07 Aug 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Travelogue, No Comments.

08/07 Lugano, Switzerland

I was awakened by the sound of sweeping in the distance.  It’s funny how things looked different under the light of the day.  I really thought we had selected an isolated location where we could be unnoticed but the fact was we practically slept on top of a monument.  It was comfortable and no one bothered us and would have been perfect if we weren’t sharing the space with a colony of ants.  I needed a shower, so we trekked back to the most likely hostel that would have a vacancy.  There would be no early shower and we ended up making our self breakfast in their courtyard.  At the end of the wait there still weren’t any available rooms, so we headed off to our second choice.  This too required us to wait.

While we hung around out front of the hostel I struck up a conversation with two girls who ended up being sisters.  I was surprised since they did not resemblance one another.  Every major feature, eye, hair, height was different, for me the jury was still out.  They explained their intentions on hanging out that evening and then to depart on a late night train.  After we were given a pair of beds and took a quick shower the four of us wandered back down towards the lakefront.  We spent some time lying on our backs, soaking up the sun and listening to the music that lingered along the shore.  The cool breeze from off the water perfectly contrasted with the warm sun.  Sharing a day like this with a fair set of legs and almost exposed breasts couldn’t have been more perfect.  We tried on numerous occasions to persuade our new lady friends to second-guess their travel plans, but on the other hand we didn’t seem to be pairing up.  We settled in a small café overlooking the lake and shared the view over a pricy pizza.  While the four of us were heading back up towards the hostel to help gather their bags, I heard my name called out from behind.  I turned and noticed Roger’s wife and a few of her friends looking down from the balcony overlooking the street.  They pointed out where they were staying and suggested that we join them across the street for dinner.  The older of the two sisters had her mind set on leaving, the younger one, who I felt really enjoyed our company, was casting her vote for staying.  A kiss and a hug and we were seeking food.

Jim and I were introduced to the group before we sat down to eat.  One woman became hysterical when she noticed Jim.  Apparently they had been close back home and hadn’t seen each other in quite some time.  I think the two of them had worked together in a pharmacy.  Neither were aware of the others intentions of traveling to Europe this year, so it was a pleasant surprise.  The introduction sure got the meal off on a high note.  Half the group planned to take a night boat trip around the lake after dinner and invited us to join them, but outside it began to rain and it wasn’t coming down softly.  It looked as if it was only going to get heavier, so we decided to head back to the hostel and catch up on the sleep we lost the previous night.

I saw myself looking back from my own reflection from the window of the train.  It was dark outside and I couldn’t make out the landscape rushing past. I then realized the sound of my heartbeat was identical to the sound of the train hitting the rails, so I began to concentrate on that sound.  I woke up to discover that the sound was actually rain hitting the cement outside the window of my room.  I was perspiring even though I slept under a light cotton sheet.  The sound of thunder shook my room, like mortar fire on a battlefield and then the rain really started to come down violently. Everybody staying in the hostel that night was up and standing outside under the eaves watching those rain drops punish the pavement, amazed at the height they bounced.  “The rain, the rain, wilding beating at my window pane, bouncing as high as the heavens they came”.  I couldn’t get back to sleep and began to lose control of the random thoughts that filled by head, so I wandered away from my bed and claimed a table in the lounge since there was just enough light to write.

It lies in heaven, across the flood, as a bridge, lies, beneath the tides of day and night,
where the flame and darkness ridge, the void

There lies, a great chasm fixed between, like the clouds that gather and the mountain stream,
life flows forth, like a cleansing rain,
to be born again.

We trekked through the mountains down into the city of Luzern.  Arriving early gave us ample time to explore the city.  We started out along the river’s edge and enjoyed a cigarette while looking out from one of the seats on the old wooden bridge that spanned the river.  The contrast between the white swans and the cigarette smoke painted a lovely picture to remember.  While exploring the backside I was surprised at how much heroin was being passed around.  Needles were being passed around like a water pipe.  We said hello and gestured that we weren’t interested.  I noticed and interesting shop selling Swiss army knives and decided to procured a few.  Sent one home to my dad as an early birthday present, another one home for myself and kept one to carry around.  Two down and one gift to go.

Jim wasn’t interested in taking a cog train up to some of the nearby peaks.  The last time I was there was with my parents and I had traveled that road, so I wasn’t going to waste any energy trying to persuade.  As the day wound down we ended up in the train station in front of a beer.  A familiar set of eyes wandered over to our table but I couldn’t put my finger on where I knew them from.  Talk about unlikely combinations and that’s what through me off.  Our English snob from Salzburg was alongside one of the two Americans we had met on the boat between Liverpool and Dublin.  “You know you never did show up in Amsterdam”.  Then like clockwork it all came rushing back.  “The last time I visited this quaint little town, it was to anchor our championship rowing team”.  I looked around at the group and noticed that no one was paying any attention, as if they heard it all before.  But he was not to be derailed, he had a mission.  So I ordered another round of beers.  It seemed that this was the table standing at the crossroads of traffic.  Once we were alone again, a pair of young ladies we had met back in Innsbruck turned the corner along with two other young ladies.  The other girls acted annoyed that our reunion was taking longer than they were willing to tolerate.  Well it was nice to see those two girls again and who knows, maybe we’d see you again somewhere else down the road.

There were no rooms available in Burn, but we were able to grab the last two floor mats in the local hostel.  To add insult to injury, it wasn’t until after we had paid for the mats that we discovered the hostel was just not quite right.  Everybody was either extremely depressed or wore some type of attitude on their sleeve.  We escaped this dark cloud and attempted to fins some food.  I used the word attempted because we didn’t have much luck finding a reasonably priced meal.  None of the menus we passed were in the range of our budget so I sought out some common ground with a local who looked to be a waiter standing in front of one of the restaurants.  He was taking a break and was watching the foot traffic alongside a cigarette.  I inquired where a good meal could be found on a poor man’s budget.  He suggested joining him in his restaurant and offered to prepare a plate of spaghetti, with a small glass of wine for whatever we were prepared to pay.  Appreciated.

I try not to buy packs of cigarettes.  I get bored too easily and if I toted a pack around, I would smoke more often than I would like.  Being an OPC smoker on the other hand limited me to maybe one or two per day, if any.  I can go weeks without smoking a single cigarette.  Still, that little voice in my head pulled me toward somebody who had lit up.  I told myself it was the opportunity to strike up a conversation and that became my artificial motivation.  Here in Europe every other person had that window open to me.  I’d ask if they could spare a cigarette and if they offered me one it established a common ground and a specified a period of time for a conversation.  There’s a comfort zone because when the cigarette was smoked, it was a “Thank you very much” and we were on our separate ways.  I guess you could also view this as an exchange of my lungs for a conversation.  I do feel its fingers inside me, yet I make no attempt to loosen its grip making excuses instead.  I suppose that alone makes it an addiction.