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We’re staying in a lovely valley surrounded by a tall, stern, jagged mountain range. The peaks are white-capped with fresh snow.
I’m walking home at dusk as a slender train trucks along the base of these mountains, glittering like a sardine. The peaks feel like they’re bending down just a little. Tall, stern. It’s very easy to believe in Norse Gods tonight. Some kind of snow-covered pantheon.

Today we drove through the city of Cuhr. Interesting sidenote: Back in the ’40s, a guy named Bruno Färber ran for mayor of Cuhr with what may be the worst campaign slogan ever: “An Almond in Every Pot.”
Färber’s attempts at damage control only made things worse. “Five almonds in every pot!” he promised. Then: “Twenty almonds in every pot!”
He could have promised one hundred almonds in every pot, and they’d still have called him Herr “Geben Sie Jeder Eine Mandel” (Mr. “Give Everybody an Almond”).
I don’t care what decade it is. And I don’t care what country you’re in. Nobody’s going to vote for Herr “Geben Sie Jeder Eine Mandel.”

On closer inspection I now realize those weren’t actual Swiss people, they were German-speaking baby giraffes. But in my defense, it’s an easy mistake to make.
Actual Swiss people have struck me as exceptionally quiet, at least compared to us yackety yack Yanks. We went through a plaza today with well over a hundred people and there was barely an audible murmur. Walking past a gent on a cell phone, we were amazed (and, frankly, moved) by his ability to hold a conversation while emitting a noise about as loud as a summer breeze.
OK. Must stop now. Typing too loud. Some folks across the street are starting to scowl.

We grab a cab in Zurich and head from the airport to our hotel. The first thing I notice is that the Swiss people are gigantic. The men are 8-9 feet tall. The women, even larger.
I see them loping across the street. They’re tall and thin and they make no noise as they move, except when they reach up to tear an odd leaf off a tree. There’s a rough, rumbling sound when they chew that makes me uncomfortable.
Why isn’t this talked about in the outside world? More to come…

Nothing sounds more like the future to me than a hybrid British accent — someone speaking with an accent that’s part English, part something else.
At the Amsterdam airport we hear a woman on the PA with an accent that’s 40% Dutch, 60% BBC. Over and over, in fabulously layered tones, she announces: “Passenger [X] for [destination y], you are delaying your flight. We will proceed to [pause] offload your luggage.” If I close my eyes, it could be the year 2417.
I keep waiting for her to say “Passenger Davis for Titan, you are delaying your flight. We will proceed to [pause] vaporize your luggage.”
Still waiting.

I’m on the road right now, and for the next little bit this site will be transformed into a travel journal. I know you’re busy so I’ll try to boil things down to only the most salient observations. For example, this first one, I think you’ll agree, is almost entirely salient.
Leaving town yesterday afternoon, I saw a sign in the international terminal at San Francisco Airport. It read: “Gourmet Chocolate Lollipops: A California Tradition.”
Adding avocado to our sushi, that’s a California Tradition. We also like panning for gold and hypnotizing each other. Sometimes we tame wild grizzlies and ride them around our 1200-square-foot bungalows shouting “Hyah, little pony! Hyah!” These are all legitimate California Traditions.
But gourmet chocolate lollipops?
Please.