Unexpected Intersections

It's almost February, which means it's the time of Fasnacht here in Switzerland - our version of Fasching (Germany), Mardi Gras or Carnivale . Clubs work for months preparing floats (often around a parade theme), while brass bands practice their  Guggemusigg  (parade song sets). I had experienced Mardi Gras before, and knew about Carnivale, but until I moved here, I had no idea that similar celebrations took place in some of the Swiss cantons (only the Catholic ones - although one or two of the Reformed cantons are having parades these days). Since Fasnacht is not widely known outside of Switzerland (and perhaps, Germany), I was surprised to encounter it recently while listening to an audio book.

When I was in the third grade, the teacher organized a holiday gift exchange. In that exchange, I received a copy of the book Heidi , by Johanna Spyri, and a package of a candy called Bottlecaps. Whoever wrapped the book had tucked the flat package of candy under the front cover, permanently affecting the cover and binding. This bothered my third-grade, book-loving self a great deal. Although I was an avid reader, I am not sure I ever finished reading Heidi . It was an old story, even then, and storytelling conventions and language had evolved since it was written. I had no idea when I received that book as a third grader that eventually I would live in Heidi's homeland of Switzerland. Recently a friend and I visited the Swiss National Museum to view their special exhibit about the making of the anime version of Heidi.

Recently I was in the Czech Republic, visiting Prague. Once I was there, I realized that the locals call the city Praha. This made me think about place names, since I too live in a place that is referred to one way by foreign visitors, and differently by those who live there: Switzerland. Switzerland has four "short names," one in each of the four official languages:

I first encountered the work of Mark Twain, like many American students, in high school, reading  The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn  in English class. And while as an adult, I'm grateful for the many classics that I was exposed to during my education, I confess that, unlike Dickens or Poe, I was not inspired enough by what I read in school to read more of Twain's work on my own. It wasn't until a few years ago, while on vacation near Luzern, Switzerland, that my path unexpectedly intersected that of Mr. Twain's once again. We were hiking on Mt. Rigi-Kulm when, to my surprise, a plaque informed us that we were following in the footsteps of Mark Twain. What I didn't realize at that time was how extensively Twain traveled in Switzerland, or that his chronicles of his European travels, including time spent in Switzerland, were published in A Tramp Abroad. 

My first encounter with the work of J.R.R. Tolkien was in junior high. It was a Saturday, and as I was cleaning my room, I was listening to a radio production of The Hobbit. One moment shines in my memory as brightly as the sun shining through my window that morning, as the story on the radio swept me out of my world and onto a journey with Bilbo Baggins. This was my first encounter with epic fantasy, and in that suspended, sun-drenched moment, a new strand was integrated into my psychological DNA.