01/10/25 Steven The Swiss Souvenir.

I headed out to buy Roger a brand new souvenir from Switzerland.  The Luba Hotel, bless their little self-check-in socks, had neglected to email me my Tourist Card which would allow me to ride the buses for free.  Not having any Swiss francs and being too much of a tightwad to buy a ticket anyway, I had to hoof it to the shop and then push my new Swiss souvenir all the way back to the hospital where it could do it's intended job.  This little adventure took me well off the tourist trail which, you may have gathered, was somewhere I quite like to be.

We chatted as we walked, getting to know one another. I thought its name might have started with W for walker but nope, it insisted on Steven. S for Switzerland and souvenir.

Steven and I took bridges over little inlets, watched ferries and ducks, and had a late breakfast of croissants and bananas overlooking the lake.

We passed a carnival setting up downtown.

I felt quite a fraud while walking with Steven.  Cars stopped more quickly at pedestrian crossings, people opened doors for me, and everyone gave me right of way when things got crowded.  When a kerb came along I skulked until no one was looking and then lifted Steven quickly up and over, hoping that I had gone undetected. 

Roger was, I'm glad to say, looking much brighter than the day before.  I introduced him to Steven and left them to bond while I dove into the murky waters of hospital administration and insurance claims and then nearly gave myself a heart attack by looking at the prices of coffee in the hospital canteen.  Back to water for me, thank you very much.

Roger had visits from doctors and physiotherapists, and there was much discussion about how well he had to be walking in order to discharge to a hotel room rather than a home.  He and Steven went for little perambulations about the ward in order to build a relationship of mutual trust and support.  

The view from the end of the hallway was particularly nice.

Catering came past and I was consumed with jealousy to learn that Roger would dine on hospital reindeer stew (reindeer stew!) with ice cream for dessert, so I kissed him goodbye, and walked home again to do more paperwork and find a discounted dinner at Coop.

The church down the road rang its carillon as I went past, so I popped in for a stickybeak at modern ecclesiastical architecture.

This feels like the cut-price version of soaring stained glass windows and intricately painted ceilings.

The pipe organ was both large and startlingly symmetrical. 

The streets in the old town were busy with people enjoying the clement weather after work.  

They all rode bicycles to get there too.

In the marketplatz a young man with a bucket of soapy water entertained children with bubbles of fantastical size and quantity. Adults clustered around pretending to watch the children but in reality equally transfixed and just wishing they felt uninhibited enough to run and burst bubbles like the kids.

Back at the City Coop a security guard shooed me away from the entrance.  "It's closed!" he said in a dozen languages to the gathering 50%-off scrummage crowd.  Alas yes, as the calender turned to October 1st Switzerland switched itself to winter mode, everything shut at 5pm, and some of us went home for a sad dinner of tea and biscuits.  I should be grateful.  My new home has a kettle, grown up cups, and in the laundry room tea bags whch residents may or may not liberate to drink later in their rooms upstairs.

As I sipped my liberated tea the chatter of diners drifted up from the alleyway below.  Suitcases clattered over cobblestones as the day's new clutch of tourists came in to roost.  The woman in the 4th floor flat opposite my window started cooking dinner, and a string quartet played in the street below me.

Sometimes plans have to change.  And that's OK.