Obviously the tramps could not leave Verbier without a farewell party for their new best friends and extreme sport fanatics, so it was decided to have a picnic at the WLW. Smart phones were consulted for weather forecasts and a date was set. The trampess had a contingency indoor seating plan just in case the weather tripped us up at the last minute, though even that became dicey since at the last minute, numbers increased – one goddaughter down but another one added plus the very best friend ever of one of the interns (such people cannot be left uninvited just because there are not enough seats in the WLW – the trampess doubled her prayers for good weather). And of course there were the princesses. Now it is your trampess’s experience that large dogs (in this specific case, golden retrievers) are much more biddable than small ones (for example Scottish terriers of which the trampess has had significant experience) but they do take up space and the thought of two large, wet, golden retrievers trying to be comfortable in the tramps’ bathroom (the only place there would be room other than the tramps’ bed – and remember the tramp is German and was raised with outdoor living gun dogs, not house dogs, so one doesn’t even contemplate the possible reaction he might have to two large wet dogs in his bed!) was not one that gave the trampess great comfort when she contemplated the possibility of a mid-dinner, sudden thunderstorm, such as the one that happened the night before. After all in the mountains, anything can happen.
Luckily, the trampess’s prayers were answered and the weather was divine. The only real issue was how, with three burners and four pots (of a not very large size), 8 people of whom 5 were under 30 (meaning, have big appetites – especially if they hiked up the mountain to get to dinner) were going to be fed. Hot potting of course! And in the Italian tradition, (or Mediterranean at least since the dish in question was more Lebanese than Italian) food that is as good at room temperature as hot. Solution: a large bowl of tabbouleh, a very large (read gigantic) salad (not for you trampess two lettuce leafs pushed across the plate for half an hour in the pretence of eating a “light” meal) full of tomatoes, avocados and other wonderful fruits and greens, a massive ratatouille (a safer bet than one of the trampess’s hot vegetable curries), quinoa to feed the starving masses, and – to please the tramp – curried spinach. The guests brought one marvellous Middle Eastern dish (sweet potatoes, chick peas, aubergine, tomatoes, lots of garlic and rich spices – happily accommodating the vegan life-style they were visiting) which reminded the trampess of her one trip to Morocco where the social high poiont was going to an amazing fancy dress birthday party – a veritable banquet with mountain drummers in the courtyard to greet us and exotically beautiful transvestite belly dancers as the post-dinner entertainment and your trampess dressed as the gypsy she was late to become! The young perfectly trained guests also brought one large perfectly ripe pineapple which the one male intern turned into a piece of art as he peeled and carved out the “eyes” – it seemed almost a shame to eat it, but eat it we did – after finishing everything else! And it wasn’t just the young who were tucking into seconds and thirds! Our perfect guests also brought blankets – the grass is not exactly ideal for sitting on (Manet couldn’t have been serious!) and the tramps have no picnic rugs, but we did use our outside tables as buffet tables for the food and wine – not quite as glam as Glyndebourne in the old days but a tolerable approximation and of course very practical. The tramp declared the event such a success that he feels a small marquee is in order so that we can do an after concert party next year! An amusing thought given the constraints of the kitchen. After concert parties are normally as small as forty (!!!) and as large as 100 (!!!). Clearly your trampess will have to transform herself into Strega Nonna after all. As most of the guests were adept at all things digital – cameras and social media, photos were selected, tagged and on facebook before the dishes had been washed. If the tramp sons were quick enough they could have taken inspiration for their dinners from ours – after all they are 6 hours behind! And the Moroccan dish recipe was on my computer before the next meal was ready. Virtual vellum was used for the thank you notes in both directions. One only needs a little imagination. Even the copperplate handwriting that my grandfather mastered after hours of practice is eminently doable.
Soon, however, it was time to become road worthy again – emptying and refilling of water tanks of all sorts, final washing of clothes just before the refill, and critically a quick study of the navigation system to see if improvements could be made to preclude any small tiffs that might be precipitated by a strange direction from the Voice. You may recall that on the trip from Austria to Switzerland, the Voice seemed to think we were not on a motorway (so giving us directions for every single non-existent roundabouts) and at the same time (paradoxically) kept trying to persuade us to take the next exit. Eventually the trampess turned her off. The tramp, however, was not impressed. This time, before setting out, the trampess decided, while the tramp was up to his eyeballs in water tasks, to play with the navigation system. There is no doubt that relaxed play produces better results than panic stricken, last minute efforts (especially when the trampess is on her knees and the tramp is already revving the engine). And if the play goes terribly wrong, the default action is to turn the system off, take a deep breath and start again. Win-win really.
So with that attitude, the trampess sat with her 100+ page manual (in English) trying to make sense out of the instructions on the screen (in German). Happily, in her attempts to set a predisposition for motorways, she stumbled on language choice (this seemed too good to be true – many attempts had been tried before to get the Voice to speak in English but none worked and the manual seemed to imply that the voice once chosen was decidedly monolingual). Miraculously, your trampess followed her instincts and persisted in button punching and lo and behold Marlene turned into Victoria! Major victory!! At least the screen now was in English (the dictionary could be cast aside) and the voice (while somewhat dubious in pronouncing French and German street names could at least be understood by your trampess without constant referral to a small dictionary that never had the rather specific vocabulary of a navigation system). Thus empowered, your trampess knew no limits – the route was chosen, it was compared with the next best route (as selected by the brain behind the Voice), and a street by street, corner by corner display became available (it does occur to your trampess to ask if this is really what one wants – how about major turns – onto highways, exits from them and next highway chosen rather than the 35 small manoeuvres it takes to get onto the first major road???). It became apparent, however, after scrolling down the first 50 decision points, that Victoria did not prove more knowledgeable than Marlene when it came to the route we were on (she still tried to tell us to take the second exit at the roundabout when we were on a highway with no roundabout in sight) but at least I could explain to the tramp that this seemed to be a fault of the software and that I had written to the navigation helpline to obtain – help (this was after a futile attempt to speak to the helpline in Switerland – they may be good bankers but their helplines, with the exception of the Nespresso order desk, are dire). As at this writing, no answer has been forthcoming – your trampess intends to add this to the tramp’s snagging list when we return to the factory in October. Happily, the trampess having explained her triumphs and her singular failures, the tramp made no complaints. The moral of the story, is of course, that proactive efforts seem to take the sting out, even if the problem is not exactly solved.
Our departure from Verbier was somewhat later than expected (post supper rather than post lunch) but we had always planned to spend one night on the road. Happily, your map marking trampess, knowing that the route between Verbier and Mellau is taken frequently, had marked several quiet motorway petrol stations on the map as suitable for one night stops. The tramp agreed to press on to Gruyere (a bit farther than he might have been inclined to otherwise) as the trampess had double starred a rest stop there. For those of you who ever make the same journey and need to sleep en route, I can assure you that Gruyere is the perfect stop – particularly for RVs. Not only was the petrol station a reasonable distance from the road, the car park was beneath and behind it and the RV car park was further beneath and behind the normal car park and right on the lake – so beautiful view and no sound of passing vehicles in the night. Your trampess was picking up points like a rock star. After a refreshing night’s sleep, and a hearty breakfast, the WLW rolled onto the highway and towards Mellau arriving in time for a late lunch – and it has to be said pouring, and I do mean pouring, rain. But pouring rain on arrival day is not a bad thing (except for the stabilisation process – the tramp puts wooden bases underneath the hydraulically operated legs to prevent damage to the grass – this is not best done in the rain; and stabilisation is important – one doesn’t like, for example, water collecting in the kitchen sink on the opposite side from the drain) – it gives one a chance to go grocery shopping and to organise the next stage of gypsy life, which in this case meant more master classes and concerts – at least for the first week – and the joy of seeing old friends from London who make the pilgrimage to the Schubertiade every year. And indeed, when the satellite dish was up, the first message was in! A dinner, a hike and a concert were soon in the diary. A promise of delicious things to come.
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