Zürich -> Lausanne...no, make that Bussigny

I spent the morning dashing around, trying to get everything gathered for this weekend's trip, with one welcome break, in the middle, to take Joey to his play group. 

My seasoned travelers

It didn't last

I actually think I'm pretty good, at this point, when it comes to packing for vacations, but I can only do so much with Joey's interference.  Regardless by the time Ella came home from school, we were packed, Joey was comfortable in his stroller, and so we were able to leave immediately for the Hauptbahnhof to catch our 4:36 train to Lausanne.

I'd devised this genius plan: I'd take the kids to Lausanne myself, getting them settled and to sleep on time, and Dennis could take a later train, after he finished his work day. When I announced my genius plan, Dennis eyed me skeptically: "You're sure? You want to take three kids all the way across the country, all by yourself?"  Well, but, it's really quite a small country. And my plan really did have merit: It would allow us two full days of sightseeing followed by a reasonably early return on Monday.

And my genius plan seemed to be working, up until we boarded the train, and I realized I was going to have to wake Joey from the nap that he'd just fallen into.  The train was absolutely stuffed with commuters, particularly those who work in Zürich but live in Bern, 45 minutes away. There was absolutely no room for the stroller. It couldn't be done gracefully: Joey had to wake up.  And, man, he was angry about it, especially when he had to wait while I displaced the people who were unwittingly camped out in our reserved seats.

We'd only reserved three out of the four seats in our little bank, and the woman who remained looked less than overjoyed to see us, as Joey screamed his fury and Ella kicked her accidentally and Alex blissfully farted as soon as he sat down.  She clearly spoke perfect English--I think she was a professor, and was correcting papers written in English--but for us she only had German conversation.  Although she did mutely hand me a tissue when Joey spilled yogurt down his front.
With some small degree of foresight, I'd put a new Mickey cartoon on our iPad, and Joey finally realized that watching a show was so much better than crying. When the show was over, the kids mounted a small campaign to go and visit the little playground car, ending the torment of our long-suffering seat mate.  It turned out to be an excellent idea, even if it did mean hauling our baggage through four cars of narrow aisles. Joey got to run and play, and I got to play some long games of Uno with Ella and Alex.  Of course, we had to bump our way back down the aisles to our original car before we reached Lausanne, so that we could retrieve our stroller.  Good times.

Dennis had agreed to my plan but asked several times that I please, please take a taxi to the hotel when I arrived, instead of walking.  It would be too late and too much for the kids.  And since Lausanne is in the French-speaking corner of Switzerland, I felt pretty confident that I could manage a simple taxi ride.

When I got to the taxi stand, I headed for the largest cab, the one that looked like it could comfortably seat all the kids.  I'd scribbled down the address of the hotel, so that there would be no confusion.  "Please," I asked him, "Can you take us here?" He looked at the address and said, "Oh, but that's very close. You can walk it.  It's just that way."  "No, the children," I told him. "It's too much."

He eyed me and my bags and my kids. "I'm sorry.  I'm the third cab in line.  You'll have to ask the first cab. I'm very sorry, but I have to wait my turn."

Mon oeil!

So I went to the first cab and made my request again. And the drive glanced at my paper, gave me and my bags a long look, and said, "No. It's too close. You can walk."

"But I can't!" I protested, "I have the kids!"

"Prennez le bus," he shugged. Take the bus.

And so I stalked off and angrily punched the address into my phone.  1.8 kilometers.  It's not so close when you're five years old.

But I didn't know what else to do, so we started walking.  Uphill. And further uphill. And further uphill.

Halfway up

I believe this is the word you're looking for

And at this point I all of my previous worries about Alex began to evaporate.  He was my little hero this evening.  He noticed how much I was sweating, pushing Joey, and without a word he put his hands on the bar and started pushing, too, after a little while saying "Wow, mom. I really feel sorry for you, having to push kids around all the time." When it got to be too much for him, we paused so he could rest, and he told me, "Mom, I'm going to carry this bag for you instead."

"Oh honey, it's too heavy. I can get it."

But he shook his head. "No mom, this is important to me.  You need help."

And so I handed over the bag, and watching, fondly, as he staggered under the weight of the bag for about twenty steps before tripping helped my spirits immensely.  What a kid.

But my spirits started to flag again as our uphill hike continued, and into a neighborhood that really didn't seem as though it should have a hotel.  The address I had for the Rue d'Industrie, and it did look distinctly industrial.  We were still about ten minutes away when Dennis's phone blinked that it was almost out of batteries.

Right, Dennis's phone. Did I mention that my phone is broken? So I'd borrowed Dennis's, for navigational emergencies like this one, but I still didn't have any way to call him for backup.

And, at that point, as we were walking, I finally remembered something very, very important.

Two nights ago, as Dennis and I were booking the hotel, we looked up the route from the train station.  The hotel really was in walking distance...from the train station in the neighboring town of Bussigny.

I was in the wrong city.

The problem was, there is a Rue d'Industrie in Lausanne as well, and the cab drivers simply didn't care enough about me or my family to look closely at my scribbled address.  (When one of them I could walk, he actually pointed in the wrong direction, completely throwing me off as I began trying to navigate through Lausanne and adding at least fifteen minutes to our hike. Ohh, I could spit!)

And I'd been so infuriated that I didn't stop to think, didn't second-guess their insistence that the hotel was too close.

I actually started to feel a little quivery in the knees as I assessed the situation.  I couldn't possibly make the kids walk all the way back to the train station. Ella had needed a bathroom for the past twenty minutes, and although I was keeping them fueled with cookies, they were all exhausted.

And then I saw it, right across the street: "Hôtel de Police."

Not the hotel I was looking for, but certainly promising.

So I took the kids in, pointed Ella toward the closest WC, and announced "Nous sommes complètement perdus!"

Thank you, Mme. Arnold, for all those years of high school French.

The officers were so helpful. I used the last bit of my phone's battery power, looking up the address for the hotel, and the officer called them for me, confirmed the correct address, and then called a cab and got us in and settled.  I was very close to weeping with gratitude.

Gratitude toward the policewoman, and especially gratitude to the three little ones snoring next to me. Victims of their mother's genius.