The Sennechilbi

It happens once in every six years, so Küssnacht's Sennechilbi (farmers' fair) is a big event. Last Sunday it began - heralded as these events always are, by a firing of the cannon at 6 a.m. Then came the first of the marches, a brass band marching through the streets. The real action for the tens of thousands of spectators started at two, with a huge parade through the Hauptplatz and along the main street. Amazing floats paraded past, with such extraordinary detail in their decoration that they'd need the entire six years to prepare. Between the floats strolled hordes of men, women and children, all in their festive costumes, handing cups of schnapps and apple juice to the happy punters, and further along a flock of goats, festive bells around their necks and flowers in their horns, then a herd of similarly festooned cows. It was pleasantly cacophonous, each of the floats representing some working element of farm life, with accompanying noises, and scattered throughout the parade a number of groups of musicians, from brass bands, to alphorn players.
And meanwhile, back in the Hauptplatz, young men (and some not so young) were climbing a 41 metre pole. This is another Sennechilbi tradition, though it's not clear to me how pole-climbing relates to alpine farming. But it was certainly awe-inspiring. No spike are involved in this mammoth climb - instead, contestants wear rubber gumboots and rubber gloves, coating themselves with sap to help their grip. At the base the tree's circumference was far greater than the length of the contestants' arms, so the first 30 metres weeded out the weaker men (no women tried it, not surprisingly - though I doubt they would have been invited!) Two resting places were provided on the way up, iron bars set into the pole, and most who made it to the first managed to get to the top. There, they were rewarded with a red handkerchief, 12 of which began the day fluttering from a ring of branches.
Four flags remained as the second day of the Sennechilbi began. This was a quieter day ("a day for Küssnachters", we were told), with a smaller parade, though all the magnificent floats returned for another outing. In the Hauptplatz, as the last of the contestants gave up his attempt to climb the pole, it was auctioned, fetching an extraordinary 11,000 francs! And so the party continued, as the free schnapps continued to flow, and the bread and sausages were followed by bowls of pure cream.
Today it's all over for another 6 years, the streets swept and washed, the stage and street bars dismantled, the pole gone to its new owner. And we feel privileged to have been part of this unforgettable event in our little village...

A quick trip to the south of France

It seemed an awful irony to be travelling in the south of France with a gastric upset. But there we were, in the land of cassoulet and tarte tatin, and I couldn't eat! We were there for just two days of meetings, and it was still a pleasure, despite the stomach turmoil.
Our first meeting was on Monday near Carcassonne, so we spent Sunday night in that marvellous medieval city. Our hotel was an elegant chambre d'hote, our host a most accommodating man who recommended several restaurants in the walled city - but it was a Sunday night in January and we were two of perhaps a mere 6 tourists in town. Not much was open, so we settled for a cozy little bistrot and Gary tucked into the cassoulet while I watched, sipping a glass of the local red.

Tuesday's meeting was at Goult  in Provence, so we drove east again on Monday afternoon, stopping in pretty Roussillon for the night. Another lovely hotel, le Clos de la Glycine, and an upgrade to a beautiful room, in classic provencal style, with simple painted furniture and a truly wonderful view down the valley over the ochre cliffs for which Roussillon is famous. We didn't have time to explore, sadly, but have made a note to return. Instead, we strolled through the narrow streets of the village just after sunset, when the ochre glow was fading from the walls and houses, and then returned for another solitary dinner in the hotel's superb restaurant. Gary was happy with his five course meal - mine was a bowl of lentil soup...
Our meeting in Goult was at the famous Cafe de la Poste. Famous, apparently, because Peter Mayle ate there - but fortunately on this January Tuesday, there were only locals, celebrating the cafe's re-opening after the Christmas break. We joined them, drinking endless cups of espresso (for once grateful that French espressos are so terribly weak) and then finally the plat du jour, a hearty portion of chicken breast, fries, and pureed vegetables - washed down, of course, with a bottle of Luberon red.