Dreaming of a White Christmas...

Snow arrived on Christmas morning and I am presently seated in the bar watching a delicious storm outside. Sadly I fell and hurt my neck, so I am in for the day. Thomas awoke to find me in the tuck position in preparation for the looming race- hurt neck or no, the visionary behind the great Schneider Cup, can't really be seen sitting on the sidelines.
Christmas Eve was nice- nothing unusual, nice presents and some carols and some Foie Gras. Gerold gave his annual speech which, true to form, included references to Austrian/Korean philosophers (obviously-wouldn't be Christmas without them), and a highly modest rumination about how he was unworthy of making Christmas speeches and perhaps in the years following other people should do it. Best part of the night though was when our resident royal got up to make an announcement about the race and how sincerely important this was- a cross between the great Oxford/Cambridge cricket match of 1903; and the battle of Gallipoli- doomed, yes, perhaps, but darn good theater; you know?
It was great. Really rallied the troops- as much as you can rally people who are dying to get back to the Merlot.
Harumi is trying to get me to push longer in the turn-feeeeel the slope longer when conditions are bad; but she is happy with "flederick".
So onward- the race will take place on the 29th, at 14:30 lech time against the Schneiders of the Arlberg hotel. Afterwards there will be a party, and the winner awarded this absolutely huge cup that Mrs. S had made last year. Fastest person, from winning or losing hotel will be awarded a laurel wreath that when worn in the opposing hotel will entitle him/her to free drinks.
Frederick wanted to know if this was transferable; if the winner could buy drinks for his friends with the wreath. It seems, no.

On an outing with Harumi first days

F with one of his favorite presents

T on Xmas eve

Our inspiration: how low we are supposed to be....

Snow Schmo

Greetings ladies of the blog! 

Arrival in Austria confirmed! 

The lech universe seems more or less as it should be: effusive welcomes from familiar staff; Frau Schneider's annual proclamation that I am definitely the most beautiful woman she has ever seen; sloppy kisses from G and K; little Ida - the future of this place and the only one, (according to Frau S) that has the balls to take over- was standing in front when we arrived. Too much. Only fly in the topfenstrudel is the lack of snow. Really quite impossible to ski off piste. We shall see...

The other title of today's post could have been 'ruble schmuble', because no matter how low it gets, the Russians here seem unfazed. Hard to tell the families apart: each has an extremely young wife with small blond children and dangerous looking un-fat husband. (Russians are either fat or unfat ; you can't really call them thin-thin sounds girly.) 

All Wehlens here, reporting for duty

Friends arrive tonight... 

Yay. 

Topfenstrudel count: 0

Beers in new, Almhof stein: 2

Goeppinger Huette

Goeppinger Huette

Today the East German-Under-Communism-coach I am married to planned a long (over 12 miles) walk/run up, up up, to a hut called the Goeppinger Huette. He reckoned it would take us about three hours to get there, then lunch, then an hour run down to a place where we could take a bus home. We brought along the woman who runs the building here-a very fit woman in her early 50s who has been known to smoke cigarettes as she waits for me to catch up (no joke). She also has a new beau: a policeman in his 30s who looks like he is there to deliver a fake telegram at a bachelorette party; if you get my drift. Apparently he was part of a group of firemen and policemen who came to answer a fire alarm. My point is, she has her act together. My other point is don't be shy about calling for help at the sight of smoke. Can't be too careful...(And yes, ladies, easy; I will try to get a picture with him.)

So it was the usual misery, except this time we clambered over rocks that had a rather steep drop on the other side; but for once this did not bother me. Thomas told me he has been here with Elmar and ski group, and one guy got so freaked out (keep in mind they were in ski boots, carrying skis-terrifying), that he had to be helped.

It has been said by far better runners than I, that a long trek is a metaphor for life: a lot of misery interrupted by bursts of real joy. But in my heightened emotional state today, it seemed absurdly true. Just when you think you have life down, there comes some bullshit up hill portion that you do not want or need or enjoy. I slogged forward however, until directly below me was the blessed hut. The end of suffering, a soft place to hide for an hour, a dispensary of comfort without judgement (two desserts and a hot dog for lunch? hell yes!) And I ran to it like we used to run to each other at airports.

But I could not get there, because the road suddenly became so difficult to negotiate: huge boulders and slippery small ones, and I went from running and whooping with joy, to almost crawling. It was like seeing the object of your love and desire, but not being able to reach him. 
Loyal blog readers will know there is a point in every hike when I start to wallow in self pity or lash out at Thomas, depending on my mood. But here's the thing: I always simply take another step. Just like my friends with cancer or aids or the people in Gaza: I slog on. And this thought made me cry. Oh I know what you are thinking: for God's sake have a power bar! you are dehydrated. Don't cry. But sometimes, (as when ACB rode 200 miles on a bike), you are broken a bit open, and realizations come through: namely, that I am surrounded by people who are stronger than I am,  people who give me water and chocolate; people who are helping me get to the hut. It occurred to me how often I am treated so very gently in this life; even when I have nothing to offer in return.
And then I sniveled some more.

So the hut! the hut! I almost kissed the waitress. We got drinks and blankets and food. And then, because this blog aims to be uplifting, we got the greatest  gift! Here is the background: Lying on the benches in the sun were two middle aged women holding hands as they dozed. Unapologetic lesbians are not something you see often in the wilds of the Austrian alps. I wanted to give them the secret signal that I was from their planet; that I spoke their language: GREETINGS LESBIANS! I COME FROM THE PLANET SAN FRANCISCO! NANCY PELOSI IS A FAMILY FRIEND! FARE THEE WELL!!!
Then a bit later came a group of beautiful, hippy-ish, monster fit 20 somethings that were somehow connected to the lesbians.  Thomas is not often awed, but he was when he saw them, because he had seen them run (not walk) up a very steep hill that was not necessary to take to get to the hut. I cannot express how tough this must have been. They took our same walk, the one that reduced me to quiet tears, but they added a crushing extra run.
Then they start to stretch. ....(See photos). They were pretzels; they were a circus act; they were amaaaaazing. They were so amazing, that two 14 year olds from the next table came over to imitate them, to the guffaws of the assembled. We all: the lesbians, Thomas, the waitress, laughed and laughed at this scene. The 20 somethings were so blessedly fit, so strong, they had just run a long way in the mountains without any special equipment or water or clothing...they were beautiful and young and they just crushed this mountain. And then they did acrobatics for fun.
The lead one was this young woman who was everything I would have wanted in a daughter: strong and kind and brave, with a smile that lights you up if you are lucky enough to see it. After enduring the 14 year old's goofy imitations of her, she finally asked if they would like to learn. And they said  YES! you are our coach!
And so she taught them. Instead of shivering in her blanket (I guess the run didn't make her sweat), or gulping liquids, as I was; she patiently taught a bunch of cheeky kids yoga. And the rest of us were treated to the sweetest little moment, high up in the hills.

Ok enough mush. I am very worried about finishing 13.1 miles in the mountains. But maybe I'll manage..or maybe I won't. But I'll show up.

And a final note about running vs life: after lunch, we had a run downhill for an hour with soup and coffee in our bellys, fearlessness in our hearts....and I thought WOW! Life does suck sometimes...But then you get circus acts and wind in your hair! So the ending is great!!! I knew it!!! And then I kid you not, a few 100 meters before the blessed end, I run into a long stretch of mud. (see photo) gross, smelly mud that stopped me me in my tracks.
sigh. xxx

A postscript. One Amy R from San Francisco, CA is claiming to be a member of the Jeki Airstrip Running Club, without any intention of running anywhere near a lion or killing a crocodile.
Ignore her.

Sweaty becomes cold fast in the bergen

Thomas and Regina made me eat my sauerkraut. 

sniveling away...

Regina is smoking behind me,,,,

laughing at the kiddies....

mud

Euphoria pre mud.

The Hills are Alive...

Yesterday we dropped off Frederick in Hinter Tux; a town 2.5 hours from here, for his week-long racing camp.
 Here is the schedule: rise at six a.m.; get yelled at in Austrian dialect, do knee bends while your friends at home are with bikini clad girls bobbing in turquoise seas or at tennis camps, ski on a glacier  at 10,000 feet,  watch a video review of skiing; attend a group meeting in which you are reminded not to visit any bars or the girls' section, go to bed at 9 pm sharp.
Frederick is delighted.
 "We might get TWO roommates!" "The hotel is four stars! "(Losing a star is great news to a kid: more candy in the lobby. )

We dropped him off at his hotel which is named the Bad Hotel. The cracked him up: Bad means Bath in German, and in this case refers to the hot spring pool here. His room is a double, but the bed looks a lot like a very large single. So for his first sleep away camp, there are no marshmallows or dances or ghost stories; just exercise and sharing a bed with a stranger (we found out only later that he got an 11 year old Austrian as a room mate-good news).

Arrival in lech was great; we love it so. Of course Instagram photos from the south of France look tempting.. with all that sun and those attractive people; but there is something so insanely relaxing about this much exercise. The mind is finally, mercifully, quiet.

Dinner with Schneiders last night (see below) lemon risotto; lentils; salads: all very Thomas worthy. We were in the pleasant company of Gerald The Gay Guy from Zug (GGG). He and I are going to organize the first gay pride parade of Zug, the next town over (think lech but smaller). He thinks there are only two gay residents..so even with me as the grande poobah waving from a float, and Elmar's cows behind, we should be able to wrap it up in under a half hour. GGG asked if I thought a rubber suit was too much for a Zug (poplulation 150) gay pride parade.
I said what any fourth generation San Francisco girl would say, namely:
"If you don't wear one, I will honey. "

Today Thomas started my half marathon training in earnest...horrible. I woke up in the night and thought, maybe I should take a melatonin...(a trick I use at altitude sometimes). Trouble is, it was already almost 5 am..so at 7 when I woke for real..I was a mess. Thomas brought coffee after coffee, pouring the sacred brew into my eyeballs; but it was as if I was in a dream. No matter: the show must go on. Before we left, he warned me that the point of the exercise would be pain. He is of the opinion  that my heart is in shape, but my mind is weak; uncommitted to the cause of leaping around mountains at break neck speed. To this I plead guilty. Also unrepentant. I mean..why? what's the rush?
But I did what I was told; and believe me I was not happy. Thomas thought my heart rate should be at 160, but I could not get it there. This is good news/bad news. It means exactly what he thought: I can't get the body to stress itself; at least not while stoned on melatonin.
We hiked for a very fast (my fastest ever, at any age) 2.5-3 hours; and were both walking funny upon our return. After a long stretch and shower, we indulged in a fat Austrian lunch on the terrace; and then I took a nap-the kind that is so deep, you don't know if you have slept or not. Heaven.

Frederick called and offered cryptic monosyllabic answers to my questions; then said he had to go play cards in the 40 minutes of free time they get a day.
Tomorrow dinner with the great Frau S; more walking; more napping; more sun, more rain.

Lech as seen from Ober Lech; on the top of the mountain is a shiny cross T and I have walked to

Beuetzen See from today. We ski over it in winter

Boys in down town Hinter Tux

Glacier at Hinter Tux

A Little Work; A Little Rain....

So the four of us went to one of the oldest and poshest Swiss private banks for a meeting. In the parking garage, a man in what looks like a morning suit, signs us in and presses the  elevator button; presumably because so many of their clients can't do it for themselves... (They are big on this: they do it again upstairs to get rid of you after the meeting).

First guy we meet seemed humorless but smart, and he and T batted back and forth while I tried not to look impatient; an endeavor in which I was not entirely successful (according to Thomas). Whatever. I find these pitches like men- if they like you they like you; if they don't; do I care?  There are a lot of fish in the sea.
Anyway he didn't seem that excited by us; but 

says there is another guy who wants to meet us. We are surprised; and the humorless guy admits, so is he. When the next guy comes in, he is warm and says a client of his has strongly suggested he look into our fund (this client is actually one of Thomas' best friends lol..Peter V!!). Then he pulls out this old interview from an obscure hedge fund publication that Thomas and I had done in perhaps the teensiest bit of an irreverent way. He says he loves it: So refreshing! So honest! 

He says he has clients that would be perfect for us; then gives us a very jaunty and very Un Swiss wave, and leaves us alone in the conference room. We are happy, and best of all we are free for the afternoon! In our giddiness, three out of four of us steal pens: very high quality pens that have been put on the conference table for our use during the meeting. I grabbed mine during the dark moments of the first meeting; with the logic that since this pitch was going nowhere, I at least wanted a free pen..(oh don't judge! they are exquisite!)
Realistically however, we can't all take a pen; I mean one can go missing, but four? (Thomas had come back from the bathroom and started to reach for one too: so make that four out of four).
Can you imagine the receptionist coming in after we had had been escorted to the elevator, and seeing that we had stolen 90% of the pens? what's next? the television? the chairs?
 Who knows what we are capable of.

Don't worry.....!!! We put the pens back. Good grief; I can hear you people gasping from here. 

After our celebratory lunch, I did the only thing a person can do on a rainy Geneva work day:
cancel jog; crawl into bed; dream of stolen pens that might have been.

Geneva

There are few things things that make me happier than this sight...pillows; paper and coffee in my future.

Greetings from the Hotel Beau Rivage where I am happily ensconced with many gulf Arabs fleeing the heat.

Portuguese Brigham visit was as joyful as ever; the girls know where their rooms are and where the cake is. Thomas found a trail of crumbs and followed it through the house to the pool when he wanted to find them (quite literally). ACB of course added his own brand of joie de vivre with a sporty twist on all proceedings..exactly like when he was a kid. He didn't just swim with them; he threw balls in the air as he jumped in, with the idea they would jump and catch mid air. He lead the charge for Thomas and me and him to take a long, "slow" jog, which I found long but not that slow; and funniest of all, he got this idea that we all should attempt the fitness test given to professional linebackers when they return for training in the summer. Wide receivers have a higher bar to reach, but the fat ones still must be able to run 300 yards in under 70 seconds three times, with a two minute break in between. I heard him making the sell to the children: 

"Then you can say you are as fit as a professional athlete!!!!!!" 

silence....you could hear them trying to absorb this; trying to get a toe hold on the bragging appeal of this one, which seemed elusive to me as well.

"oh come on!!!" You could hear him thinking : how can anyone NOT want to do this?

The girls said ok, but didn't change out of their high tops

F followed him out the door with detailed questions on rules and procedures, and Thomas took on the job of Ellie management with the ominous warning that he was not sure he could do it, which is code for don't get your hopes up.

Long story short everyone did it BUT me, because (also true to character) on the last one it was clear I would not make it, and why bother if you have already failed the test? The team found this depressing and I fear I will have to suck it up and try again before the summer is out. 

Now in Geneva for meetings, then drive to lech in a few days for Schneider palooza. F goes on Sunday to a sleep away Austrian ski camp (?!) which should be interesting. He has never done anything like this before; but he wanted to do it, so we said why not? 

There are, after all, only a few months left before the Almhof cup....:)

Brigham Photos....

Kate with

Lydia's famous cake

I promise to write all the details on the Brigham's triumphant visit very soon; but we are driving this morning to Lisbon for the flight to Geneva...For now a few photos. As you can see, they spent a lot of time upside down or eating cake. xx

F playing air ball

Acb

Hanna and me after early morning swim

I love Latin languages; this is the bin for "whatever" garbage

Early morning fog

Important announcement !

ACB and the girls (formerly known as the UMs..) are making a last minute visit to the shores of Portugal..arriving Thursday.
Many pictures of clams and belly flops to follow xx

More Africa photos ..

Me with a couple of hot Swiss bankers (lol)

F at the African restaurant

Free roaming zebras at Royal Livingstone hotel

Dripping children

A few photos from Victoria Falls...
I have only a couple more days on the malaria pills; and the end can't come soon enough. The medicine gives you strange dreams and a hefty dose of existential dread...totally unsuitable for summer in Portugal. (Crying, sunburned English children can make one think the end is nigh even under normal circumstances...) Part of it is of course coming back from Africa. We made a movie while in the bush for a friend's birthday, and it was a riff on this way people have of talking about Africa: like you can't possibly understand anything if you haven't been there...that it changes you, that you are somehow only comfortable there after seeing it only once..blah blah..ha ha. We thought this was very funny. And yet now here I am moping around the golf course wishing there were crocodiles around the corner. Or at least something that could bite me.
The morning after the world cup I felt a little sick when I woke up; but I offered to make Thomas a coffee, because as I said: No German should make his own coffee the day after winning the world cup!" But once sniff of the brew sent me racing to the bathroom. So I stayed home, and spent the day shivering and rushing to the loo. Thomas kept calling from the golf course in Zimbabwe (I love the way that sounds) and he sounded so worried. He kept waking me up to ask me how I was; presumably because everything seems so much scarier there-a little mosquito or a little snail in the water could kill you. But that tension is also a good thing: it keeps the mind from spinning.
Luckily, Germans are very good at crises involving the mind. Nothing more familiar then existential dread  (i believe they have a course on it in the second grade; right before nap time). This morning Thomas  flew into action -and dragged me from my warm bed to the beach and into frigid ocean waters before breakfast, (before coffee!) Then he gave me cake. It is like a mental tourniquet...stops the bleeding. When he determined I was no longer in immediate danger, he slapped a heart rate monitor on me and told me to run. I am begging to stop the pills early-there was very little risk of malaria in the first place, (winter has few bugs), and I don't see a bite on me..but Ordnung muss sein; so I will gut it out. 
In the meantime, any light that any of you could shed on the meaning of life would be greatly appreciated.
I'll be waiting by the computer eating cake.

Roll with the Death Roll

Hands down most fun safari buddy: CMB

Kids' Jeep with lion (photo cred: ACB)

Bar set up at picnic

Elephant outside the main room

Hanna in Victoria Falls hotel

Jeep selfie

Jeki Airstrip Running Club

Hello at last! Back from the the bush where we were in a small camp on the Zambezi river. Unlike last year, at this camp, one sleeps in large elevated tents.  To be sure, they are luxurious, with sisal carpets on the floor, and beds that are changed every day; but it is still a tent, and the only thing between you and the lions is mosquito netting. 
The rhythm to the day in the bush is early morning drive or fishing, then lunch, then more drives or fishing. Best time of day is the evening drive, where one tools around for an hour, then stops at a scenic spot for a "sundowner"- a cocktail made from a portable bar at the back of the jeep. After, when it is dark, one drives merrily home checking out the wildlife along the way (great time to see leopards-at night).

The head of the camp is out of central casting, as my mother would say-a South African in his 60s who arrived for the first time in Zambia by parachute; with a resume that includes: being a body guard for the oil minister of Saudi Arabia, a solider in the Zimbabwean army, a ski guide, and a crocodile hunter. Says the biggest regret of his life is letting his membership in the Cresta Club lapse (actual name: the St. Moritz Tobogganing Club- look it up).
On our first afternoon there he took us for a drive, and two minutes out of camp we run across a pride of twelve lions. I had never been with a guide who drove so close to the animals; nor in fact had Thomas. But he inspires a lot of confidence, especially with elephants. One might think lions were the undisputed kings of the bush, but elephants chase them away like they are birds on a windowsill. The children saw a group of lions merely eyeing a baby elephant, and its mothers and aunties scattered the lions away at will. I learned so much about them from our crocodile hunter-how they are known to mourn their dead, how they care for each other, how they remember friends and foes. One of the guides witnessed a scene where a bunch of elephants were bathing in a mud pool..exactly like women at a spa- when a young male came over, hoping to get a spot in the bath. To no avail: he couldn't move anyone. So he went back to an Aunt and she stopped what she was doing; walked him over, engaged in some sort of conversation with another elder that involved wrapping her trunk around the other elephant's (ex boyfriend perhaps?)  and then sure enough her little nephew got a spot.
A few of them came into the camp daily, much to our delight, but we were told to be very careful-not to spook them because they can kill you if they want to. One morning, I walked out of the office behind the crocodile hunter, and Margaret followed behind me. Something startled the elephant who was hanging by the kitchen, and he made an aggressive move in our direction. I squealed and ran back to the office, while CH (croc hunter) simply held out his hand and yelled STOP.  And it did. It was unreal...exactly like he could speak the elephant's language.
We fell asleep to the sounds of hippos and on some nights, to lions- a sound I came to adore. There is nothing like feeling safe from lions.

One highlight were the picnics by the river. These only happened twice in the week, as they are a lot of work for the staff: tables, chairs, barbecue, and bar all have to be transported to the picnic spot, while the guests come by boat. It makes you pine for colonialism: gin and crocodiles and convivial race relations (kidding); perhaps a little cricket. It felt like they came this close to hauling a piano out there for us to sing show tunes.

I interviewed CH at every opportunity: he is a very, very shy person, who laughs at most of the sparkling witticisms that come out of my mouth (my favorite type of human). I asked him about death by lion: not advisable-they don't bother to kill you before they eat you; as well as the procedure for fending off a crocodile attack. As loyal blog readers know, the crocodile prefers to eat its prey whole; if the prey (say, me) is too large, it will drag it into the water until it stops fighting. It might tear a bite off then, or might  let you marinate for a few days before eating you. (Frankly I find this rude. and gross; hence my loathing for them, and my staunch admiration for someone who killed them for luggage.)
Anyway he says if one is faced with a croc on one's arm, the best bet is to reach even further down the throat and open the Palatal valve. This valve has to close if he is to drag you into the water; if it is open, it won't drag you in. If he does drag you in, it is suggested to "roll with the death roll" (ebw trademark!) thereby not allowing him to tear off the limb as he turns you this way and that. Another helpful hint was to gauge out the crocs nostrils; like the palatal valve, they must be closed before he brings you for a swim. But, he warned, they won't open with your hands, You need a knife.
Point is, CH and I had lots of fun conversations about these matters on the banks of the Zambezi river gin in hand. (Africa is great that way: no shame in a gin and tonic anytime of day: wouldn't want to get malaria.)

Oh I forgot to mention the most important part: the running! The landing strip is one km long, and the staff will take you out there by jeep at 7 am for a little morning jog if you desire. A group of us went every other morning with the young guide. He would do a quick tour of the strip by jeep to see if the "coast was clear," (LOL), then park half way down and we would jog for 30-40 minutes up and down, with Margaret as our leader.

At first I thought I would be on the look out for lions (they love to chase a running thing) but the slog up and down a dusty airstrip is so tedious, one thinks of nothing but a merciful end. ACB noted that he looked exactly like a wounded animal by the end, and it was a wonder no animal picked him off. Only once we saw elephants cross the runway, but we were safely on the other end.

I decided we needed to make a movie out of it, so I did. (Now playing on youtube! look up "Jeki"). I cannot tell you how amusing this was to make. Everyone got in line behind my absurd vision, and a few of the Swiss bankers even lobbied for bigger parts. We tried to have a premier in the concrete bunker that houses the television, but it didn't work as planned, so youtube it is.  Please excuse the spelling! I will try to fix it. Also to get the film's true message, true depth, you must watch the entire thing, even past the credits. The critics (aka the staff) found it a cross between chariots of fire and a Soviet era sports propaganda video.

We have established the Jeki Airstrip Running Club-an elite group bonded by blood, fear and dust. They are getting uniforms (no joke) for us, and in case any of you are thinking of buying a t shirt..forget it. One must do one of three things for membership: run one lap on the Jeki airstrip (2k); kill a crocodile (bare hands, knife or gun..we are not picky), or be born on the actual landing strip.
Our president is of course CH, the only one of us to have done two out of three.

Leaving the bush is immeasurably depressing: We stayed in a wonderful hotel in Livingstone five minutes walk to the magnificent Victoria falls, with zebra on the lawn by the pool.. but still it was a sad shock to be around so much civilization.

Home via Dubai, where we stayed at the crazy place again (see below photo of Frederick's bed there) where they met us at the door at 7 am; and not only allowed us to check in at that hour, but upgraded us to a 2000 square foot "room" with two bedrooms, two floors and two living rooms; presumably for a sultan of some sort to greet friends. It was comical. Turn down service involved a knock at the palatial door and a group of 5-6 people armed with vacum cleaners, canapes, and fresh squeezed orange juice. 

Now back in the pink bedroom in Portugal....no lions, no gin. :(
xx

Crocodile Hunter extraordinaire

in the tent

Frederick's bed with best traveled teddy bear ever.

trying a little bush yoga at sundown

sundowner with birds over jeep