Beginning our Goodbyes

Last night we began the process of saying our goodbyes to people here. We hosted a farewell party at our home for the members of the hip team from the Inselspital. Despite the rainy weather, people from the clinic gathered, many with their children, and we grilled out Swiss-style and drank local beer. After almost a year of their kindness and hospitality, it was the least we could do to say thank you. I also passed out a few t-shirts from Milwaukee’s own Lakefront Brewery as a small token of thanks and encouraged them all to visit us in America.

They had one last surprise for me, though. While we were all sitting outside on the porch, I started to hear a loud gonging sound. It sounded like a Swiss Cow was walking through our house. When I looked through the window into the house I saw my fellowship mentor walking through our living room with a large swiss bell around his neck, ringing away to announce his arrival.

He brought the bell outside and, much to my surprise, presented me with the very same Swiss Cow Bell that I had seen made just the previous week. They had decided to get it for us as a gift. We were all so touched! It added another fond memory that will undoubtedly come to mind when we look at that bell back in our home in America.

You can see pictures of our new bell below:

July 7, 2012July 7, 2012

Casting Our Bell

As a unique remembrance of our year in Switzerland, we decided to have a customized traditional Swiss Glocke style cow bell casted for us. We had our bell made by the Gusset family in Uetendorf, Switzerland near Thun. Their factory, the Glockengiesserei Gusset has been making bells in Switzerland for seven generations. Our thanks go out to Hans, Peter, the other Hans, the other Peter, and the Gusset brother whose name we never learned. They were kind enough to let me stand there and videotape the entire casting process. So you can see our bell made from start to finish. Enjoy the video below.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OVdnWbn77Sg]

June 21, 2012June 20, 2012

Quick Hit: Rivella

Time is quickly winding down for us, but there is still so much to experience and write about. Instead of having the occasional long post, I thought I would present a few “Quick Hits” to cover a few things that I wanted to mention.

Rivella

Sarah mentioned Rivella in her post about going to the movies. Rivella is Switzerland’s national soft drink. It is a cultural icon and a powerful craving. Rivella comes in three (main) varieties: Red (rot – the original), Blue (blau – sugar-free) and Green (grüne – it’s got green tea in it, or something). It is a refreshing drink that, in all honesty, seems to create a very powerful taste memory. Whenever I am riding the trains towards to mountains, I crave Rivella.

The interesting thing about it, though, is what it’s made of. Switzerland produces so much cheese, that it has a surplus of “milch serum”, or whey – the thin proteinaceous liquid that is left over when cheese curd is extracted from milk. An enterprising Swiss gentleman, Robert Barth, decided to carbonate the leftover milch serum in the 1950s, and Rivella was born.

When I was here for only a few months, there was another fellow visiting from the U.S. We were at lunch one day and he had a bottle of Rivella. I asked him if he had tried it yet. He said no, but he had noticed everyone drinking it. As he started taking a sip I casually explained to him that when they say the main ingredient is “milch serum,” that is really a disingenuous term. “You see,” I said, “when they wash the udders of the milking cows, they use a special non-soap solution so the udders don’t get irritated. Then, when they’re done, the ‘udder washings’ are concentrated, and then carbonated.” He was looking at me now with a mouthful. “So there may be a little milk in there, left over on the udders,” I continued, “but it’s really just udder washings.”

I will forever remember his face as he choked down that first mouthful… right before I burst out laughing.

June 4, 2012November 17, 2013

Salzburg

Since Sarah and Emily got to take a trip to Paris France, just the two girls, James and I decided to take a trip as well, just the two boys. Henry, being less than 3-years-old when we left, is considered gender neutral by the Geneva Conventions and is therefore ineligible for any “all girls” or “all boys” events. Fortunately, he turned 3 on June 3rd, so this is all a moot point.

Anyway, James and I set our sights on Salzburg, the City of Music, birthplace to Mozart, and the namesake of the Salzach River. Salzburg is a stone’s throw from Munich, nestled between Innsbruck and Vienna, and within view of the Austrian Alps. It sustained a reasonable amount of damage during WWII, but, like many European cities, has retained or restored its altstadt (old town), around which it flourishes with modern architecture and pedestrian-friendly layouts.

James and I boarded a train from Bern on Friday afternoon, and by 8pm we were at our hotel in Salzburg. We stayed at a charming hotel in the altstadt right off of the Mozartplatz. Get used to seeing that name everywhere as Salzburg loves its native son. Nearly every cafe, platz, strasse, steg, and saal has a name associated with the famous composer. Even though Mozart gladly moved from Salzburg to Vienna, to get out from under the thumb of the Bishop of Salzburg, the town still holds tightly to his legacy.

We arrived a little bit late in the evening, but James and I were hungry so we took the bus to the Augustiner Bräustübl (beer hall), just on the outskirts of town. Augustiner is a kloster (monastery) that supports its religious mission with a vibrant brewery (not uncommon in Germanic lands). James was very excited to visit the beerhall. We went up to the shelves in front and both grabbed ceramic mugs. James filled his with water, and I filled mine with Augustiner’s flagship Märzen beer. We sat in the beerhall, two Schwab men, quaffed from our mugs and ate sausage. When it was too late for James to keep his eyes open any longer, we headed back to the hotel.

On Saturday, James and I woke to a delicious breakfast, and headed to the Museum der Moderne where there was an exhibit for kids about Monsters. We looked at the pictures, dressed up, went into a scary room, and looked at different artist renditions of monsters for an hour or so. Then we made our way from the museum, via Salzburg’s catacombs, to the Funicular that goes up to Salzburg’s fortress.

High above the cliff over Salzburg the fortress is now a museum and restaurant. We saw images from Salzburg’s Marionettetheater as well as lots of relics from the origins of the fortress all the way up to munitions from WWI. James loved seeing all of sights, but eventually we got tired and headed back down to the old town for lunch.

In the afternoon we headed to Mozart’s birthhouse where we walked around with approximately 1,576 asian tourists. Fortunately James’ hair has gotten dark enough that these tourists were not stopping us for pictures. After the Mozarthaus we went to dinner in the eastern part of the old town while bands played for a festival being thrown by the University of Salzburg.

In the evening, James and I boarded a bus to the outskirts of Salzburg in a town called Anif. Anif houses Schloss Hellbrunn, and the Salzburg Zoo. We took the tour of the “night zoo” where we saw brown bears, wolves, snow leopards, and flamingos eat before their bedtime. We also saw lots of frogs, turtles, red pandas, alpacas, tapirs, capuchin monkeys, capybaras, parrots, and so much more. The Salzburg zoo is reportedly the oldest zoo in the world, but, as James learned, does not house the oldest animals. It is a beautiful zoo with cliffs as the backdrop, and Alpine foothills across the other side. You can see why the Salzburg royalty would build their palace right next door.

Sunday James and I awoke later, ate breakfast, and made our way to the train station to head back to Switzerland. James got a few small commemorative items, and we got some famous Mozartkugeln for the rest of the family. It was nice to spend some time with my son, getting to spoil him a little bit on one hand, but getting to see him grow a little bit on the other.

See the gallery of our trip.

May 15, 2012November 17, 2013

To every last mother…

Swiss cows traditionally wear large metal bells on decorative leather belts around their necks. It’s not just a quaint tradition, but it has a real purpose. In each herd, every cow’s bell is tuned to a different pitch. As the cows go from the pasture to the barn, the farmer can keep track of his cows by listening for the tune of the herd. If one cow is missing, a farmer will hear it before he sees it.

The weekend before Mother’s Day, our farmer noted that one cow had not come back in from the pasture. He found her lying down, ready to give birth. He wasn’t surprised by this. After all, he is in charge of making sure how and when each milking cow becomes pregnant. And he knew it was her time. But still, she seemed to be struggling a little bit. He felt around for the calf inside her. The calf was facing forwards, but the head was turned backwards. A dangerous situation for the calf, and the mother.

Meanwhile, Henry and Sarah were showing my college friend Will around the farm while I bottled milk. I was in the milking room when the farmer came in, speaking to me in his usual Swiss German:

“Hey, Doc! Good thing you’re here. There’s a cow giving birth and she’s having some trouble. I called the vet, but since you’re here…”

“Uh,” I replied, not knowing what to say next. “What kinda trouble is she having?”

“Oh the calf’s head is turned backward, so she needs help delivering. She’s in the next pasture.” He paused. “I’m kidding you. I know this isn’t your thing.” Relieved, I asked if we could go see her. “Sure, no problem,” he said, “The vet will be here soon to help.”

At this point, it became clear that this was not just another normal day at the farm. Sarah, Will, Henry and I went to the pasture next door where a large cow was sitting down in the field. There were a few spectators there, and kids were coming and going as well. I’m sure the cow was uncomfortable, and may have preferred a smaller viewing audience, but she was otherwise fairly docile.

Soon the vet came and administered some relaxing medicine to the cow. Then things “got real” so to speak. The vet, now shoulder deep in cow, was busy threading some ropes into the cow to grab hold of the calf’s front legs. He was not able to turn the calf’s head forward, so they would have to pull it out. Once the ropes were applied, and the front hooves delivered, the Vet, the Farmer, and a Neighbor (who supplied a bucket of water to “wash” the cow’s backside) all began pulling as though they were in a giant, epic game of tug-o-war.

For a few minutes the cow laid quietly, sedate, while three grown, strong, Swiss men pulled this calf to its birth. Within about ten minutes, the calf was out. It was a boy. The farmer rubbed the head of the calf to stimulate him. The vet “cleaned” his tools and put his gear away. The Neighbor took his watering can back home. Kids came and went. A light rain fell and quickly subsided.

And very shortly, within a minute after the calf was born, the mom, previously sedate and unable to lift her head much above her shoulders, rose up onto her feet, turned around and quickly moved everyone away from her calf, so she could clean him. She licked him from head to toe, letting him know that she was there, and things were going to be okay.

We knew it was our time to leave. Everyone seemed to know that the two cows needed time to be alone. As we walked away towards our bikes, towards our home, carrying with us our youngest child, bringing bottles of fresh milk to feed our own kids, I looked back one more time at the cow with her calf, alone together in the field. A mother, and her newborn.

April 20, 2012November 17, 2013

Sorrento (Part I)

Close your eyes.

Now picture a beautiful stone villa dating back over 2000 years. Built by ancient Romans, it is surrounded by a citrus grove bursting with lemons and oranges. Olive plants ready themselves to bring forth delectable fruit. Mount Vesuvius looms on the horizon, overlooking the bay of Napoli on the Mediterranean Sea.

You smell the sea air. You hear the waterfall cutting the bluffs behind you. You taste the fruit. You feel the history deep in your soul.

Now open your eyes.

You see a tumultuous cloudy sky fertile with a nearly constant downpour of rain. And it never gets above 50 degrees. Oh, and you can’t really see the Mediterranean because of fog. This is the reality of our time in Sorrento. For five straight days.

Sarah is our vacation planner. Once we have a destination in mind she gathers all of the information about what to see and do while there, and Sorrento was no exception. Sorrento is a 30 minute easy train ride from the ruins at Pompeii. It’s a quick boat ride to the island of Capri, with its beautiful Blue Grotto. Sorrento is also a launching pad for a drive along the Amalfi Coast – a scenic, harrowing journey along cliff edges overlooking the Mediterranean.

But of all these things, we were only able to make it to Pompeii. We walked the ruins with our umbrellas, fending off the downpour. We began hoping that Mount Vesuvius might erupt again, today even, if only to add some more excitement to the trip. Pompeii was really cool, but the kids showed enthusiasm for only about 30 minutes before umbrella sword-fighting, puddles, and the fascination with all things wet took over.

We couldn’t blame them. They had just behaved spectacularly in Rome, witnessing over 1000 years of civilization, and now they were ready for a break.

So, for the sake of the kids (and forced by the weather), Sarah and I decided that Sorrento would be a time to sit back and veg out. The kids became familiar with Cartoonito – the Italian Cartoon Network – which they happily watched despite everything being dubbed into Italian. They spent an ungodly amount of time in their pajamas. But they loved every minute of it. Especially when they got to accessorize with makeshift capes.

Sarah and I found ourselves in unfamiliar territory. It was a struggle at times, but nothing a good book couldn’t cure. We got outside here and there to go to dinner, or the local markets to buy food. The kids never wanted to leave the villa, unless Gelato was involved (which it frequently was).

So while we mostly missed out on all of the great things Sorrento has to offer, we got some much needed rest and relaxation, and spent A LOT of time together as a family. So much time, in fact, that we may need to take separate vacations next time. Ha!

See all of our pictures from Sorrento, Italy.

April 18, 2012November 17, 2013

A Quick Interlude

We will take a quick break from reporting on our Italy trip, to bring you this highly solicited message from our most recent visitor, Jeff Schwab, a.k.a. “Gramps.” We loved having him visit and, as always, love to hear his thoughts on his time in Switzerland:

I visited Joe, Sarah and the kids and now I have homework. Joe “invited” me to write for his blog. And pointed out that no previous guest had failed to write something. Even though I was taught that blogging was a sin (at least I think that I was), here goes…………..

Well, let’s get the “Switzerland was beautiful, the weather perfect, the mountains majestic, the cows contented, etc., etc.” out of the way. Why? Because it is all true and well documented long before this blog.

What has been noted, but deserves reiterating, is what great hosts Joe and Sarah are, and how fun Emily, James and Henry are to be around. Grams couldn’t make the trip, bum knee (still supporting MCW Orthopaedic Surgery), and although I missed her greatly, the trip was a smashing success.

Now what are the memorable moments? (see Sarah’s blog account for full details) Well, in no particular order: Squinkies*, roasting cervelas by the Aare, the farm, biking to buy beer, ping pong, Team Alps, Rubigen by night, but mostly seeing everyone live and up close after almost eight months.

I thought at first I was in Lake Wobegon because Sarah is strong (bikes and walks everywhere), Joe is good looking (Grams made me say that) and the kids are clearly above average.

Emily is the official Swiss translator, gave a great fashion show complete with a Skyped Grams, skied like a champ, and warmed my heart with an early morning read of Calvin and Hobbes.

James and I hit about 1,000 ping pong balls in a row for a new personal record (as I remember). He introduced me to his own Hobbes and reintroduced me to Calvin and Hobbes; skied faster; and reminded me to stop and smell the roses (in his own inimitable fashion).

Henry was amazing; just what Joe deserved. A child without an unspoken thought. His line of the week was “Yah sure, why not”. He is a fabulous traveler, hiker and holder of Squinkies* (up to 10 in one hand). He is also an excellent jumper, especially when least expected, and thrower of rocks.

Sarah made me feel at home, almost like I was family (wait…….I am family) but it was nice and comfortable. It was fun to spend two days at the Bernese Hip Symposium with Joe. I was able see him professionally and meet his worldwide cadre of colleagues.

Friday night I was supposed to babysit. Well, I got to see Rubigen first. This is a small town one stop before Joe and Sarah’s. Instead of the recommended reading the town names when the train stops method of knowing when to get off, I used the counting stops method. It failed and I got off in Rubigen, a picturesque Swiss town usually; less so, however, in the dark while waiting 30 minutes for the next train with no way to notify Sarah and no restroom in sight. I finally made it to Munsingen, to be met by Sarah on a bike which wasn’t planned. I did get to babysit and Sarah did get to the Symposium dinner but I missed over half of “The Empire Strikes Back” and I was really looking forward to it. The rest of the night went well.

We went to the beautiful Lauterbrunnen (or something) Valley. Left our luggage unguarded (I was assured this was just fine and it was) then went and had a great time. Trains, buses, cable cars, hikes, snacks and nearly “Top of Europe” views. The next day I found out, while skiing for the first time in 10 years, that Swiss snow tastes pretty much like all snow. But the kids welcomed me to Team Alps anyway.

The week went by fast, but for me was great. Sarah pretty much captured it all on her blog report EXCEPT for my big THANK YOU to all the Swiss Schwab’s.

I also had to leave to get home to Grams and to let Joe and Sarah get ready for Italy. It is my and Grams fervent prayer that they make Pope Squinkies* so the kids have something for the train.

Thanks again for a great time with you all.

Love,

Gramps

* For those unfamiliar with Squinkies I suggest www.squinkies.com. Really. Mary Lou is online buying some more Squinkies – this might be a good stock opportunity.

March 9, 2012

Wait, why are we here again?

It came up recently that I had not been posting much about my work, since that is the reason we ended up moving to Switzerland anyway. I’ve had a number of friends email me assuming that work is keeping me very busy since Sarah authors most of the posts on this blog. Work does keep me busy, but not so busy that I can’t take time off to spend with my family.

So when I looked back, it turns out the only real meaningful post I have written about my job was from back in August, and that was within a week of me starting at the hospital. So I guess it is time for an update. Make sure you grab a drink for this post, because it may be a little dry, and pictures will be sparse.

You may remember that I am here to learn about “hip preservation surgery.” This is a new field in orthopaedics that was really started here in Bern within the last 20 years, and has come into its own here over the last ten years or so. One awesome thing about my job is that I get to work with, and learn from, the world leaders in hip preservation. The Inselspital is used to having people come visit for varying lengths of time to learn their techniques. Most people will visit for four weeks, six weeks, or maybe three months. Six months is not common, and a whole year is not very common at all.

But with that said, there are some very cool benefits that come along with being here for a full year. Unlike most other fellows, I get an office (with a great view of the northern Jura mountains), a new computer, and an ability to really delve deeply into what they’re trying to do here. Research here is plentiful, but not much can be done in 6 weeks. So when a new fellow comes, it’s difficult to integrate them meaningfully in research. Since I am here for a full year, I have as much research work as I can handle, and then some.

My mentors/coworkers are like every other group of orthopaedists that I’ve had the pleasure to work with; they’re fun, irreverent, enthusiastic, and sport a great sense of humor. They have taken the time to teach me their trade, but also to integrate me into their culture and social life. I’m learning history and language and medicine and so much more.

As far as how things compare to what I am used to back home, there are some definite differences. First of all, surgical scrubs are only to be worn in surgery, no exception. I repeat, no exception (and when someone says that with a German accent, you listen). Not only that, but there are communal-use surgical shoes (sterilized after each use) that you must wear. And for infected cases, there are a separate pair of shoes that are to be worn only in the Operating Room (OR), itself.

The OR lounge for nurses, surgeons, and staff has loaves of fresh bread, platters of cured meats, and fresh soup brought in daily. There is also an excellent coffee maker and taps for naturelle (no bubbles) and frizzante (bubbles) mineral water. While lots of time can be wasted here, I rarely see people linger her for more than 20-30 minutes.

Lunch is A BIG DEAL here. Back home, “eating lunch” meant shoving cold chicken strips in my mouth as I walked between the OR and the ER. But in Switzerland, lunch is the main meal, and the Inselspital is really no exception. Most of the orthopaedics department gathers for lunch between 11:30am and 1:00pm. Lunch is a time to sit, relax, eat a LARGE meal, drink a coffee, and… eventually… go back to work.

While all of this sounds great, I can’t help but think how different it might be if I were really able to speak the language. My relative shyness in talking, mixed with the Swiss’ natural tendency to not be very welcoming into their friendship circle, naturally means that my ability to make friends with ancillary staff, techs, nurses, etc is not easy. Back home this was not a problem, but here it can be a bit isolating. But even with those obstacles, I’ve been able to make some work friends. Or perhaps my ridiculous way of speaking is just a novelty to them. I’m like a monkey. A monkey who is poor at speaking Swiss German.

But with all of that said, I could not be happier with my decision to come here. The opportunity has been great, and will hopefully provide a continuing productive professional relationship well into the future. It’s exactly what I want to be doing right now. And in a way it really makes me appreciate what I have to look forward to back home. Sarah and I say it all the time: we’re blessed. We’re extremely lucky to be here.

In fact, I’m the luckiest monkey I know.

February 12, 2012February 12, 2012

Halfway there…

So as of February 1, 2012, we have been living in Switzerland for six months, which means we have six more months to go. Recently I have begun thinking about how my life has changed since living here. Some things are obvious: I speak more German here, I don’t have a car, I can only afford meat when it’s on sale. But other things take a little introspection to figure out. Life is certainly not the same as it was. So here are just a few of the ways things have changed for me in the last six months.

1. I’ve started smoking

Actually, I’ve started second-hand smoking. It’s much cheaper. But it’s also nearly unavoidable since almost everyone seems to smoke around here when waiting for the bus or a train. Even at 6am. Who wants a cigarette at 6am? Apparently the Swiss do. I figure I’m second-hand smoking up to a pack and a half per day now. While the smell of smoke used to bother me in the morning, now I barely even notice it. I also can’t taste food anymore. It might be unrelated… but I expect not.

2. I know the cows who produce my milk, personally

If you read the blog regularly, you know that Sarah and I get our milk, eggs, and potatoes from a farm down the street. We go in a few times a week and fill up our milk bottles, drop a deposit in the till and head home. The sad part is, I can tell what the cows have been eating all week by how the milk tastes. You know that scene in Napolean Dynamite where he is in the milk-tasting competition? That’s now me.

An actual (translated) conversation from a few weeks ago between me and the farmer:

Me: Hello! How’s it going?

Farmer: Super! How’s working at the hospital?

Me: It’s good. Hey, how’s Katya’s (the cow) mastitis doing?

Farmer: Much better. The antibiotics helped. Her udder is much less swollen and red.

Me: Super. Have a great weekend!

Farmer: Same to you!

**3. I’ve come to regard Personal Space as a suggestion**

The American vs. European cliché about personal space is alive and well in Switzerland. People don’t mind being bumped into, touched, cramped, crowded, or squished into elevators, buses, trains, or the like. At first this definitely made me feel uncomfortable. Then I got used to it, but would still think about it as it was happening. After a while it stopped bothering me altogether. In fact, I’ve started pushing the boundaries the other way; seeing how close I can stand next to someone while talking to them, standing absurdly close to someone in a wide open elevator, sitting on other people’s laps during lunch. I’m waiting for someone to suggest that I’ve gone too far. This may take a while.

4. I wait at crosswalk lights

Living in Chicago for seven years, you can make a game about how to most creatively cross the street. Things like crosswalks, lighted signals… these are suggestions. In Switzerland, if you cross the street anywhere other than the crosswalk, or when the walk light isn’t green, you will draw looks. More than likely you will draw comments. Das ist verboten! At first you may be tempted to brush this off, but then you realize… every adult Swiss male has done at least some military service, and has a fully functional semi-automatic weapon readily available. Maybe its best to just do what they say. Eat some chocolate, pay attention, and just follow the rules. Welcome to Switzerland.

December 30, 2011December 31, 2011

Small Christmas Miracles

James has been having a bit of a difficult Christmas. He’s admitted to being pretty homesick, and I think that the holidays coming on were making him think more of home. More than that, though, James became convinced this year that Santa wasn’t real. And this wasn’t just a fleeting thought. He would argue about it. He would yell at his sister about it. He would get upset when anyone suggested otherwise.

So Sarah and I talked to him. We pulled him aside and said we thought it was fine if he didn’t want to believe in Santa Claus. He told us that he thought we were the ones who brought presents on Christmas. We told him that was true. But we also told him that it was important to his younger brother and older sister that Santa really existed. So we said that, for now, we would not discuss whether Santa existed in front of Emily and Henry, unless they wanted to talk about it too. He was OK with that.

Then we went on our Christmas Vacation in the Alps and a few small things happened. First, while enjoying our presents on Christmas Eve, a small bell rang from the next room, when the kids went in they found a few more presents and evidence that the Christkind had been there.

That night, at dinner, the Weihnachtsmann visited. The kids were suspicious of this man, but he pulled me aside, and asked me if I knew an Emily and James. I told him I did. He handed me two packages and told me that they contained a very special Swiss treat only for boys and girls who were ready to accept them. The Weihnachtsmann had singled out Emily and James.

Finally, when we arrived home in Münsingen, we found our fireplace open. There were bootprints and ashes around our tree. James detected hoof prints in the backyard. Most importantly, there were presents under our well-cared for and watered Christmas tree. There was also a note on the tree that read:

Dear Emily, James, and Henry,

I hope you had a great Christmas in the mountains. I told my friend Christkind to visit you there. But I couldn’t leave out any of my American children around the world, so I brought a few things to your home in Switzerland.

See you next year back in Milwaukee!

Love,
Santa

P.S. I hope you don’t mind – the reindeer were very thirsty from the long trip, so they took a drink from your pond.

James, Emily, and Henry all jumped around the room yelling that they couldn’t believe it! Santa had come to visit them in Switzerland. James told Sarah and I that he couldn’t believe that he was wrong about Santa. Then he told us he couldn’t believe that we were wrong about Santa, too.

We agree. How amazing it can be to believe again.