~nostalgia, present tense~

April 30th, 2009

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View from the prison tower, the oldest building in Neuchâtel, with foundations from the 10th century.

In 1688 Swiss doctor Johannes Hofer introduced the term nostalgia for the condition also known as mal du Suisse (Swiss illness) or Schweizerheimweh (Swiss homesickness), because of its frequent occurrence in Swiss mercenaries who while in France and Italy pined for their native mountain landscapes. Rousseau wrote that the mercenaries were threatened with severe punishment to prevent them from singing Swiss songs–Kuhreihen (melodies played on the horn by alpine herdsmen, such as in the overture to Rossini’s opera William Tell)–for fear that nostalgia provoked would be fatal. (Dictionnaire de Musique, 1767)

It took moving from San Francisco after a decade and returning for a visit for me to finally see Alcatraz. I waited fifteen months to tour the prison tower of Neuchâtel, and I’m feeling pretty superstitious about it—as only days later we were told our time in Switzerland has come to an end four months before the contract does. As Julia Lee sings, You don’t have to go home, but ya caint stay here!

We have no idea what this could mean for us at the moment. It is a limbo feeling that exceeds the already limboland we were living in. This morning things already look different: so much to pack, projects—like my just planted garden—that will be left behind, unnecessary purchases (bulk groceries, a new pile of books in the mail, a magazine subscription just begun, gym membership). Though we knew this was a possibility (in this economy), I am still shocked by the short notice. Four weeks? True, we moved here in six weeks–but that was in a stable market, and it was a choice.

Alpenglow (Alpenglühen: the setting sun causes the alps to appear to glow. incredible.

What I don’t feel is panicked, and this is lovely, however mysterious. I think stepping out of the game for a while,–especially the New York hustle–has reminded me that it is a game. Much of life’s events are something you can do nothing about.
Last week our friend Mike–in his forties and seemingly healthy–died in his sleep. This week Alfonso’s job evaporated like so many others have lately, which in light of Mike’s passing is pretty “it just doesn’t matter.” Rather, recognize the game and try to enjoy your chance to play it.

Meantime I am feeling a strange nostalgia right in the moment, saying goodbye to everything as I do it. Alfonso and I were recently talking about this on a nightly stroll—the way as an adult with a variety of places you’ve called home under your belt (Hollywood, Santa Cruz, San Francisco, Brooklyn), you begin to recognize the fleetingness of places and the eras that go with them.

man transporting treasure from brocante (flea market).

I was thinking ahead (so I thought) to a time when I would be so glad to have photographs of Neuchâtel because the memory of it, the day-to-day feeling of shopping, walking the town, taking in the church, view, lake, would leave me. Oddly now I can feel that happening already, along with many plans and hopes I had for the rest of our time here. The new badminton set and picnic blanket. The list of Swiss things to explore that hangs on our fridge. The summer with a terrace. A 40th birthday celebration on an already rented agriturismo farm in Tuscany. Like vapor.

Also new is the feeling of possibility, what’s next? I have hopes I won’t jinx by giving form here. All will be revealed. We are thrilled at the prospect–no matter where we land–of more socializing and variety in daily life. I am worried for my book. I am pleased for Alfonso. All these things.

Beau Rivage Hôtel: “beautiful shore”. On Sunday night (the rest of the town shuttered up tight) we were treated to unexplained fireworks over the lake.

I have resisted the “way Switzerland is different” post for fifteen months. No longer.
Here are some things I will miss (and some I won’t).
1. the lack of gowns in doctor offices.
2. the $12 ice cream pint. the asprin sold in boxes of 10 tablets for $10. the 1 dl (3 oz) glass of wine.
3. the being teased for buying groceries to last for more than one day.
4. the outrageously expensive trains and buses, the outrageously expensive card you can buy to make the fairs half price, the driver’s jokes about how screwed you are by not buying that card.
5. the wonderfully low-tech pre-movie local commercials. but oh–books! films! in English!
6. the easter eggs dyed with plants and the easter bells (not bunnies) that deliver them.
7. the hurdy gurdy man at the farmers market.
8. the farmer’s market! oh!
9. the being called by everyone, without exception, “madame”.
10. the lack of trash on the street. the lack of public cellphones usage.
11. the lack of peanut butter, maple syrup, spicy food (Mexican, Asian, you name it.)
12. the salade: lamb’s lettuce! the tables of grandmas tucking into mounds of raw ground beef.
13. the grocery store real estate dedicated to chocolate, yogurt, cheese. aisles and aisles of it.
14. the jaw-droppingly earnest, astoundingly bland, utterly neutered german tv show Musikantenstadl. It is as if they live on another planet, or are Amish. Or both. Mesmerizing.
15. the one country, three languages thing. the conservatism.
16. the living in a place that has actual history, where things you pass daily are from like, you know, the 13th century. no one ever tells you a 1940s object at the brocante market is “very old.” never.
17. the 140 public water fountains. the buildings made of yellow Hauterive stone. the funiculaire.
18. the swans. the crows. the swifts.
19. the lack of screens on windows. the abundance of flying insects.
20. the best butter ever.