Chances are you got our Christmas card. You were either brave enough to type in the URL, or you have a smartphone with a QR Reader, AND you know how to use it. Either way, welcome to our 2013 Holiday letter. We’ve done digital before, but Sarah and I were feeling so pressed to “perform” on our letters, and we know that you’re mostly interested in how the kids are doing. So we decided to make the kids do most of the work for this year’s holiday letter. So here you have it… Emily, James and Henry summarize 2013 for your benefit. They’re ours, and we’re proud of them…
Lasts
We leave Switzerland one week from yesterday. Yikes! Our life has gotten a little hectic, to say the least. But we are also trying to enjoy our last days that we have here.
In the past couple of weeks, we have had a lot of lasts. The kids’ last day of school. My last choir practice. Henry’s last spielgruppe. And now we are having more and more lasts, of all kinds. This morning I had the last bowl of my favorite Swiss cereal. We have started selling our bikes, and James rode his for the last time tonight. In the coming week, we will have our last trip to the farm, last time seeing lots of people, last Swiss meals.
I was getting a little overwhelmed by lasts, until I realized that people have lasts all the time. Most of the time, we don’t even think about it. Often it is firsts and lasts at the same time. Going to a restaurant for the last time, meeting a friend of a friend for the first and last time, last diaper change on your youngest child. (We’re not there yet, but getting closer…) Lasts happen all the time, but somehow they seem more poignant in our life right now.
It might just be the sheer quantity of lasts in a short period of time. It is also the permanence of it. In the lasts of everyday life, you don’t always know its a last because the possibility is there for it to happen again. You could run into that person again. You might decide to go back to that restaurant someday, who knows? Even when you move or graduate, you believe you will keep in touch with people or maybe see them at a reunion.
But for us, the likelihood that we will see most of our neighbors, classmates, and acquaintances from Münsingen ever again is extremely low. Sure, we will visit Switzerland, but it will never be quite like this again. It reminds me a little of when Henry was a baby. We declared that he would be our last child, and it was like a gift. We cherished every sweet moment because we knew it was the last. And the difficult moments seemed somehow easier since we knew we would never have to do it again.
It is a blessing to conciously experience a last as it is happening. Which means, amidst the mess of suitcases and boxes, this week is filled with blessings.
The Beginning of the End
In just 7 more weeks, we will be back in America. It’s a little hard to comprehend what then next couple of months will be like for us. The work of moving our family back across the ocean has already started. We’re working with moving companies, we’ve bought our plane tickets and started completing paperwork. And in terms of our life here, it feels like we’ve entered a sort of “lame duck” period. There is no point in trying to establish anything here anymore. We want to get as much out of these last weeks as possible (especially since the weather is finally nice!). But every conversation we have with people here involves talking about how soon we are leaving.
On Wednesday evening, Emily’s class did a play at her school. They performed “The Valiant Little Tailor” (“Das tapfere Schneiderlein“) by the Brothers Grimm. Emily got to play Princess #2, and she did a great job. After the show, there was a little pot luck reception where all the families could mingle. We talked with some other families, and they always started the conversation by asking, “So, when are you leaving?” We answered questions about where we live in America and whether we are looking forward to going back. It is a conversation I have had a lot recently. But this time it ended with our first goodbyes. We probably won’t see the parents of Emily’s classmates again, so they wished us a nice summer and a safe trip back home.
It was very nice of them, but also a little strange. After all this time trying to integrate and and fit in, we were definitely the strangers again. I get the feeling the next seven weeks are going to be a long series of good byes. Going back home should be comforting, except that so much has changed I get the feeling we may be strangers there as well, at least to a certain extent.
I’m not sure Henry even remembers America. We have all changed and grown, though it is a lot easier to see it in the kids. I found a couple of pictures of Emily that really illustrate how much can change in one year. The first was taken at a farm in Germany last July, and the second was taken at our local farm just a few weeks ago:
Flashback from a Friend
Our friend Will came to visit back in May. We met him in the mountains for some cloudy hiking, and spent four fun-filled days together. Now that he is settled back in Chicago, he had a chance to send us his thoughts and memories…
I finally made it to Switzerland to visit the Schwabs this May. When I first heard they were going to spend a year there, I knew I wanted to visit and fortunately was able to make it out there and everyone went way out of their way to make sure I had a good time seeing the country.
After a day or so on my own near Lake Geneva, I arrived to meet the Schwabs in Zermatt – the home of the Matterhorn. Joe met me at the train station – beer in hand – and helped guide me back to our hotel. Which was good because our original hotel had apparently closed for renovation and re-booked us elsewhere. After getting situated, I got to meet the adorable Schwab children (some of whom called me “Will” and some of whom called me “Uncle Will”), and we toured the very touristy (by Swiss standards – still very quaint) town and had dinner and made our plans to summit the mighty Matterhorn the next day.
However, it was quite foggy the next morning. Despite this we boarded the train to the Gornergrat and went up almost 10,000 feet. We couldn’t quite make out the famous 
Matterhorn peak, but saw many gorgeous sites along the trip (lots of waterfalls!) and the train ride itself was very cool. Then we hopped on the train to Grindelwald, which despite 3 train changes was an extremely scenic and beautiful ride past Lake Thun and various other scenic Swiss regions.
Joe and I went to the “Top of Europe” station the next day on the Jungfrauoch. It was also a bit cloudy but a very cool experience. I especially enjoyed the exhibit at the top where we were able to walk inside an actual glacier. And, at 11,000+ feet I definitely felt the altitude. We met Sarah and the kids a bit lower in the mountains at Kleine Scheidegg and hiked down a bit to the Wengeralp station. The weather alternated wildly between snow, rain, sun … and we had a very pleasant 30-minute hike while examining the terrain (frog eggs!) and hearing what we thought were avalanches.
Then we took the train back to Munsingen, and immediately headed out to the nearby farm to get some groceries, but there was a lot of commotion. Apparently, a cow was giving birth in the field but there was a small breach, so there was some additional attention needed. Naturally, we biked immediately to the cow-birthing field and watched a baby calf being born!* It was quite the experience, if a little bloody. And we had a nice Swiss Raclette dinner at home – melted cheese and potatoes.
The following day, we relaxed in Munsingen a bit and then I got the tour of Bern from Joe and had dinner with the Schwabs at the Rose Garden – a huge park that overlooks the city from the top of a hill. It was a beautiful view and the kids had fun with the nearby playground as well.
Sarah and Henry showed me around Bern a bit the next day and after a quick lunch with Joe, it was time to say farewell.
All in all – it was great to see my friends and the Swiss countryside. Everything in Switzerland seemed super-efficient – even riding the trains was fun (I recommend the Swiss Pass to help reduce the travel hassle).
Thanks again to Joe, Sarah, Emily, James and Henry for making this a great trip out to beautiful Switzerland!
Check out more pictures from our weekend with Will.
* The baby calf was a boy, and after we told the farmer that our friend from America had arrived just in time for the birth, it was decided that the cow would be named “Willi.” How many people get a cow in Switzerland named after them?! Probably not too many. We had a great time with you, Will, and we think about you every time we go to the farm and see little Willi.
It’s the Little Things – Mustard and Bat Caves
It’s been a while since I wrote a post in this series. The kids and I are home this week, playing and going on outings. So, I thought I would highlight a couple of things that continue to make our daily life here a little different than back home.
Mustard
I took all three kids to the grocery store this week, a feat that is even more challenging without a car and without those neat car-shaped grocery carts, which would never fit around the corners here. There are tons of little differences in the products here, starting with different brands and languages. But, there are a couple of categories I wanted to mention specifically. First, a lot of the food that we buy here is similar to what we have back home, but it is just packaged differently. Mustard and mayonnaise come in large, aluminum tooth-paste tubes. 
Apple sauce comes in tin cans. And juice and milk often come in rectangular cartons, like a giant juice box. There are a couple of things here that are taboo in the US like Aromat (a seasoning shaker of MSG) and saccharine tablets for sweetening coffee. The supposed health risks of these items have been debunked, but they never recovered in the US. And there are a couple of things that I just can’t find here, including baking soda and brown sugar (I’ve learned to substitute “raw cane sugar,” though it doesn’t pack the way I’m used to).
These are just a few of the many differences in food products that make grocery shopping or opening my refrigerator almost a cultural experience.
Bat Caves
Today I took the kids to a place called Papiliorama northwest of Bern. It has an outdoor petting farm and playground, and three large enclosures: butterflies, jungles, and nocturnal animals. The latter enclosure was very dark, lit only by dim blue lights. There were night sounds playing as you walk through a maze past owls, fish and other animals. We were squatted down looking at some fish when I noticed something swoop by. “Was that a bat?” I wondered to myself. And, sure enough, moments later another one swooped by just ahead of us. I didn’t say anything, as I didn’t want to scare the kids, so we just kept walking. More and more of them flew by, and James finally said something. I explained that they were just little fruit bats, and they wouldn’t hurt us. The kids seemed okay with this, and Henry repeated my explanation every time one flew by.
The trail led into another area through some of those thick plastic blinds intended to keep things from escaping. Suddenly there were even more bats flitting around – apparently the first few were just the ones that had gotten out of the enclosed area. Several bats flew so close to me, I felt the breeze as they passed. Then the path led into a cave. It was no more than 6 feet tall or across and about 15 feet long, and there were bats everywhere. They were hanging from the ceiling and swooping through at breakneck speed. I tried to keep my strong, confident mom face on, but all I could think was “You have got to be kidding me!”
The kids and I had a quick discussion about how bats can’t actually see, and the only way they don’t run into things is by sonar. Then I ducked my head down to Henry’s stroller and walked through with bats dangling above and whooshing all around. Every time I lifted my head to see where I was going, a bat would swoosh within inches of my face before turning at the last moment. I definitely felt a wing tip on my head, and I may have screamed a couple of times. Although it raised my adrenaline levels, I have to admit it was actually a pretty cool experience. And the kids loved it!
The reason I am writing about this here is that something like this would never happen in America. I’ve seen bats at the zoo in Milwaukee, but always behind glass. I’ve had access to animals up close, but not fast-moving animals in a claustrophobically confined space. It’s too scary! Or dangerous! What if someone got scratched?! They might sue! Well, the Swiss don’t seem to have these concerns. It’s not that things don’t happen. They do. I saw a kid from a field-trip group holding his arm and complaining that a bat scratched him. But they didn’t seem to mind. Scratches happen. That’s life. Besides, that kid was probably flailing his arms around, so that’s what he gets. The Swiss would never change something for everyone because of minor risks or the stupidity or carelessness of a few people. Besides, that kid, as well as all the kids who gathered around to see his scratch, learned a valuable lesson about personal responsibility… Always keep your arms down when walking through a bat cave.
Churning up Memories
The kids have another school vacation — something about “Whitsun,” an ancient holiday revolving around Pentecost that I’m pretty sure no one except Switzerland acknowledges anymore. So, last Thursday we went to Basel again to visit Isabel, our former host daughter, and her family. We visited them back in October for Basel’s Fall festival. And they invited us again for a nice weekend in Basel, including a day trip to Alsace, France just across the border.
We arrived on Thursday, and Isabel’s parents showed us around Basel’s old town. We ate lunch on the Rhine river, took a tethered ferry boat across, and went into the Rathaus or city hall. Then, they took us to a local festival in their suburb of Basel where we had a couple of beers, heard a local band perform and the kids got to ride ponies. After a nice dinner back at their place, they took us to our B&B to rest up for the big excursion the next day.
Isabel’s dad had planned a lovely drive through the wine region of Alsace, France, stopping in a few towns for picnics and sightseeing. He picked us up in the morning, and the nine of us split up into two cars. Joe and Henry rode with Isabel and her boyfriend, Marco, in his nice BMW, while Emily, James and I rode with Isabel’s parents. They drove us along the small, windy roads in rural France, which was beautiful, but much more motion than we are used to. Remember, we have been riding trains on nice, straight tracks and haven’t been in a car for any extended period of time for 9 months. So, about 30 minutes into the ride, I was feeling a little car sick. Meanwhile in the other car, Henry wasn’t feeling so good either and he kept telling Joe he wanted his mommy. Joe was trying to console him when Henry said, “But I just want mommy!” and then puked all over the back of the car.
Isabel called her dad to tell him what happened, and we turned around and drove back about a mile where we found them on the side of the road. Joe had stripped Henry of his puke-filled clothes, so he was running around in his underwear. Poor Marco was trying to wipe the vomit off of his seats. After much discussion, it was decided that we would go a little further up the road to the next town where I could buy Henry some new clothes.
With one less seat, I had to sit in the back seat with all three kids and Joe sat in the front with Isabel’s mom. No more Schwabs in the BMW! I had a plastic bag for Henry in case of a repeat. After just a little while back on the road, the kids and I were feeling nauseous again. I looked at Joe, who had his head back and his eyes closed. I asked him how he was doing and he said “fine” but it sounded more like “leave me alone.” We rolled the windows down, but a few minutes later, James said, “Mom, I need the bag!” I handed it over to him and he immediately threw up into it.
Emily was sitting right next to him, watching (and smelling) the whole thing, and then she said, “Ooooh, I’m next! It’s my turn!” So I stretched the top of the bag toward Emily, and both kids hung their heads in and puked their guts out.
Joe lifted his head and declared “Okay, that’s it. We’re done.”
Both cars pulled over. There was more cleaning and stripping. With a little fresh air we felt much better. It was almost lunch time and we were a little scared to get back in the cars, so we decided to have our picnic right there. Isabel’s dad was concerned that the spot wasn’t scenic enough, but we assured him it was fine. After the picnic, we took the highway back to Basel hoping the straighter roads would be better, and we made it without further incident.
Having completely ruined the trip to Alsace, we spent a relaxing afternoon at Isabel’s parents’, and then went to a nice park in Basel for dinner. On Saturday, we were on our own. We made a family visit to the Basel Zoo before catching the train back home. This was probably the last time we will see Isabel’s family, and it was certainly memorable!
Family Ties
This past weekend, my cousin Elissa and her family came to visit us. They are in Zurich for a couple of weeks for work, so we had to take the opportunity to get together. We weren’t expecting to see any more family or friends until we return home. So when we heard they were coming to Switzerland, it was such a treat!
The weather didn’t cooperate, so on Saturday we mostly stayed inside. Her little boy is just a couple of weeks younger than Henry, so it was a blast to see them play together. On Sunday, we took everyone up the Niesen mountain for a taste of the Swiss Alps, but unfortunately it was foggy and cold up there, so they didn’t get much of a taste. Though they did get to see Lake Thun and the Aare river from the windows of trains and buses. Fortunately, the weather cleared up at the end of the day so I could give them a tour of Bern before they caught their train back home – barely making it, as we ran from the bus, through the underground train station, and to their platform in 3 minutes.
I caught my own train back home for a small mother’s day celebration. I had gifts from each of the kids that they had made at school – a sachet and soaps, a paper maché picture frame, and a heart-shaped box with decorative stones glued to it. I also had a couple of cards, including one that Joe had made on the computer. It was the most perfect card for this Mother’s Day, so I wanted to share it here:
Mom, Mommy, Mama, Mother, Sarah:
We will follow you anywhere. We are your loyal, if ragtag, group of hangers-on. When you climb mountains, we hike beside you (unless you carry us). When you swim the seas, we float beside you (especially if we have our floaties on). If you put skis on our feet and point us down hill, we careen down the slopes with you (unless Daddy plows into us).
We do it because we trust you. We do it because we need you. We do it because we love you.
You are our Mother. And today is your day. Happy Mother’s Day.
Love, Your Kids – Emily, James, Henry (and Joe)
I am so blessed to have a great family, both near and far!
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.
Swiss Values: Children
As you may know, “Heidi” is a famous Swiss children’s novel about a little Swiss orphan girl. In the first part of the book, Heidi is just 5 years old, and she is dropped off at her grandfather’s house in the mountains, where she is left to fill her time with her own imagination. She meets a young goat herder named Peter, who doesn’t seem to be much older than Heidi. Together, the two children wander the mountain side herding goats and overcoming any challenges that arise.
Even though the book was written in 1880, it is still revered in Switzerland. There has been a tv series, several movies, and many retellings of the story in print. There was recently a musical version of Heidi that toured the country, and there is a tourist area in the mountains called “Heidiland.” The book captures many things that are inherently “Swiss,” and it struck me the other day that one of those Swiss values is the independence of children.
In America it seems that parenting is getting more and more protective, valuing safety over independence and life experience. Conversely, in Switzerland, kids are still allowed – no, expected – to spend time on their own and explore their surroundings. As we’ve mentioned before, there are no school buses here, so kids from age 5 or 6 walk to school by themselves (or bike or scooter when they are a little older). The playgrounds here still have seesaws, merry-go-rounds, hammock swings, and other structures that are 
impossible to find in highly regulated American playgrounds. The 8-year-old boy across the street rides his bike to his own soccer practices, a common occurrence. The kids all play outside on the streets, ring each others’ doorbells, and disappear for hours until parents call them in to eat or sleep. I’ve also scheduled playdates with kids from school who live a little further away, but it isn’t always necessary.
Last Tuesday when we were at the farm, James saw the oldest boy in the family (around age 8… not sure) doing his chores. To my great surprise, James said, “I want to live on a farm.” When pressed about the difference between what this boy was doing and what James does at home, he said, “But that is real work!” So, let me get this straight. You’d rather shovel cow manure and carry chicken feed than clean your room?! But, upon reflection, I think what James saw was this boy’s independence and responsibility. And to a 6-year-old boy, that is really cool.
Because of their level of independence, our kids are strong and resourceful. They demonstrated it fully back in February when we were in Toggenburg, Switzerland for a winter vacation, in an incident I didn’t write about at the time. We were coming back from a visit to Lichtenstein, and James thought he had left his stuffed tiger (Hobbes) on the ski bus. We were already most of the way up a steep hill to our apartment, and I knew the bus would turn around at the top of the street and come back down the hill in a couple of minutes. So I sent James running back to the bus stop on his own. The bus came, but rather than getting on in the front and telling the driver his situation, James got on in the back to look for Hobbes on his own. To my horror, the bus doors closed and it took off down the hill with James inside. Then, before I could gather my wits, Emily, who had seen this all transpire, said, “Don’t worry mom, I’ll go get him.” And she took off running down the hill after the bus. I think I just stood there for a minute with my 6 and 7 year old children wandering around an unfamiliar town in Switzerland wondering, “What have I done?!”
But at that point, I really didn’t know what to do. So, I took Henry up to the apartment and put him down for his nap. Then I looked out the window, but there was no sign of Emily or James. I paced around a lot and walked back and forth between the bus stop and the apartment feeling helpless. And then, about 45 minutes later, Emily and James showed up back at our holiday village. Emily never did find James until they both arrived back at our bus stop (one on foot and one on a bus). They both loved telling us the stories of their adventures riding different buses in the town and walking around until they were each able to find their way home.
I recently came across the “free-range kids” movement in America, which combats some of the extreme “helicopter parenting” that goes on there. We are lucky to live in a reasonably “free range” neighborhood back in Milwaukee, where kids still play outside on their own spontaneously with the neighbors. No doubt, there are many reasons parenting in Switzerland is so different than in America, but I think one of them is the mindset of the adults. And I mean all the adults, not just parents. In America, the responsibility for a child falls squarely with his parents. Other adults should mind their own business or take up their issues with the parents. If someone else tries to reprimand a child directly, the kid is likely to say something like “You’re not my mom!” and the parent is likely to get upset or defensive.
In Switzerland, it seems like there is a lot more shared responsibility for raising children. You’ve heard the saying, “It takes a village to raise a child.” Well, here they really believe that. At first it was a little off-putting to our American sensibilities. I’ll never forget the first time an older Swiss lady told James to get his feet off the seat on the bus. James’s eyes got big, I just shrugged my shoulders, and he did as he had been told. I have since realized that she had the best of intensions. The Swiss want to raise children who are independent, but who also respect the rules and other people (respect for rules and other people are two more very important Swiss values that allow their society to function the way it does. But that’s another post…). And so, it is perfectly normal for other adults, especially in the older generation, to “help out.”
This post is getting a little long and scattered as I try to come to a conclusion, and in the end I don’t really have one. I’m not trying to pass judgement one way or the other by writing about Swiss values. I just think its interesting to compare how and why two cultures are different from each other. And as a family living in “two worlds,” we have to navigate the nuances of both approaches to make sense of our daily experiences.
Sorrento (Part 2)
As you read in Joe’s post, the last half of our spring break trip did not go according to plan. And yet, we still managed to make some memories, just not the ones we thought we would.
We had heard that Italian culture gets more intense as you go further South. Coming through Naples on Friday, we had planned to wear our money belt, walk the crowded streets of Italy’s densest city, and eat a slice of pizza in its birthplace. Instead, we huddled in the train station while Joe figured out how to get to the port. A very friendly police officer named Genarro took a liking to our kids, asking them their names and patting their heads in the Italian way. He seemed to follow us wherever we went. He showed us pictures of his kids and wished us a pleasant journey. I think he was just keeping an eye on us, which I really appreciated.
We dashed through the rain and the sidewalk vendors to a city bus headed to the port. We saw a little bit of the city through the graffiti-covered bus windows, and some more friendly people made sure we knew where to go. We got onto a large, mostly empty boat headed to Sorrento and rode into the rainy, wavy Mediterranean. It was one of the longest 45 minutes of my life. I put my head down and prayed as we crashed through the waves. Some people are made to be out at sea… I am not one of those people.
We made it safely to Sorrento and found our apartment. That night, still optimistic and mostly dry, we went out to dinner at a local pizza place where the kids got to watch the chef toss the dough. His plump mother (or wife? — we’re not really sure which) pinched Henry’s cheeks and literally spooned pasta into his mouth, continuously waving her hands in the air and saying how cute he was — “Bellissimo!” The pizza was cheap but delicious, and the experience was priceless.
For the next several days, we were trapped in our apartment by the rain, going out only occasionally for food. We did walk around most of the town of Sorrento with our umbrellas (until Henry broke mine). We picked lemons from our backyard 
grove and made lemonade (symbolically appropriate). And made it down to the marina for a nice dinner on the water. Emily celebrated her birthday with a pajama day in the apartment, a few presents we had fit in the suitcases, a dinner of rainbow pasta and a giant Italian panetone birthday cake that she had picked out at the local pasticeria.
In order to avoid going completely stir crazy, we went on one real outing. We decided if we had to choose just one thing to see in this area of Italy, we wanted to see Pompeii. We took the commuter train to the site, and wandered the streets like an ancient Pompeiian family. We saw many of the best preserved buildings, but also wandered off the beated path, as we are oft want to do, where we came 
across the “house of the surgeon” among other things. It really is incredible to see. Henry had no idea where he was, of course. His favorite part was splashing in the many puddles, from which his shoes did not recover until we got back to Switzerland.
It’s funny… I remember our landlord back in Switzerland telling us that during Spring Break, everyone goes somewhere and sits in the rain. So I guess we got the true European Spring Break experience.