What Does it Mean to be Brave?

New hobbies might be one kind of bravery, but also an escape from it

My first love told me I was “brave” when I moved a bunch of my clothes into his trailer to make getting up for work quicker, rather than having to run all the way back to my tent every morning (we were living in bush camp at the time). This wasn’t a compliment – I hadn’t talked to him about this and was intruding on his space. It was the opposite of brave; I was terrified of talking to him about something that could be interpreted even mildly negative, and of scaring him away, so I pretended it wasn’t a big deal.

My best friend told me I was “brave” when I wrote a letter to the landlord I lived with about the serious ethical issues I had with the way he ran his house and controlled the people around him, how I couldn’t live in his environment. It was the opposite of brave; I had lived for 10 months in fear of him and in guilt over not speaking up, then finally wrote a letter because I was terrified of feeling myself crumble under his ego upon actually talking to him.

Family members call me “brave” because of the high adrenaline or high-risk activities I tend to love, chasing death to feel alive. Again, it’s the opposite of brave; I jump off cliffs and hitchhike with strangers because I haven't figured out how to feel alive with just normal life.

A stranger I met called me “brave” because I’m not afraid to travel alone. It’s the opposite of brave; traveling is stressful and traveling alone removes the risk of developing deep, intimate connections with other people and allowing them to see how screwed up you actually are.

My parents were convinced I’d have my license by 16 because I’m so free and brave. And yet the opposite was true; I still don’t have my license, in large part because I’m absolutely terrified of losing control and accidentally killing other people in the process.

And then… every once in a while… there’s someone who can see straight through. Someone who just looks directly at you, almost sadly, and says “All I have to say is… be brave. That’s it. Just be brave.” And then you leave their office, go home, and sob on your bed for the next hours in anger and self-hatred because they saw straight through to the cowardly broken shell you are underneath.

Of course there is some bravery in a few of the above things and, sure, there are some types of bravery I'm better at, and some types of fear that it's easier to conquer (legs shaking as I stand on a rock high above the water? Well they better suck it up because WE’RE JUMPING OFF NOW).

But the bravery required to risk disappointing someone who has high hopes for you?

The bravery to risk your words shattering something that someone you care about has spent so long building?

The bravery to risk your words revealing how broken and stupid you are?

The bravery required to risk losing someone who’s come to depend on you?

The bravery to risk losing someone who you’ve come to depend on?

The bravery to admit you are lost, alone, and have no idea what you’re going?

The bravery to enforce boundaries on people when you know they are only so intrusive because they themselves are broken and lost?

The bravery to risk your words causing harm to people who have never intended to cause harm?

 

Yeah, I’m not so good at those ones. And those first types of bravery are really good at blocking out the second ones. But the latter ones are equally, if not more, important. And I do manage to walk through those ones from time to time, even if I dance and tiptoe around it.

BUT I also think it’s this exact fear of these things that makes the bravery in overcoming them more meaningful. Yes, I wish I had the courage to talk about certain things head on, but the terror of doing so means they are important. It gives them value. Precisely because they cause fear, they have an impact. 

I remember the year before starting university, a close friend was spending the night at my house and, late in the evening, she asked about something she had done over a year ago that bothered me. Her voice was quiet and shaking as she spoke, and she was having a difficult time maintaining eye contact with me. The thing she was talking about had bothered me and I had been genuinely upset about it, but more than anything else I was absolutely amazed at her talking straight through the fear that was so obvious in her body language and voice.

Had she casually brought up “hey, you remember last year…,” I probably would have met that same energy, laughed the situation off, and she and I would have eventually grown apart. But she came to me vulnerably. She made it important. That bravery and vulnerability enshrined a friendship that I never want to let down.

That’s the kind of bravery I aspire to.

Solo Swiss Travels: Dead Bodies in Basel

There was one weekend near the end of May where I just needed to get away: escape a stressful living situation, demanding work responsibilities, and psycho-emotionally draining friendships. I just needed out.

FRIDAY

So. At around 5pm Friday afternoon, I booked a hostel in Basel for that same evening and the following two nights (Monday was a holiday). 

Why Basel? It's incredibly old (we're talking ancient Roman times), sits directly on the Rhine River at the crossroads between Switzerland, France, and Germany, and hosts the most museums of any other Swiss city (including your typical/kinda boring art and natural history museums but also more interesting ones, which we'll get to).

Catching the 7pm train from Cornavin, the 5-hour journey brought me to the hostel shortly after midnight. It took a bit of time to figure out the safe-system for late-checkins and the handwritten German instructions on how to find and open the room, but eventually the large 10-bed dorm was entirely my own for the next several hours. 

SATURDAY

My first day in Basel (Saturday) was very slow, calm, and unplanned (Tbh, I just needed to decompress from the week and couldn't be bothered to organize anything). Grabbing coffee from one of the small stands at a Saturday morning market, I wandered through the old city taking photos, watching people, sitting beside the Rhine river to write and nap, and wandering through the cathedral and its crypt.

Elisabethenkirche

Old City gates

Inside the courtyard of the Basel Munster

Jesus lookin' sexy

The Rhine River, where Switzerland meets both Germany and France

Accidentally buying fancy coffee and cakes during a writing break

Reading along the Rhine

There was a large market in central Old Basel, Basel Marktplaz, where people in traditional Swiss German clothing were playing these massive horns that sounded similar to a didgeridoo... but more Swiss. There was also an abundance of hard-pressed cheeses to choose from; I went with 100g of both Napfkäse and Sörenberger-Alpkäse to taste and add to my cheese chart (which is updated far more regularly than this blog - just a heads up). The Napfkäse was a classic good hard cheese but that Sörenberger-Alpkäse somehow managed to taste super-aged and sharp without creating any sort of granules (those tiny cheese crystals that show up inside aged cheeses), resulting in an incredibly smooth cheese with all the rich sharpness of a strong aged cheese.

Cool Swiss didgeridoo. They're flying the flag for Obwalden canton, which is... not where Basel is?

Cheese cheese cheese!

A classic, good hard alpine cheese.

One of the smoothest hard, aged cheeses I've tried! I have no idea how they managed to avoid the cheese crystals

That night, I brought the most delicious garlic fries (which were easily ordered and handed to me but weirdly complicated to find someone to pay for them?) to eat at my hostel while planning tomorrow's Sunday Adventure, which I'd already determined to be much more organized than today. After hours sifting through brochures (thank you, Basel Backpackers), this was the final itinerary:

10am - free walking tour of Basel Old Town

12:30 - walk to the Anatomical Museum (Anatomischesmuseum), grabbing something to eat on the way

1pm - explore the Anatomical Museum

3pm - walk quickly to the Pharmacy Museum (Pharmaziemuseum) before it closes

4pm - walk quickly to the Toy Museum (Spielzeug Welten Museum) before it closes next

5pm - find sausage to eat at a restaurant somewhere. Gotta enjoy classic wurst from the German part.

SUNDAY

Somehow (almost) everything went smoothly! Our tour guide was a sweetheart who adored Basel and I wish we'd had more questions for him. 

Tinguely Fountain: facing the new opera house, it is designed in the space and using the materials of the old opera house. The statue's face is shooting tears at the new opera house. Architect was not a fan of change...

Basel Town Hall. Such vibrant red!

Brains in the anatomy museum!

Tattoos last a long time...

Pickled sniffer

Bodily consent is obviously an important topic here with some weird gray areas in relation to its history. The legal requirement for medical consent to use/display someone's dead body for scientific purposes isn't that old; common practices used by average respectable doctors 200 years ago would now be completely illegal. Yet many of the body parts on display were significantly older than body consent laws. Apparently (according to the student running the ticket counter), universities are able to keep displaying bodies obtained before these consent laws - it is only new bodies that are required to meet the current standards. As a result, there are certain specimens on display right now that will only be possible to see until they disintegrate because current consent laws would not allow new ones. The most significant example of this was the fetuses: the museum had an entire wall depicting every stage of fetal development (no photos of this one - obvious reasons). Since a fetus cannot consent, this display will only be around until they naturally disintegrate.I ended up staying at the Anatomical Museum until it closed and had to skip the Pharmacy Museum but it was definitely worth it. The entire museum is just one room with several rows of specimens, but almost every specimen is utterly fascinating.

The Toy Museum was spectacular and I wish there were more than an hour to spend it in.

Mouse home

A monastery basement

Wildly intricate dollhouse!

Risqué artist's nook of the 1800s?

Tutus! So detailed

By a happy coincidence, the Toy Museum is right beside the street with all the outdoor restaurants and food stalls. It took a surprisingly long time to find a restaurant selling sausage (a common response: "you need a festival or sporting event for sausage - it's not a restaurant food." Oh well - I still want sausage). Eventually, I did find a restaurant selling sausage and enjoyed happily eating that sausage on a busy Basel restaurant patio.

I also met a fellow traveler on this restaurant patio - a young German man escaping the German COVID restrictions. We ended up exploring Kleinebasel, finding random paintings of Naked Jesus, trying Croatian ćevapčići, and wandering along the Rhine.

MONDAY HIKING

On Sunday, I went hiking in a more rural area outside of Basel (which took a while to get to - Basel is quite large).

I found...

Pfeffingen Castle, an abandoned medieval fortress

With a beautifully placed tree

One of the largest castle ruins in Basel canton

From multiple angles

A rock that was apparently a tactical Swiss location during WW1

A sign looking like it was from LotR

That evening, I boarded the long train back toward Geneva. Arriving around 2am, I snuck back into my house to avoid waking up the small children, tucked into bed, and fell fast asleep to recharge for the workday tomorrow.

A Weekend in October

Here are some things I wrote back in October, decided against posting because I was positive it "was written terribly," trusted that judgement and resisted reviewing it because of all the changes I'd have to make and I couldn't remember how to "write well," delayed writing another post because there was still this one I'd have to go over, then finally re-read it today (January 17) and decided "what the hell - it's literally fine." (Lol and then never posted until June). Enjoy!

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One Friday evening before New Years, I bussed to Abbie's house with some groceries and wine, and she was having dinner with Ingrid and Ilona (Ingrid's friend). Ilona is one of those tiny women who are incredibly lively, but she also give off such a peaceful and slightly impish persona. She works bringing felted handicrafts to Switzerland from her hometown in Kyrgyzstan, advocating for their craftsmanship, tools, and ethical/sustainable materials. I fell in love with pattern and flow of one of the handmade woolen scarves, with photos of it being pulled and felted, the way it draped so gracefully over my body while also being bulky and warm... and then looked at the price tag and realized it was around 120CHF ($170ish). Later than night, she started playing Kyrgyzstani music on the speakers and taught us how clubbing works in Kyrgyzstan.

The next morning, Abbie and I have coffee and head out on an adventure. We take the train around Lac Leman up to Aigle, then a regional train over to Leysin. From there, we hike up the Berneuse, a small mountain I'd hiked back in 2017. It takes the whole day and return late.

Abbie and I complement each other well as travel buddies. We both want to see and experience as much as we can this year, have similar travel interests, but opposite personalities in complementary ways. I am often nervous to approach people; she strides in confidently. I'm worried about using the decent amount of French I do know; she blurts out the few words she has. I've solo travelled and lived overseas multiple times; she's never lived outside Australia. I don't often give a shit about physical safety; she's very concerned. I can be absent-minded and quiet; she is always alert and assertive. I'm very cautious of bothering other people; she does what she wants. I kind of fade into new places; wherever she goes, she is Abbie. It's a good balance.

The next day, Sunday, we take the train to Nyon (half-fare train passes are excellent) for what was supposed to be another coffee and brunch, but we end up having a long conversation sitting outside the Chateau de Nyon overlooking the city and Lac Leman. This then turns into flicking breadcrumbs at the birds, then wandering down to the docs to find boatmen to flirt with in hopes of catching a ride onto the lake. Turns out all boaters leave pretty early in the morning, so most of the folks we talk to are coming back (or just don't want passengers - fair enough), but we make a lot of friends for potential future boating trips (plus the phone numbers of 3 different boatmen). To give credit where credit's due, I would never have done this on my own.

Afterward, we are walking along the lake when we came across several guys (looking a bit "hoodlummy") talking and laughing in a group. Abbie starts nudging me and gesturing with eye contact, indicating we should chat them up too. I raise my eyebrows and half-smile in an "okay you lead the way" sort of manner, and she happily goes in and interrupts/introduces us to the entire group. She starts chatting with the dude beside her and I start chatting with the dude beside me. I really can't remember what my dude and I talking about but, several minutes later, Abbie nudges me again.

"This man here is Jacka - he has a car and he lives way up in the Alps. He's leaving in a few minutes and can take us along if we want." Holy she's fast; I need to be more on-the-ball with this.

I shrug and acknowledge the new connection. Abbie promptly switches places with me so I can chat with the man now. He actually is very friendly - he's a reggae musician who only came into town to pick up some medication, but usually prefers mountain villages. He also has photos of Raclette campfires consisting of a massive wheel of cheese literally melting over a fire and 3-4 day camping trips through the Alps. He's Italian Swiss but also fluent in French (from living in the French part), English (from travelling), and Spanish (from working in South America). I'm more and more intrigued by this guy, but also increasingly conscious of the time - it's nearing 5pm, we're 1 hour from my house in France, and France (at this point) has a 9pm curfew.

Eventually she and I are sitting beside each other atop the brick wall beside the group.

"Well... what do you think?" She's looking intently at me, clearly looking for my assessment of the situation. "We could get a ride out with him and then take the train back." Since I've hitchhiked and traveled solo many times, she trusts me.

"It's getting pretty late..." I say slowly, "It'll be too dark to see any mountains when we get there and it's another 2 hours back. Why not another day or weekend when we have more time?"

"Just to get to know him a bit more," she pushes, "We can drive out with him and take the train back - what do you reckon? I wouldn't do this without you, getting into a random man's car."

"I'm not worried about the random man - I'm worried about the curfew!" I burst out anxiously, "I don't want to end up in French prison!"

"Oh you're not gonna end up in French prison," she chuckles and rolls her eyes, "besides, the French are pretty relaxed about it, aren't they?"

"Only because they don't check often. If they catch you, they're not relaxed."

"We'll be back before the 9pm curfew. He's leaving very soon"

My paranoia eventually calms down and I agree. What happened to independent, hitchhiking Anneke who joined cults and rented motorcycles without a license? Why has she become so scared of curfews?

The man, Jacka, is a lovely spirit. There's a brief uncomfortable moment when Abbie starts talking about sex in an effort to, I think, gage his intentions. His response evidently gained her trust because it never came up again. Otherwise, the longish drive was a great way to get to know him; he shares hi music with us and tells us about his town and the nearby area. By the time he drops us off in Aigle, it's already dark. We exchange Facebook and WhatsApp, then Abbie and I get on the train all the way back to Geneva. For those familiar with Swiss geography, yes, we did go halfway around Lac Leman 4 times in one weekend.

From Geneva, I catch the train to CERN, then run the last 30 minutes back to my house. Ten minutes before I arrive, I can hear the church bells ringing out 9pm. Since it's also curfew time, they wait a few moments before ringing out the hour again. Luckily, the streets are dead and I tuck myself into the gate before any "gens d'armes" (police officers) stroll by. French prison successfully avoided.

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Our "all staff town halls" include Robert Mardini speaking, so that's pretty rad. When you work in the same organization as important people, they're obviously a part of the larger staff meetings. The anonymous questions get wiiild. Office politics at its best.

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Being monolingual is a serious rarity here. Most people speak their first language, then English fluently, then most likely a third. Probably French, German, Spanish, Italian, or Portuguese (so Western European language are big). Although I've been coming across quite a bit of Russian and Tagalong as well. Surprisingly little Mandarin though. Who knew my learning Thai would so come in handy, if only to be the reason I don't look like a monolingual fool.

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So we're only allowed out of our homes for a specified number of activities in certain areas for a certain amount of time. Unless you are a special human who works for an international organization in another country; then you can justify leaving your 1km radius if you're en route to work. Once in Switzerland, there is no longer restriction of movement (but all bars, cafes, and stores are shut down again). Second wave be making bureaucratic countries even more bureaucratic.

(Update: as of June, this lockdown has been significantly lifted. The radius is no longer in effect for those with residence in France, and the curfew has now gone from 6pm to 9pm and finally to 11pm.)

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Here's a copy of the attestation we need to fill out and download every time we leave. (Note that this is the more recent one with very different restrictions).

I had to switch my cheese database from a handwritten page in my journal to an excel spreadsheet. Much easier to categorize and sort.

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Apple apple APPLE season! Bearing the fruits of 4-5 trees, I've been making applesauce, apple crisp, apple loaves, apple muffins, apple cookies. Olga's been cooking apple into her chicken soups, and she showed me how to make a Russian apple cake. Before the lockdown, I was also bringing apples to work for colleagues.

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Remember being a kid and parents would explain denying treats as "if we have special things all the time, you'll get sick of them because they're not special anymore"? Bullshit. I've been feasting on cheese and chocolate every day for over a month now and it's still friggin amazing. Balanced out with vegetables and a shit tonne of biking, new cheeses every day is heavenly. AND WHITE CHOCOLATE ISN'T FROWNED UPON AS A LESSER CHOCOLATE! It is so satisfying to have my supply of the two delicious opposites - dark chocolate and white chocolate - and nobody bats an eye. They would bat an eye if I were to pull out a Hershey's chocolate (or any other non-European chocolate, really. Pretty ethnocentric when you consider chocolate isn't from anywhere near Europe in the first place). And there are still plenty more cheeses to try before I ever get sick of it; I'm already excited to go back to retry some of the ones I've already tasted. There was one terrible day where I just wasn't up for blue cheese, but it passed quickly enough.