(How much did I drink that night?)
Just kidding! That picture's from Dresden. In all seriousness, though, the most probable reasons I can't remember much of Bern are 1) because I had fallen into a hunger-based stupor and 2) I had scrapped my original plan on the train (see: hunger induced stupor). My original plan, in case you were wondering, was to find a way to stay in Lausanne or Geneva and stalk Stephane Lambiel (or at least go to the Olympic Museum and see his Magical Zebra Costume). Unfortunately, I decided that the logistics of this trip would be too taxing on my weakened spirits and my much deflated budget, so I stayed in Bern, where I didn't really care to be, and where it did nothing but rain the second day. That said, it wasn't as miserable as this would make it seem.
From the pictures I have saved and my June bank statement, I can deduce that three main things happened:
1) I walked around a lot.
2) I spent a lot of money.
3) I painted my nails.
Honestly, aside from the second thing, it was nice to stay in one place. Far beyond my expectations, Schwiezerdeutsch was incredibly difficult to understand. In a hunger induced stupor, I somehow managed to stumble into a cute little vegetarian restaurant advertising take-away containers filled with food for 3,70 a Schale. Without bothering to read the fine print, in proper co-oper style, I mixed tofu with salad with pasta with cheese with beans with rice and ended up with a mass amount of food. Expecting to pay only 3,70, I was surprised (and embarrassed) when the man at the counter tried to explain to me in Schwiezerdeutsch that the payment is by weight. I ended up paying 22-CHF for the damn thing. To make matters worse, the poor lad was forced to get cheeky. "You can take the bread off for the weighing," he said in Swiss German. I did nothing. "You can take the bread off," he repeated. Again, he was met with my blank stare. "Do you speak German?" he asked. The German minor in me, of course, was slightly offended, so I said "Ja!" and looked indignant. He shook his head and tsked his tongue and said in English, "Take the bread off, miss."
So, having failed to save money and having embarrassed myself trying to understand a language I thought I'd generally become comfortable speaking, I dejectedly took my take-away container to some steps to eat and stew in my own shame. (Also, don't get a tram pass for more than one trip. Once you get your bags places, you can generally walk everywhere. This mistake cost me a good 12-CHF if we're counting, and I'm always counting when it comes to my money.)
since the late 15th century in the city-gates pit. 1513-1763 on bear-square. (like eyre square! it rhymes!) today's cages built 1856/7 by architect friedrich tschiffeli, renovated in 1925. conversion of the pits 1995/6.
That fiasco over, I set off to see the most memorable part of my trip to Bern: the bear pits, or Bärengraben. They aren't exactly what they were in the 16th century, but they're still pretty damn cool. It's basically this habitat for bears that you can watch them playing and sleeping and generally being adorable. Bears are everywhere in Bern, actually. Not real ones, of course. But there are lots of statues. There's even one across the Aar River that's standing on its hind legs and looks real. Not kidding, either. I legitimately thought to call the police every time I glanced across the river because I thought that there was a bear escaped from the pits. Good thing I didn't. That bear is a fake!
these bears are not fake
Other things I did...hmmm. I took a walk along the Aar, splashed my feet in the crystal blue waters, tried (and failed) to find salamanders or snakes, saw a cool cathedral, played in fountains, took pictures, listened to a brass band in a square, saw the Zytglogge (Zeitglocke) do it's thang. (Sorry for all the links, dear readers. But I really can't for the life of me remember any of these cool facts [see: hunger induced stupor] and I shouldn't take credit for things I don't remember, should I?) I also painted my nails and repacked my bags and ate some chocolate and pasta (because grocery stores in Bern were expensive too, goddammit!), watched telly, and splashed in a few puddles.
Just for your information, I keep coming back to the fact that I painted my nails because I left my nail polish in Bern. I left my towel there too, but it's not as important as my purple nail polish. It was a conscious choice to leave it, but just a word on how great it was... I got it for prom my senior year of high school because I wore a purple dress (PURPLE!!). Painting my nails became a great way to bond with one of my really close friends sophomore year of college. Then I went to Ireland and painted my Very Cheap Mobile so it didn't look like everyone else's. Then I gave the nail polish one last huzzah in Bern when my nails were looking especially good. And, in case you were wondering, I do kind of miss it.
Oh, yeah, and speaking of Rick Steves, I definitely thought I saw him in Bern. I'd just finished making a fool of myself taking a dozen awkward self-timer pictures with a bear statue when I stood up and saw a man with blondish hair, a blue collard T-shirt, khaki pants, and glasses. It goes without saying that I ditched my planned route to follow him. I kept wondering where the cameras were, if this really was Rick Steves, but I'd somehow convinced myself that he was on a real vacation and didn't want to be bothered with all that travel show nonsense. So I followed this man for about twenty minutes until he met a girl at a cafe and began speaking flawless Schwiezerdeutsch. By then I was lost, and he probably though I was creepy, but it lead me to cool fountains and a neat spider sculpture. So it's all cool. (And, since I typically followed nuns for fun, I suppose I am creepy?)
awkward self-timer pics, ahoy!
And on that note, I will leave you. Final destination: London.
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