More from my book

Chapter 7


As we wove our way through Meringen in the crowd of Swiss locals, I began to notice that we, the American tourists, were something that the Swiss were rather used to. We were, after all, the loudest, most rowdy and gaudy bunch on the streets that morning. Everyone else, however were more subdued, traveling in smaller groups, some couples at the local cafe drinking coffee. They, however, did not condemn our loud and often offensive demeanor. They must have realized that we were a necessary evil in their land, the American tourist who buy their watches and chocolate in great numbers in order to bring them home to our families. Yes, this much quieter French/German mixed culture in Meringen, Switzerland was a grateful group(for our money, but not for our customs).

Soon, Sean was chatting it up with Ginger and myself as if we were all old friends. It had been only two short days since we had met, although we all shared a common experience now, however short-lived it was. The cobblestone street felt uneven from years of wear as I briefly noticed a charming chocolatier shoppe and checked out the delicacy through the window from afar. Then, and just then, it occurred to me, that I wouldn't have an experience quite like this in my life for many years hence.

Short, and roughly paved sidewalks were tracing the outlines of the stony middle portion of road in between. When you looked up, you could only be in awe of the stunning view of snow capped mountains disappearing into the clouds high above where we stood. From a bird's eye view, the architecture stunned me, but now the trip down the ski-lift had revealed a much more rustic look with architectural intricacies imbedded in much of the buildings' weathered charm.
Surrounding the village were plenty of ruffage, shrubbery and neglected (by the rain and climate) blooming flowers. Since this region was so mountainous and the valleys were starved of rain during the summer, smokers like me where on notice that we were to dispose of our cigarette butts safely at all times to avoid the imminent risk of wild fire. Indeed, the wind played a factor in this too, as the gusts would spread and fan even a tiny smolder into something of a disaster in a hurry.
Hurrying wasn't something that we were doing while ambling through the streets of the Swiss Village. We wanted to enjoy every minute and photo opportunity in this picturesque place.
This was the most walking I had done in a while. Although I was in shape, the uneven footing on these village streets were taking it right out of me.
"This is my first time to the Alps," I managed, smiling through the pain.
"Mine too," Ginger replied in her southern drawl.
"You're dressed for this much walking in the summer," then to Shawn, "You and I look like we are hitting the ski slopes."
"Yeah," Shawn was panting, worse off than me with a noticeable spare tire around his mid-section. He was aged beyond his years, or so the eye would perceive. When he spoke, he sounded like a little boy, however, and his intelligent glasses angled and fit with his youthful smile. His hair, a mess of dark brown mish- mosh atop his head was gleaming with beads of sweat in the hot summer sun.
Ginger, on the other hand, was a charming mix of southern bell with all the fix ins and striking dimple-faced beauty. Her short stature was offset while we were walking by her long, generous stride. As if to say, look how smart I am, Ginger kept her Georgetown University tee shirt on with pride.

We strolled into many a shoppe and kiosk with American guile, while we pointed our fingers at the local fare and made off-colored comments. Shawn feigned expertise with the local customs and crafts while Ginger played off the southern inexperienced part well. Me, on the other hand, just gawked at the intricate glass-blown crafts and delectable chocolates at the same time enjoying the company of these two.

"Check this out," flew out of Ginger's mouth from somewhere behind me.
I whirled and set my vision on the Swiss-woven purse that she was already sporting on her shoulder stylishly.
"Very nice," Shawn replied before I could muster a response.
"Yeah, it looks cute on you," I added. "How much?"
"It's a steal at 15 Franks," said Ginger. "I was thinking about getting it for my sister, but I may have to keep it for myself," she added playfully.

Our time in the village was winding down as the sun had found its place behind one of the tall mountains that surrounded us. We boarded the ski lift for the ride back up to the hotel on the ridge.
There was more rehearsing to do tomorrow and for the rest of the two weeks that we were to spend with the sensational Swiss.

As the darkness fell over the rocky landscape, my eyes were heavy from the day and I drifted off to sleep. I could almost see the thick clouds rolling over the mountain range coming closer and closer as it swallowed me in dense immobility.

Chapter 8
As dawn broke, I rolled over to see my room mate, named Leatus, still deep in slumber. Leatus Reed was from Tennessee and had long dark hair, which was currently drowning his face and pillow in it's thick guise. He was fairly slender, with a few ill-placed tattoos and both ears pierced. His face was round with striking blue eyes and a nose that constituted the rest of his persona, which was currently lost in a mess of dark, straight mane.
"Get up, lazybones." I mumbled, too softly to wake Leatus Reed in his current state of REM sleep. I wanted to yank on his past-his-shoulders brunette hair, but it was just a thought that never made it to an action.
"Yo, Leat-man!" I hollered, this time too loudly. My voice carried too well, I had been told, and probably pierced through the walls and doors all the way down to Steven Kimbrough's room.
"Ugh, what's the hurry?" he mumbled in reply.
"Breakfast is in 10 minutes and then we got rehearsal for an hour and a half."
"So what's your hurry? We've got another ten minutes to catch a few winks," he added.
As the native from Tennessee spoke and made his half-awake protest, I knew that this was more than a comment, it was a lifestyle. Harking to the rest of our trip, when we rode the mighty roller coaster of life, love, sex and rock and roll-- Thats what life was all about to us in this time and place. Oh, and there was religion and the gift of song, but we knew that came naturally to us and that rehearsal was just a formality.