Einsiedeln

There's a Swiss tradition that, when the children visit St. Nicholas, in exchange for a token gift that he gives them, they need to recite a Chlausversli, a little Christmas poem.  There are many, many traditional verses, but Dennis's coworker assured him that pretty much anything would do: our kids could probably get away with singing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.

Except, as Ella announced by song this afternoon, Santa Claus is comin' to school. He'll be visiting Ella's classroom next week on St. Nicholas day, and, in preparation, Ella's teacher gave as homework the memorization of a Chlausversli.


Nikolaus verrate mir, hast du auch eine Frau?

Zum Reden, Schmusen und zum Kuscheln

Und zärtlich durch die Haare wuscheln?

Sag, kitzelt dein Bart bei jedem Kuss,

so dass deine Frau herzhaft lachen muss?


Nikolaus verrate mir, hast du vielleicht auch Kinder?

Mit denen du Kassetten hörst

Und manchmal auch die Nachbarn störst? 

Sind deine Kinder genau wie ich

Oder immer lieb und ordentlich?


It's an odd little poem: it translates, more or less, as follows:


Nicholas tell me, do you also have a wife?
To talk with, cuddle, and snuggle
And tenderly tousle your hair?
Say, does your beard tickle with every kiss,
So that your wife must laugh heartily?


Nicholas tell me, do you, perhaps, have children too?
With whom you listen to cassette tapes
And sometimes disturb the neighbors?
Are your children just like me
Or always loving and tidy?


Ella needs to be able to recite this tomorrow, which is, of course, a special challenge for her since many of the words are unfamiliar. She initially despaired "Oh, I'll never be able to do this!" but I promised her that of course she would, and we spent the afternoon learning it, line by line, together.  And by dinnertime, she had the poem by heart.

And, interspersed with our memorization, we filled the afternoon with a Wednesday adventure. When Grandma and Grandpa visited this past spring, one of the day trips they made alone was to Einsiedeln, a city about an hour to the south of us, home to a very famous Kloster, or monastery.  Dan was very keen to visit there because a monk from Kloster Einsiedeln cofounded the Subiaco Abbey in Arkansas, where he went to school.  They had a wonderful morning there, enjoying a café lunch and touring the Abbey. And they thought that Ella, especially, would love the elaborately decorated, grand building, so I made a mental note to go there before we left.

And I'm running out of time!  But this week seemed an especially good time to visit Einsiedeln: their annual Christmas Market is in full swing, and I thought that might give the kids a little extra diversion, to make the long trip seem worthwhile.

I really was a little worried about getting the kids out the door, since we're on the heels of our vacation, but the day was beautiful and all three kids were happy to be out in it.  So I packed a cheese and apple sauce lunch and we waited for our train at the Wiedikon train station.

I was reminded, there, why I so seldom use that train station.  There are very, very few homeless in Zürich (and I think the unemployment, even, is incredibly low, at something like 2%), but there always seems to be a crazy person or two at that station.  While I was reading the board, trying to figure out which track to find, one of them came right up to the kids and started growling in their faces.  The kids just looked at him calmly, and Alex slipped his hand into mine, waiting for him to skulk off. As soon as we were out of earshot, Ella speculated, "I think that was because he had too much alcohol."  Truly, it's nothing she hadn't seen a hundred times on the streets of Berkeley and Oakland when she was smaller, but I was glad for the kids' poise.

We had a tight exchange in a little lakeside city called Wöllishofen, and, since I had to haul the stroller down and up two flights of stairs, we missed our connection by a whisker.  That left us with a full half-hour until the next train, so we made the most of it, walking over to the Zürichsee beach for a couple of minutes to chase pigeons and watch the ducks.

The crowds at the Christmas market

Singing school children, with some clever wings

At least we caught our next train easily, sharing our car with clusters of sixty- and seventy-year-old ladies. The famous abbey, apparently, is not a hot place to take kids on a the city-wide free afternoon from school.

But the kids had a really good time.  I'd timed our visit so that so that we'd be able to see the Christmas market but, since we'd seen so many market stalls in Strasbourg, the kids were much more interested in getting to the pretty building.  So we wound through the crowds, rewarded, at the end, with a gorgeous sight.

Alex's favorite part, at the end of the day, were a pair of organ-grinders dressed as Santas, playing their music for charity. I gave the kids francs for donations, and the Santas handed the kids little squares of chocolate in exchange. Alex thought that was a pretty good deal.

To make the trip more appealing for the kids, I'd brought my own little stash of treats, and I told the kids that if they could each find fifty angels inside the abbey, I'd give them a piece of chocolate.

Photos weren't allowed, so the kids each picked out postcards, and this picture is from Wikipedia.

They rose to the challenge eagerly; having them search had the added benefit of putting their eyes on the art and keeping them appropriately quiet as they counted under their breath.  They each found their fifty angels easily, and I think they could just as easily have found 500. The interior is a baroque masterpiece, all gold and pastel, fussy and gorgeous.  Grandma and Grandpa were right: Ella loved it.

The Bible, according to Ella

Pressing my luck, I next took the kids to see "Die grösste Krippe der Welt." On our way there, I asked the kids if they knew what a creche was, and Ella responded, "you mean like between a girl and a boy? Like my creche on Felix?" Not quite.  I started to explain Nativity scenes, but after a dozen words Ella took over, and spent the rest of the walk outlining the Christmas story for Alex.  She's apparently very familiar with it, in spite of her parents' laxity. Really, she's constantly amazing Dennis and me with the number and extent of bible stories that she knows: she pays attention, I think, when she goes to church with Grandma and Grandpa, and I know she pores over a book of Bible stories at their house, which she refers to as "my God book."

Fingering the sack of French gumdrops in my bag, I offered the kids another scavenger hunt. Ella enthusiastically handed out the assignments, charging Alex with finding the three wise men, Joey with finding a baby, and herself with locating shepherds, sheep, a star, and Mary.  She does have down all the essentials.

 But there was a lot more to this diorama than the Nativity scene: with 450 hand-carved figures, it displayed quite a bit of Bethlehem as well.  Again, we were joined with about fifty senior citizens in the diorama room, but the kids were too busy looking at all the figurines, the elephants and funny-faced camels and soldiers and the kings' entourage, to be loud or wild. They did so well today.

Einsiedeln is becoming a winter sport
destination: ski jumps on the
mountainside.

We went home soon after, finally making it to our door in darkness. Of course, it was only 5:30, but to the kids clearly believed we were coming home in the middle of the night, and were particularly thrilled when they got to stay up and play a card game with Dennis after dinner, partying until the wee hours of 8:00 PM.