then, to hear introductions and background information from Res, Severin and Volker and finally, the opera itself.
The performers - members of the Opernkollektiv Zürich - were amazing. With no previous recording to base their performance on, they’d started from scratch with this work; learning music and lyrics for a two and a half hour long opera cannot be easy or without difficulty. Just seven performers means that each has a major role to play - there really is nowhere to hide.
They and the orchestra (who had also had to prepare the music from scratch) made a spectacular success of the evening and I was so delighted we had been able to be present, especially among so many good friends.
The best part? As we said goodnight, the words that followed were “See you in Weimar!”
Guess where we are headed next weekend?
