Wanted A Dog – Got A Chamois Instead

My best friend Skippy died the year I moved to Europe. Ever since I lost my childhood sidekick decades ago, I have longed to own a dog!

But ze Frenchman was adamant, “Dog or me!”

Well, that’s a no-brainer!

I’ll never forfeit my number one chef, chauffeur, work-out partner, hiking buddy, electro-technician and soulmate for a four-legged friend.

My pleas for a dog fell on deaf ears!

I got a pet chammy instead.

One day I looked out my window; there he was in all his majesty.

He hangs out in my backyard, which is actually the side of a mountain.

What’s a chamois?

Chamois are medium-sized, goat antelope, a bit larger than deer. Native to the mountains of central and southeastern Europe, they stand up to 31 inches tall at the shoulder and weighs 25–50 kg (55–110 pounds)

White contrasting marks on the sides of the head with pronounced black stripes below the eyes, a white rump, and a black stripe along the back are distinct, identifying characteristics. Even more telling both sexes possess vertical horns that hook sharply backward at the ends.

These quintessential mountain dwellers can jump 2 m (6.6 ft) vertically into the air or over a distance of 6 m (20 ft). Chamois, perfectly adapted for their challenging alpine home, can scale the near-vertical rock face. Exceptional climbers, their strong fore and hind legs give them great jumping power. Their split hooves, with sharp outer edges and a soft inner section, provide perfect grip on wet rocks and ice.

Like deer, chamois change colors to blend into their habitat. Their rich brown-colored coat of fur turns light grey in winter. As members of the Bovidae family, their lineage traces back millions of years to common ancestors of cattle, goats, and sheep. Their distribution spans several major European mountain ranges and extends into parts of Asia.

The agile acrobats of the Alps hold a special place in the folklore and traditions of mountain communities. Seen as symbols of agility, freedom, and the untamed spirit of the mountains, chamois have a tuft of hair from the back of their neck, called the gamsbart (chamois “beard”). It is traditionally worn as a decoration on hats throughout the alpine countries.

Chamois are social animals. Females and their young live in herds of up to 15 to 30 individuals; however, adult males tend to live solitarily for most of the year. They can run at 50 kilometers per hour (31 mph).

Their milk and meat are good, but they are best known for their hides. The soft, pliant skin of the chamois is made into the original “chammy,” or “shammy,” leather. It is used for cleaning, buffing, and polishing because it is smooth, absorbent and won’t scratch,

On a cold day in April, when the last snow melted and the sun slinked behind the mountainside, I bid farewell to my favorite four-legged friend.

In Europe, chamois disappear into higher levels to spend their summers above the tree line. They prefer high-altitude environments between 800 and 2,500 meters. But when winter rolls around, they’ll come back down to lower elevations to live in forests areas dominated by pines.

Fortunately at about the same time the chamois fade into the clouds, farmers here haul truckloads of cows up to graze in lush green mountain meadows for the summer season. I will miss seeing my favorite chammy, so now I’m adopting a cow! Ssshhh Don’t tell ze Frenchman.

Surviving Driving in Europe’s Mountains

My dad, once a driver’s ed instructor, taught me to drive on the backroads of Illinois and Wisconsin. I’ve never had a collision as a driver, but as a passenger, I have been in major accidents, one for each time period of my life from adolescence, to college, to the pro’s, to living abroad.

I thought passing my drivers license in Paris France a decade after my basketball career ended in a car accident was the scariest thing I’d ever done. But getting behind the wheel after a major brain surgery in Switzerland takes balls.

Four decades after a traumatic brain injury, I have to learn how to drive again. Never one to shy away from a challenge, I take my driving lessons in the Jura Mountains where we now live.

The drive from Nyon, down by the lake, is a six and a half mile climb on a treacherous road with sixty curves, six of which are hairpin turns.

73 injured and 4 dead

marks the number of accidents

Before we begin the ascent, a sign warns that 73 were injured and 4 people died in the last decade. At every sharp turn, road markers remind driver where an accident or death occurred on the Route Blanche aka the corkscrew.

On weekends youth play motorcycle madness, a type of Russian roulette where they attempt to see who can beat the record for the fastest up or down.

If that isn’t challenging enough for other vehicles, the rugged route is also a favorite for hardcore bicyclists.

Luckily, I can practice my skills on the route d'Arzier, the other road from town that has wider turns and loops through villages.

“Allez, allez … faster!" Gerald insists.

“I know,” I answer, “I am going at a speed where I feel in control.”

“Okay, Pat, but we haven’t left the parking lot yet!”

When I turn onto the highway, clutching the steering wheel, Gerald insists that I loosen up and use finger tip control. I hit the brakes before every curve, lean into every corner.

“Focus straight ahead. Don’t look at cars coming the opposite direction!” Gerald barks. “If you keep swerving into the field, you’ll hit a cow!”

Invariably as soon as I see another vehicle approaching, I jerk the wheel and hit the brakes, as if I am on Mr. Toad’s wild ride at a Disney park.

“Don’t cross your hands when turning the wheel, you could lose control,”
he reminds me,“If you squeeze the steering wheel any harder, you’ll break it. Besides, it's is illegal in this country and could cost you CHF 120 a ($135) fine.”

“Relax. Lean back. You’re sitting on the dashboard!”

Arrhhh.

As I swerve around curves, cling to the mountain side and try to maintain the 50 mile an hour speed limit, I scream, “Wheeee, I feel like a race car driver!”

Obstacles abound: logging trucks, farm vehicles, train crossroads, pedestrian crosswalks, motorcycles, buses, cars, campers and bicycles.

But the greatest distraction is the incredible view. The spectacular Swiss panorama makes it difficult to focus on the highway. To my right the snow-covered Alps rise above Lake Geneva. Mont-Blanc, the majestic crowned jewel, reigns over the land. If I look to my left, cows graze in green pastures and golden rapeseed fields wave in the wind.

Honestly, I don’t think I will ever master driving in Europe.

I’ll keep practicing, but the world will be safer, if I just ride shotgun daydreaming, window gazing, writing stories about my sublime Switzerland.

The Fine Art of Cleaning à la Swiss

When my sister, a neatnik, first visited us in Switzerland decades ago, she was delighted by the orderliness.

“Wow the streets are so clean you eat off of them!”

Almost.

Switzerland is the only place I know where sanitation workers regularly sweep the streets, pick up litter and blow leaves away from fountains and monuments.

The sight of the bright orange clad service technique (technical branch) brushing leaves off the forest-lined highway leading to our village was so remarkable, I wanted to stop the car and snap a photo.

Unfortunately, tidiness may be a lost cause for a Pig-Pen, pack rat like me. The Swiss inherit the “clean gene” as a birthright. My sister was the only McKinzie born with that chromosome .

In Switzerland garbage is verboten. Litter taboo.

Citizens pay a trash tax and also must discard household waste in special designed bags that cost 3 dollars a piece. Most towns and cities have garbage collection service, but in our village, there is no garbage pick up for people living in chalets and single family dwellings. Most residents carry their rubbish to dumpsters, housed in mini chalet-like sheds, dispersed throughout town.

Our state of the art recycle center is so efficient, it could become a tourists attraction. Surrounded by pine trees, our disposable hub could win awards in cleanliness and sanitation. With the Swiss flare for organization, waste materials are separated into labeled compartments. Citizens drive to our wooden-framed building carved out of mountainside to recycle bigger items of glass (by color) wood, paper, electronics, batteries, metals, plastics (two categories), aerosols, paints and oils.

Litter is extinct. The propre en ordre “clean and orderly” is ingrained as part of one’s civic duty. Training starts at a young age. Even tiny tots learn how to pick up trash and recycle. In front of our primary school, blue, green, red and black colored Crayolas-shaped bins help teach children to discard plastics, papers, and disposables items in separate containers.

Switzerland is the only country I am aware of where the city’s technical department employees regularly sweep sidewalks, blow leaves, pick up litter and wash the lamp posts’ light fixtures.

Snow plowing in our mountain village is also impressive. With every fresh snowfall, we can hear plows out at 4 am to clear the streets.

The government is fully committed to conserving energy and preserving the environment. They require new homes and buildings to use renewable energy sources like solar panels, heat pumps and pellets. Natural gas and oil furnaces are banned.

Get this! 24 Heures (Swiss newspaper) recently reported 40% percent of its residents even clean their homes before the cleaning lady arrives! No kidding!

This country looks like a postcard. Tidy Swiss chalets with flowered window boxes and painted shutters dot the countryside. Villages, like ours in the Jura Mountains, offer gorgeous, pristine views of the woods, Lake Geneva and the Alps.

Natural resources are precious resources and Swiss folks do their best to keep it that way.

The sheer beauty of the land inspires people who live or visit here to respect nature and protect the spectacular vista.

As for me, my house remains a cluttered mess, but I have learned to automatically remove my shoes before entering any one else’s home.

Endearing Tradition – Swiss Celebrate Seniors With Christmas Dinner

In one of its most endearing traditions, Swiss villages celebrate their seniors by hosting the annual Christmas dinner for retirees. The “Repas de Noël” has become a beloved part of the holiday festivities.

In St-Cergue, at the community center next to the grade school, a few hundred retirees gathered around long tables to share fondue. Not the classic cheese fondue one associates with Switzerland, instead Vaud, like all 26 Swiss cantons, has adopted a variation of the Chinese fondue to celebrate Christmas Eve.

After individual starters of grated carrots and paté, we passed plates of veal, pork, chicken and beef provided by our local butcher. We skewered the thinly sliced meat on long forks and dipped them in slow-simmering broth in Chinese fondue pots. The meat was accompanied with rice and different sauces, ranging from curry-flavoured mayonnaise to zingy relishes.

For dessert, we savored the traditional Buche de Noel or yule log, a rolled sponge cake, with layers of buttercream. This extraordinary favorite had a local twist. It was crafted by a former pastry chef who perfected his art in prestigious French restaurants. To our great fortune Julien Maslanka relocated to Switzerland where he opened four different patisseries including Le Comptoir du Vieux Chateau à St-Cergue on our main street.

In a serendipitous stroke of luck, I sat next to an interesting jazz musician and a friendly, outgoing woman, who gave me all the contacts and links to activities for citizens in the community. When she saw me scribbling in my pocket notebook, I explained that I wrote a blog sharing European experiences.

“Oh, I have to introduce you to our American writer!” she said clapping her hands. Then she led me to a table to introduce me to a short, white-haired fellow with twinkly blue eyes who had lived in Switzerland for fifty-five years.

Then after the municipal employees took a bow on stage, the seniors gave a hearty applause in appreciation for their public services, especially for their swift snow plowing of our streets.

A senior dance group performed a polka, school children sang holiday songs, and then we joined in singing along to a French translation of Gloria in Excelsis Deo.

The only shadow on the festivities, was finding out that we lost our petition to save our local post office, which closes in 2026.

The convivial atmosphere resumed, when the master of ceremony invited us to pop open the tubes of confetti in a jovial grand finale.

Wherever you live dear friends and readers, however you celebrate the season, I wish you peace, health and hope for 2026.

Happy holidays from X-Pat & ze Frenchman in "Santa's Village" Switzerland!

Raclette – a Franco Swiss Favorite For 400 Years

Natives living in the French Savoie region or in the Swiss Alps will argue ’til the cows come home over who first invented raclette, but everyone who tries this traditional cheese/potato dish agrees it’s great. Raclette is thought to be at least 400 years old and remains popular today.

For centuries, herders in Europe’s mountainous regions have survived on this simple dish of boiled potatoes covered in melted cheese.

During its production, the raclette cheese is washed with salted water and bacteria smears. It must rest in a cave (real or man-made) with 100% humidity and a temperatures of about 60 degrees F,° which accelerates the breakdown of the protein and fat, creating different flavors, nutty, creamy and a bit buttery and aromatic when heated.

On every visit home to Switzerland, my adult kids request raclette. Instead of the traditional equipment meant for the half cheese, we use an electric grill with individual serving trays and raclette cut into portions. Since moving to the mountains, we decided to try the authentic dish.

As you enter our village of St. Cergue, the Beef’n Cheese Restaurant is easy to locate off the round-about. A giant, red ceramic cow with a white cross symbolizing the Swiss flag, stands on the balcony. Locals stop for a beer at the cafe table out front.

The interior of the restaurant is a bit kitsch, but charming with its spotted cow upholstered chairs, long wooden tables, a wall-sized hearth and local decor. Cow bells hang from wooden beams, antique skis stick out of giant milk jugs and ski posters from the 40’s decorate the walls.

Our waitress brought us a half a wheel of cheese melting on the authentic raclette machine. Gerald tilted the wheel and scraped the top layer of cheese onto our plate of unpeeled potatoes. Raclette comes from the French word "racler," which means to scrape.

A basket filled with giant, marble-sized spuds are served with finger-sized vinegary cornichons and white cocktail onions. We ordered a side of charcuterie, a wooden cutting board laden with ham off the bone, jambon cru (dried beef) and dried saucisson à l’ail (garlic).

The “all you can eat” meal costs 31CH ($35) per person, which for a Swiss tourist town, is not unreasonably expensive. Traditionally, raclette is served with white wine, but our Frenchman ordered a Scramble Noir, a sublime red blend of five different grape varieties. Red or white wine, whatever, the French and Swiss agree never drink water with raclette. It will make your stomach bloat in indigestion!

Raclette was added to the 2024 World Championship Cheese Contest in Madison, Wisconsin.
”I personally love it," John Jaeggi, a contestant, said. "When it's cold, it's OK. But melted, oh my gosh, it's really good."
Though less well known in the US, I’ve yet to meet an American that didn’t enjoy raclette.

“Trader Joe’s stocks this cheese around the holidays,” my best friend, who moved back to the States, says, “I call and order ahead before it even hits the shelves, so I can throw raclette parties all winter.”

Whenever anyone visits us in Switzerland, we share this convivial meal and create memories for guests to take home.

No matter how many visitors we’ve served, we will never beat the new record!

In Martigny, Switzerland on April 5th, organizers of 'The Biggest Raclette Party in the World` brought together 4,893 people, including 361 raclette- scrapers, to claim the title.

Sun Is Out, Cows Moved Up, Spring is Here

After a arduous, cold, grey winter spring finally arrived in the mountains,
but it took its own sweet time getting here!

During our favorite mountain hike, the local farmer passed us on the dirt lane; he stopped and opened the back gate of his livestock truck. Then we watched spellbound, as a herd of cows raced across the verdant field in a moment of serendipity.

Have you ever seen cows run?

The herd acted as if they’d arrived at summer camp. The calves romped with joy like children let out of school for the holidays.

Rich grass, clean air, wide open spaces!

The desalpes, the famous folkloric parade of cows coming down the mountain in autumn is a well known Swiss celebration; however, few people witness the inalpes when cows come up to the Jura’s green pastures for the summer season of fine grazing.

As we hiked, we could see across to the far side of lake where the grey veil of winter lifted, revealing the majestic Alps etched against a heartbreaking sapphire sky. The mountains, in different shades of slate, appeared to bow down to Mont Blanc, the queen bejeweled in her sparkling white crown.

Daffodils waltzed in the wind, leaf buds popped open, buttercups shot up, forsythia burst into golden flame and dogwoods danced in their lacy, white petticoats. In valley below us, the lemon yellow rape seed contrasted with green wheat fields. Grape vines like gnarled, old arthritic hands reached toward the light. Pink and white blossoms exploded on the apple and cherry trees.

Under a splash of spring sunshine, blessings unfolded around me. Balancing with sticks, stumbling for footing, knees grinding like bad transmission, I was grateful to still be upright and walking. In my heart, I was dancing.

Hallelujah spring arrived!

Hiking in paradise

Rejoicing in the day.

Today…

Is always enough.