#swiss cow bell
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The Cow Fur Strap is made of high-quality leather and is vegetable tanned. You can keep the bell strap supple with good care and high-quality leather oil for many years.
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i learned that a Dutch woman was denied Swiss naturalization despite having lived there for 39 years, because her 'neighbours' deemed her too annoying and not integrated into Swiss society since she often critized Swiss tradition of hanging large bells on cows' necks (x)
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The Chapel In Stoos - The Mountains In In Background Are The Grosser And Kleiner Mythen
Swiss Landscapes in Autumn
By Vincent Croce
The Chapel Of Stoos Just Before Sunrise, When Cow Bells Are Ringing In The Background
#vincent croce#photographer#switzerland#landscapes#autumn#stoos#chapel#moutains#grosser mountain#kleiner mythen mountain#rolling hills#nature#sunrise#cows#fall colors
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need to fuck off to the swiss mountains like all the romantics did. but instead of climbing mont blanc i'll just watch the cows with the bells around their neck and listen to the brassy harmony they produce. my aeolian harp
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edelweiss with 🧸👀??
Aboard the Princess Maria Thresa
Summary: it's 1843, and due to various issues Basch has found himself above deck on an Austrian Merchant ship. Thankfully the seas are gentle but unluckily for him they've set course for Spain
The gentle rocking of the boat as the bobs along the calm waters underneath the light of the moon. Soft salty winds gently push into the sails punting the ship along its way. Smooth varnishes are wooden under his fingers as he leans over the side a sigh leaving his lifts, although he's not one for sea sickness, homesickness comes quick, makes his stomach froth and foam-like the seas bashing against the rugged coastline.
Gone are the snow-capped peaks of the mountains that give way to rolling pasture. ripening growth in summer, meadows thick with flowers echoing with the tinny ring of cow bells.
He hums to himself, his fingers tapping a gentle rhythm with the dips and swells of an old folk tune. The sea made him miss home, it always meant travel and long periods away.
He lifts his head a moment upon hearing footsteps approaching; the steps clicking against the boards of the deck. Once they come to a stop he clacking of a heel on the boards followed by a low chuckle. “Signore Zwingli, come to enjoy the still night?”
Clicking his tongue Basch turns to the man who’d just spoken. The tall Venetian is stood leaning popped up on his elbow glancing over the side of the boat that expense of moonlit water.
“Honoured guest, I apologise but the best cabin, the only cabin is the captain’s quarters.” he twirls the end of his ponytail around his finger, the Venetian had no care following the common trend for short hair now. Waves framing his face he looks s like a throwback to the century just past.
“Frau Dover last I saw had gone into that room,” Basch grumbles turning to look out over the still ocean again.
There’s a cough the sound of a shirt being brushed down. “I’m no dog, Signore. She’s a valued member of the crew.” There is a tightness to his voice, he raises an eyebrow still not turning to face the Italian city. “No idea you had so low opinion of me.”
“Your son chases anything with two legs and a skirt.” That’s he’s started tapping on the varnished wood. He meets the dark eyes of Venice. The man frowned furrowing his brows.
With the rustling of fabric, Basch turns to notice Venice’s hand on the tip of his pistol, he stares at the Italian/ “No need for weapons.” he takes a step back hand rising in front of him.
“Do not make unscrupulous accessions at my son’s expense” His already dark brown has narrowed and appeared to be black.
“Apples and trees,”
“Signore Austria wishes to speak with you.”
“I have no desire to humour his request”
“Whilst your Italian, is impeccable, Switzerland. I said request to be polite.”
With a groan, Basch rakes a hand through his hair before readjusting his beret, He allows the ship captain to lead him below desks through the food store. He staggers a little bit the rocking of the boat a little more noticeable now.
He scratches at goosebumps that now have risen on his neck, it was the sea, that made boat travel displeasing for him. “Not fond of tight spaces?” the Venetian stops in his tracks turning to look over his shoulder at him with a smirk
“Vincenzo....taunting isn’t something I expect from you.” Groans the Swiss man puffs out a breath and leans against the barrel. It was that he’s certainly closer to the water and surrounded by it.
He knocks on the cabin’s door and waits for a muffed voice on the offed side to reply to him. standing to the side as he opens the door.
“Signore Switzerland, Young master Austria.” Vincenzo bows as Basch walks past the door closing behind. him.
----
Basch had found himself the window and thrown it open the moment he’d heard Vincenzo's footsteps trailing off. Had he been called here so Roderich could watch him flounder? He had no issues with sea travel until he couldn’t be on deck, this prissy brat knew this.
The gentle scratching of Roerich's pen over the course paper that lay on his desk, neatly stacked, leather-bound book standing on a shelf above the desk where a candle sat lighting the workspace. Basch claps his hand to the back of his neck the goosebumps were rising again.
“What is it you want, Austria?” He drums his fingers on the windowsill, the tightness of the space lessens now he could gentle splashing of the sea. His nails scratch into the wood peeling the varnish,
A moment, 1. 2, 3. an uncomfortable grunt from the other occupant of the room whom he s resolving not to look at. 1, 2 3. the scraping of chair legs on the ground. 1, 2 ,3 He turns.
The brunette adjusts his glasses, and every muscle in his body is tense. “I called you-”
“Why?” before he could even finish the sentence, why was he being dragged along on this voyage. it had nothing to do with any Swiss business. “Is it a joke? a laugh at my expense?”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Roderich blinks his hands flying to his hips.
“It’s not what, it’s who..”
“Who? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The Latin whore...”
Uneasy silence returns, maybe he’d played his hand to open but this whole journey was a claustrophobic nightmare for him. “...captive sailing for Spain.”
“Basch....I think you misunderstand” Comes a frustrated sigh and he can’t help crow a laugh dripping with venom.
“What misunderstanding?” How could there be anything to misunderstand. He has been stuck bound for Spain of all places for the past week. His hands curl into fists squeezing so hard his nails dig into his palms.
“Stop being unreasonable, Basch...”
“I have no business with you, good day.” He turns to lave the door, the boat is rocking more now and the close quarters has his stomach sloshing around worse than the waves,
He makes a hurried scramble to get back above desks again, fresh hair and open spaces. fuck it he hates boats so much. He can’t hear anything there’s rushing in his ears. His stomach flips and throws himself at the side of the boat.
“Neutrally out the window...I can’t be around him..” he mumbles dragging himself back, head swimming “Trapped, he’s trapped me...”
Had it always been this one-sided?
-----
Sitting on the side of the bed, he looked out of the window that had been left open, eyes retracing the route Basch had taken to dive from the room the moment he’d gotten the chance. Roderich glanced at the mirror that sat on a barrel of rum in the corner of the room next to a bucket with the white flag that hung above it.
Getting up he brushes his hair from his forehead and glances into the mirror and an old scar that is just above his eye, much faded after centuries, His still manicured fingers brush over it, it’s thin. there’s another scar that dashes along his neck.
Moron be careful
The words flutter through his head as he looks at his hand seeing that at least three of his fingers are bandaged, and he misadventures whilst cooking. feels along the bridge of his nose, It never had set right again, after it had been broken last.
“Stupid, I’m not blind,” he mumbles to him laughing hollowly as he removes his glasses. “Jealously looks ugly on you, it always has.” He tugs at the stray cow lick he has. “I wish you wouldn’t jump to anger....it makes it hard to talk with you, Basch,”
Roderich’s cheeks tingle, “Latin Whore,” those were such pointed words, he hadn’t scolded the word choice, How would when Basch was just repeated words he’d once said himself. In anger just like Basch had.
Don’t get hurt
His fist limply hits the top of the barrel making the barrel wobble a little bit. He hadn’t meant merely careful of physical injury, had he? The words had been warning as soon as Basch has laid eyes on Spain.
“Damn you....Damn you...” His head drops down, so blinded by love he’d not noted the man’s warning.
#hws swizerland#aph swittzerland#hetalia switzerland#hws austira#aph austira#hetalia austria#edelweiss#swissaus
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Idk what to call this one, but trust me it’s bomb:
- Half of a large red bell pepper, sliced into thick strips
- 2 laughing cow creamy Swiss light cheese wedges
- A few tablespoons of red onion, diced
- A stalk of green onion, diced
- 1.5 oz of fresh smoked salmon
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1. Mix the onions and cheese into a dip
2. Put the dip on the pepper slices
3. Top with smoked salmon
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Makes 1 serving of 164 kcal
It’s soooo satisfying and makes me feel full for a long time.
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Do We Really Want Countryside Anymore?
Anyone who lives in the city, any city, or large town thinks of the countryside as a peaceful place to go to unwind, to breathe the fresh air, for long spring and summer walks and recreation. In fall it is to watch the changing leaves. In winter enjoying the snow and winter sports. All year long, people seek out country farm market stands as a connection to nature.
There is a growing problem: All those people enjoying the countryside, all those people skiing or snowboarding, all those fall foliage spotters, all those bird watchers, and indeed, all those businesses reliant upon countryside visitors every weekend… not one of them fights for the true keepers of the countryside’s vast acreage: farmers and ranchers.
In Switzerland they have long seen the economic and tourist benefit of the Alps and alpine valleys being beautiful, with traditional Heidi-like farming, cows’ bells clanging, and green grass replaced by ski-able snow in winter. They support this pastoral scene with government tax breaks for farmers that surpass what we dole out to farmers by about 65% per farm. The strange end result has been that all the time farming knowledge and livestock management has improved and when applied to the Swiss antiquated open pasture practices, their productivity has always stayed ahead of intensive farming practices. Maybe the animals prefer the open air as well. In fact, in the early 70’s, a referendum forced all the chicken farmers to abandon battery practices (caged animals, laying an egg a day, never walking, never touching another animal). The chicken farmers were certain this was the end of all affordable eggs and chicken. Within 2 months of being placed outside, free-range, they were laying more eggs, had fewer deaths and illness and, in fact, laid more eggs. Seems it was the improvements in foodstuffs and chicken care that was beneficial, not the cages they had been kept in.
Over a decade ago Britain too decided that the balance of benefit to the economy must favor the farmer and countryside. Over there, Ag Ministers labeled the farmers “the Keepers Of The Countryside” and came up with new promises in farming subsidies. Gone was dime one for intensive farming practices, which produce cheap meat, butter, eggs, and milk by factory means, replaced by subsidies for farmers who re-plant traditional hedgerows, re-stack stone walls, and “look after the land.” New subsidies are pegged to acreage not density of animals per acre (a practice that once led to keeping animals in cages and feeding them high protein foodstuff). Four decades ago, people bemoaned the loss of paths along canals, historically maintained by farmers who grazed sheep there. Also gone were bucolic country walks, bared by landlords’ “Do Not Cross” tape, soon replaced by “Sold” to a developer. In short the emotional impact had been measurable on the people of Britain. And then the economic impact also became measurable: inns closed, antique shops bust, restaurants empty, town budgets destroyed, property values plummeting, tourist sites standing vacant, and, certainly not least, the big hotel chains had to lobby Parliament to intervene.
So, the little guy and the big buy stood and spoke together: protect our asset, the countryside. Who better to do that than the guy who always has? Who better qualified than the farmer or rancher. In a Magna Carta-like moment for the countryside, Britain changed priorities. Maybe we should wake up and follow Britain and Switzerland before it’s too late here as well or do we need an asphalt jungle coast to coast to tell us how much we loved – and once depended on – open ranch and farmland?
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just watched a random video about cows coming down from the mountains in Switzerland, and fuck if I didn't start crying because they were just so pretty and neat all parading through this town with their personalized big flower crowns and their massive bells and the cacophony of their cheerful amble through the streets between lines of people just watching them happily. oh to be the flower crown of a Swiss cow, wandering through town on her way to the winter pasture in the valley.
not the exact video, but a similar one:
youtube
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Question: What is your favorite part of nature in Switzerland?
Hills and valleys maybe. Since Switzerland is so small and hilly, your eye will almost always hit a hill or a mountain. (I live in the canton with the most forests, so it’s usually a tree covered hill after the other.)
Though nothing makes me feel quite as Swiss as when I‘m on pasture, it smells like grass and I can hear the sound of cow bells chiming. So good. (My parents live in a little village on a hill, going up to the pasture is family tradition.)
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Between the lakes
There’s a town in Switzerland called Interlaken, meaning between the lakes.
It gets hoards of tourists annually and is home to many gaudy souvenier shops.
I got there hoping to catch views of the Jungfrau mountain and maybe even to take the train up it and the equally famous Eiger mountain.
Alas it wasn’t to be as the clouds and rain came in
and I was stuck in the town without much to do as I didn’t want to buy any souvenier cow bells,
'Swiss Army' knives
or overpriced unknown 'Swiss’ watches.
I did have a few Swiss moments in the town in spite of the weather. Walking alongside the greener than green river
I heard a sound that confirmed I was in Switzerland, real cow bells, on cows.
Another day on a beach on Lake Brienz at 12 noon I hear one church bell in one direction ring out the hour.
Then a church in another direction starts off as well.
There’s no one around and I feel, yes, I’m in Switzerland.
After a couple of days with no sign of the weather improving I move on to the nearby little town of Leissigen, on the other lake, Lake Thun.
The hostel there is in a century old house, the former summer house of the inventor of Ovaltine, Albert Wander.
The house, complete with creaky floorboards and original fittings is a nice break from the uniformity and industrial style of many of the other Swiss Youth Hostel Association buildings.
The weather in Leissigen is no different from Interlaken, but it doesn’t have too many souvenier shops.
It doesn’t have any actually.
There isn’t anything going on a drizzly Sunday evening when I take a walk down the only street in town.
A hotel and a small restaurant look like they might be open, that’s about it.
The following morning there’s a Swiss family in the breakfast room. The husband tells me about his camping holiday in Ireland 10 or 15 years before.
After arriving in Dublin on a busy bank holiday weekend from the west of Ireland, he and a friend went in search of accommodation.
No accommodation was to be found.
He said a landlady’s face went white when he suggested to her that they might camp in a city park.
She told them to go to Dublin airport and sleep there instead.
I leave for Luzern the following day.
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Desalpes post 1: a very Swiss tradition often surrounded by a festival in which the farmers bring their cows down from the mountain at the end of spring. The event is essentially a parade of cows with flower crowns and at times big decorative bells! I went to the one in Semsales on September 30th with a friend, and a festival accompanied the events, with local artisans, pop-up bars and food booths, games for kids, and fresh bread/cheese/cured meat. At the Gruyere stand you could buy cheese by the kilo. There were several cow parades throughout the day, but also parades of costumed people ringing cow bells and parades of tractor/heavy farming equipment
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Strazisce Peak Croatia 25/8/23
Whilst on holiday in Cavtat with Mary I decided to walk the Ronald Brown Pathway to Strazisce Peak. There is a memorial at the top remembering Ronald Brown (Secretary of State for the USA) and 34 others who were killed when their plane hit the top of the mountain when coming into Dubrovnik Airport in 1996.
It’s quite a climb involving 2300ft of ascent and of course descent from the town of Cavtat where we were staying. Mary helped me research the exact start point the day before so the first 30mins of the walk involved no navigation as I’d done it the day before. The trail is generally well marked but it’s rocky and very hard on your feet. I didn’t have my boots and ended up with sore feet and rather battered shoes by the finish.
The trail zig zags up the mountain as otherwise it would be very steep and more scrambling than walking. I met a couple of Norwegians on the way up and I strategically let them pass as I had been warned about snakes on the mountain and I thought they might scare the snakes away. They were very focused and didn’t stop to eat, drink or take photos so they did get quite a bit ahead of me.
I was taking it quite leisurely, mainly because I was blowing hard, and stopped frequently to take pictures. It took about 90 minutes of strenuous walking to reach the village near the summit and here I met a whole bus load of French walkers all festooned with walking poles. They had been bussed up to the village and had then made the 30 minute scramble up the the top where the memorial stood.
I pushed on past them and also past a German couple who were making heavy weather of the climb, partly because it was steep but also because the path was rocky and slippery.
As I crested the summit I saw the memorial which is a large stainless steel cross in a block of black granite carved with the names of those who died. Dubrovnik airport is very visible from the summit and is quite close.
After the necessary photos I dropped back down into the small village which was now deserted apart from some barking dogs and bleating goats. Through the other side I came across isolated grazing cows with Swiss style bells around their necks.
Here I took the obligatory wrong turn and walked 400metres down the wrong track. I had to retrace my steps which is frustrating when your feet are feeling sore.
It’s a toe crunching walk then down the rocky path, I was moving at speed as I could see the Norwegians in the distance and fancied surprising them by catching them up.
The only point of excitement was when I came across a large browny grey snake on the path. It was. 80 to 90cm long and probably twice the thickness of my thumb. It was as surprised as me and it shot off at speed into the long grass. This slowed me a little as I was being a bit more vigilant but I got back to the main road without incident. There I met my two Norwegian chums and we walked back into Cavtat together.
I was lucky with the weather as it wasn’t too hot and I managed the walk in almost exactly 4 hours having covered about 18000 steps very few of which had been on the flat. Quite a challenging walk because of its steepness and rocky ground though it would have been much easier if I’d had my boots.
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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Vintage Appenzell Made in Switzerland Brass Small Cow Bell.
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A Saturday Hike in the Austrian Alps, in Ramsau am Dachstein
So, I am sure you've heard or seen the stereotypes of Austrian alpine people (such as in the famous Price Is Right "Cliffhanger" game--though I think that is actually depicting a Swiss Alps fellow, climbing): they are good at hiking, they live in scenic surroundings, and they care for sheep and cows who wear bells as they graze in gorgeous alpine meadows. Well, I can tell you, these things all appear to be true ;) We went on a "kinder" hike, with tons of signage and interactive curiosities along the trail and huge alligator statues (the mascot for this area, confusingly) and instructions that you can take your baby buggy on the trail -- but, let me mention, the trail was still pretty hard-core! We went 3.2 miles and there were all manner of people on the trail, many with hiking poles, but of all ages and sizes. Taking a stroller on the trail I just cannot imagine, since it was a steep ascent, with lots of stones and tree roots. But, maybe for the average Austrian family, this kind of hike is just de rigueur.
We had a nice morning hike, though. We did get to a "false peak," I guess you'd say, with a lookout platform where the panorama was beautiful. But, then from there, you continue going up and looping back the other way. We went around the route I think the "wrong" way, but we did see some families who came up the via feratta. Do you know what this is? I did not, until my cousin Nick mentioned it a few months ago. This page is in German, but has some images that show people via ferrata-ing in this area. This was not something I was planning on trying. But, it seems like a popular activity around here!
Once we got back to our car after our hike, Rowan had a terrible headache. It was very worrying because the boy never gets headaches and his energy meter like descended epicly. I mean, you all know Rowan: he is a bundle of boundless energy. But all he wanted to do was sit and be still. So, we did go to the Ramsau Beach, because Rowan said that was fine with him as long as he could lay in a loungechair. We rented one, and an umbrella, and Eric and Cece proceeded to go into the small lake, which was rather empty at first, but after a while, there were lots of people in it. I gathered that it was a bit cold. So, after seeing Cece swimming and having tons of fun, Rowan decided he wanted to, too. And you know what? It helped his headache! He felt a whole lot better after -- enough to be ready to do some other adventuring at Rittisburg, which is where the beach was and where there was also a "canopy" tour, in harnesses, a zipline, an alpine coaster, a harnessed ropes course, lots of hiking, a gondola up to the top where there was a magical playground, and lots more for your summertime frolicking.
Turns out the kids are still too small to do the proper zip line at Rittisburg, but they could do the "flyline," which was harnessed tour through the treetops, in the canopy. We all did it, and it was so fun! Next, Rowan and I did the mountain coaster. I mean, I historically love roller coasters (my dad and I love them; I will never forget his antics as we would ascend to the top before we'd drop down in the super-rapid, scream-inducing descent!). But, this mountain coaster was not what I was expecting, and I really begged Eric to switch places with me because I had to operate a level that accelerated the sled and applied the brake! Eric would not trade with me, he said with a chuckle ;) So, Rowan and I made it through and it was fun . . . but Rowan would have been pleased if I'd applied the brake less ;)
Then, we took the gondola up. The views from there, you're wondering about? Well, shucks . . . I am not even sure what to say! Imagine that you're at the top of Sandia Peak, but all of the large mountains in New Mexico are also right next to Sandia Peak. So, this analogy only goes so far, because these mountains have farms and green, dandelion-speckled fields going quite a ways up (and, of course, New Mexico is a high desert--and this is not). Some of the green swaths are ski runs, but some are pasture or just greenspace. It is the craziest thing. We decided to walk down the ski area, rather than take the gondola down. And on the trail down, we kept encountering raspberry bushes! The raspberries are about ten days, I'd say, from their peak, but there were some that were bright red! And eat them we did! Cece and I took a while to get down the trail because of all of our raspberry-eating. We also went down the final bit of elevation on a trail that was a "brand-new" fairy-tale trail, with wooden cutouts of fairy-tale characters scattered through the forest. It was also puzzling and bit jaw-dropping to read the sign at the bottom. You were not allowed to take your stroller up the trail, but they recommended you go up on the gondola and push it down with you on the trail. Eric was like, "WHAT?" "Do that if you don't want to keep your baby in the stroller!" I mean, there is no way you'd be able to keep control of a stroller with a descent grade like the fairy-tale trail's.
Back to Rowan's headache, briefly: I have concluded that it is related to his congestion. He has been stuffy and blowing his nose incessantly for like four days. This is the best theory I have.
In the evening, we went to basically a quickie-mart, because it was the only grocery store open on a Saturday evening. And we went as a massive thunderstorm was rolling in. The kids and I shopped while Eric drove a little farther to put a bit of charge in the Tesla. When he came back to get us, it was like an epic, torrential downpour. It did not last too long, but it lasted our whole brief ride home and our mad-dash back into our place. After that, I made dinner, we ate it, and the kids got to bed at a reasonable hour! Hooray for us! Gold-star parenting!
The next day (today!), we had reservations for the Dachstein Gondola and planned to visit the glacier, so I will write all about that in my next post. Our hosts at the Airbnb got us all "Summercards," which many of the lodging places and hosts provide for their guests. These cards get you into many things in the region for free or with a discount! Our visit to the beach was free and our glacier-gondola ride would be free!
Rowan wants to be sure I tell you all about the, in the kids' opinion, "great" candy they were given massive handfuls (well, 9 candies each) of at the top of the gondola in the glacier-top restaurant. I can tell you, it was actually gross, which is why I surmise the host gave it out in such quantities with such a smile on his face. It tasted like a Halls cough-drop combined with a pineapple Lifesaver. Like, you think it might be sweet and good, but that gnarly, medicinal Halls taste just slaps you in the face. I love candy, but this "candy" was so gross I spit it out. Anyway, the kids ate all of theirs.
More tomorrow!
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