In the Beginning...

My journey to Switzerland really started at four o’clock in the morning on February 14th. I couldn’t sleep, I was just too anxious. The night before, my brothers and I had one last “hoorah” before I left; we had stayed up late into the night playing every video game in Bridger’s arsenal, and listening to Harry Potter books on tape (a kid tradition in the Bush family). The idea was that, on the day of the trip, I would be tired…very tired, so tired in fact, that the instant I got on the flight to Zurich from Atlanta, I would fall fast asleep for all 9 hours, and arrive fresh and ready for action. Unfortunately, that isn’t exactly what happened!


So there it was, four in the morning, and I was walking around the house thinking about what last minute tasks I needed to accomplish before the big adventure. I made a point to go through every room and say my goodbyes. Recently before, my beloved cat Patagonia had passed away, so I made sure to take a few last looks at his special spots. As everyone started waking up I knew that this was really happening. No longer was it a dream, or a fog, but actual real life.


At around six o’clock we left for the Salt Lake Airport in a huge snow storm. The TV news shows were screaming about the “worst snow storm in a decade”, “most snow we have had all year”, etc. My Mom was glued to the news to make sure the airport wasn’t shut down; luckily, everything was still a “go”. As we (and when I say we, I mean WE, the whole family - Mom, Dad, and brothers included) headed down to the airport, I hugged Bridger (who was probably feeling as emotional as I was) all the way down. When we arrived at the check-in stand, the line went fast, so fast that it was no delay at all…the kind of thing that only happens when you want a long time to say goodbye. The nice flight lady checked me in, and I was ready to go.


The saddest and hardest moment of the whole trip for me was waving goodbye to my family as I went through security. I remember thinking, “Holy cow… can I really do this?!” as I removed my shoes and sorted out my bottles of liquids. Then I was through, and my family was gone. I was on my own, and it was my turn to take charge of my own destiny. It was a scary moment, but also an exciting one.


I found the gate with ease, and grabbed a bagel and cream cheese, along with a Dr. Pepper to take on the flight. When they finally called for zone 8 I boarded, and found my seat, which was really close to the front by the window. Now remember, I am traveling all alone, so on every flight I can expect to have a “seat mate” who occupies the place next to mine. The lucky winner this time was a boy of only about 15 years, who turned beet red when he saw that I was to be the one sitting next to him. He was apparently flying to Germany with his father and brother for a “manly vacation”. His father and brother kept looking back and laughing, while the boy himself could barely utter three words because of his embarrassment. When I asked him if he liked flying, he stuttered out “ooooh, yessss, I mean, nooo, I mean, yessss… I mean, vacations!” Although we had sat through about an hour of silence while the plane was getting “de-iced” on the runway, I eventually got him comfortable enough to talk, and by the end he and I were laughing about how German words sound like swear words.


As the city of Atlanta could be seen through the plane windows, the boy’s father asked if I knew how to get to the international gate in Atlanta. Of course I had no clue, so it was a blessing to have him relay his knowledge to me. If you have ever been to the Atlanta airport you know that it is HUGE. There are trams that take you from place to place, and it is kind of confusion if you don’t know what you are doing. Thank goodness for the man’s help; I found just where I needed to go. But of course, as always happens when you are worried about getting to the right terminal, the gate had been switched to the opposite side of the airport! Now a little worried, I hopped onto another tram and headed for the opposite side. It was not a problem though, and I made it with a lot of time to spare.


I sat down at the terminal marked “Zurich” and knew I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. There were many people around me who were speaking in a new language, which I now know to be Swiss German! If you have not had the opportunity to hear it, it sounds similar to High German, only with more iiiccchhhs, and guttural sounds that are almost impossible to form without having a large glass of water first! I decided that for my last “American Meal” I would have an all-American food, the hot dog. This was a mistake; please learn from my misfortune: Never eat a hot dog at an airport. That is all I will say on that horrible debacle.


Soon after the food incident, it was time to board the flight. With a heavy heart, a single tear, and my passport I headed on toward my new European home. As the flight began to fill, I waited anxiously for my “seat mate”. This flight was going to be a long one, so I was just praying it would be someone good. As people entered, I became more and more anxious about who would sit with me. The people in the seats in front joked “Wouldn’t it be fantastic if you had both seats to yourself? That would never happen on an international flight though…”. Well, my friends, all I can say is that luck (and God) were on my side that day, because I didn’t have ANYONE in the seat next to mine.


The flight was a long one, 9 hours in total, but fortunately a nice boy from Switzerland named Daniel sat near by and he helped me pass the time. After sitting through 2 boring movies, 3 airplane meals, millions of attempts at sleeping, and drills on German words from my new Swiss friend, the sun started to come up over the earth, and magnificent Europe was lit up! I was there: All the way across the world. As the plane started to land in the Zurich airport, my nerves really started to get to me. It was the strangest feeling, being so tired, and so scared, and so excited all at the same time.


When we landed, I exited the plane with awe, only to find a terminal full of English words! I thought for a moment “Maybe I have not landed in Switzerland after all!” But then, an announcement came on over the loud speaker “Ich….grussi….danke”, this was not America any more. The boy, Daniel, with whom I had chatted on the plane, had his whole family waiting for him at the terminal, and it turns out his dad was a police officer in the Zurich airport! Daniel introduced me, and his dad said “There is no need for you to wait in Customs” and they took me through a secret back door that lead straight to the luggage carousel! I had successfully and completely avoided customs! My first time in Europe and already I was breaking the rules!


Daniel’s family helped me grab my bags and secure them to a nice cart (which I was indeed grateful for; you see, I had all my things to last me for 6 months in two bags! Needless to say they were huge, and heavy, and awkward. The cart was a life saver.). After a fond farewell, explanation of where the train station was located, and exchange of “handys” (cell phone numbers), I was off on the next leg of the voyage.


Everything was going smoothly, I found the area marked Banhof easily, and then I met my foe: The escalator. Now, in Switzerland I have discovered there are escalators everywhere. Well, on the display picture it showed a person traveling down an escalator with a cart, and not yet wanting to part from the thing, I decided to risk it. I am not sure if it was the lack of sleep, the weight, or the unfamiliarity of it all, but I found the process very difficult! I was trying to balance my bags, while trying to keep the cart steady, and trying to maneuver down the escalator. When I finally reached the bottom I got to an area full of machines. There were no ticket people (which was unfortunate considering I practiced and practiced how to say fahekarte which is “ticket to ride”), only machines…with directions all in German. My heart about sank - I had no idea what to do. I checked the schedules, to try and see what train would take me to Olten, but none of them made any sense. I was just starting to think “well… I had a good run, time to go home,” when a nice lady behind me said “Help you I will”. I had never been so glad to hear those words in my whole life. I told her where I needed to go, and she entered all the information (in German of course… although I did notice an English button she could have hit along the way) and she said “Go to gate 4.” I thanked her in as much German as I knew how, and headed off toward glies 4.


Of course to get down to the main level of trains there was yet another escalator. Having successfully handled the first one, I figured this one would be a piece of cake. Boy, was I wrong! As I got on, one of my bags dislodged and plummeted all the way down the length of the escalator. People at the bottom dodged out of the way, as I watched helplessly from the top, trying desperately to think of the word for “sorry” in German! Luckily it did not hit anyone, and when I reached the bottom, a friendly American gentleman helped me organize the rest of my things. It was fortunate that I ran into him, because he also helped me figure out what I needed to do to get on the train, and how I would know when to get off. Because Olten was listed third in the line on places this train was headed, it was going to be the third stop. Pretty self-explanatory now that I think back on it, but at the time this knowledge absolutely blew my mind! At this point Jet Lag had officially reared its ugly head, and everything was beginning to become fuzzy.


I found a seat in one of the cars, and placed my luggage in the space surrounding me. I finally had a free moment to call home and let my parents know I was alive, and to really ponder just where I was. As the train rushed by I marveled at the new world around me. Signs whizzed by, and every now and again I would recognize a brand, or a logo, and feel a tiny ping of comfort. After only 30 minutes on a very pleasant ride the speaker announced that the next stop would be Olten. I started to get jitters; I was actually going to arrive in the town I had read so much about, to start the life I had been anticipating for so long. As I exited the train, a nice Swiss girl, around my age, helped me remove my bags and said in very good English “You will love Switzerland, it will feel like home soon.” As I wheeled my luggage down, I kept my eyes open for my host family who was going to pick me up, although I had no idea where in the huge train station we were supposed to meet. All the signs were in German, all the people were Swiss, all the money was in Francs, all the people rode bikes, and I had no clue what I was doing. I found a bench and sat. And sat. And sat. An hour went by, and my host family was nowhere to be seen. I decided I would try calling them, so I dialed the number they had given me, only to get a strange message in German that I could not understand. I was starting to get a little worried. The mix of jet lag and confusion is not a good one. I called home (mind you it was 2 in the morning Utah time) and my parents gave me a few words of advice, and reconfirmed the telephone number I was supposed to dial. A few more tries with the phone with no success, and I decided maybe I would take a taxi. As I searched for the area with the cars, I found a spot that looked like just the kind of docking area where the Walthers (my host family) would want to pick me up. I sat down and waited. Still no one came. But then, like a lightning bolt from the sky, I had an epiphany: I had 2 alternative numbers for the Walthers saved on my computer! Quickly I pulled out my laptop and located the other numbers. On the other line I heard the sweet sound of Mr. Walther’s voice. The only problem was that he did not speak English, and I did not speak German! After a long time of mixed French, English, and German I finally got through that I was at the Olten Train Station waiting to be picked up.


After the call was over, Mr. Walther was there in 5 minutes. I was so happy to see him, I just about burst into tears. It was hard not being able to communicate how overjoyed and relieved I was to get in his car, and have him take control for a little while. Although I did not understand a single word he said, it gave me comfort to know that I was finally on my way “home”.


When we arrived at the house, I was taken aback by how tall it was: about 3 stories, straight up, and quite skinny. This is how a lot of houses are in Switzerland, very thin, but very tall. We walked inside, and up 6 flights of stairs all the way to the top floor where Mr. Walther lead me to my beautiful yellow room. Hastily he showed me around, although I was so tired I could not even process what I was seeing. At the end he gave me a key, and pointed to the bed and said the only word I could understand from him: Sleep.


My nerves were so wound up that I couldn’t do anything but sit on my bed. I, Ashley Bush, not yet 20 years old, was a world away from home. At this moment, and really for the first time ever, my eyes were opened to the realization that there was more to the planet than America. I had to keep telling myself “You are ok, you are ok, you are ok.” I couldn’t help but shake all over. Then, I fell asleep.


When I opened my eyes a couple of hours later, I felt better, much better. Things were less foggy, and instead of being a foreign place things began to feel comfortable. I looked around the apartment, and found many things similar to back home. I went into the kitchen and saw that there was a fridge, a sink, and cabinets. Everything was the same, yet with a new twist. Things became less scary and more exciting the more I looked around. After a little while Frau Walther (Susi) came upstairs sporting a sandwich and (I just about cried) a Coca-Cola. I thanked her, as she kissed either side of my cheeks three times (the Swiss greeting).


A little time later Mr. Walther came upstairs to set up the TV. Although he spoke no English, I felt at home with him. He whistled a happy tune, and spoke to me in German, but in such a way that I felt I could understand what he was saying. Then he came into my room and helped me find a converter plug to power my computer. All this generosity without words: I learned that the human element is stronger than any verbal communication.


Later that day my roommate, Mirjam, came home and to my delight she spoke English very well! Apparently in Europe it is a requirement to learn English (which is lucky for me) so almost everyone under the age of 30 speaks English almost as well as Americans do. After a short introduction Mirjam helped me find the grocery store, Migros, and buy my breakfast for the next day. Feeling rather adventuresome, and oh so very European, I decided that for breakfast I would get a baguette, some meat (that I still hope was chicken), and some cheese.


As we headed through the city of Olten, and back to my room at the Walther’s, I felt at home. Although everything was different, and although I as a million miles away out of my comfort zone, I knew I was going to be ok. I knew that my Heavenly Father was watching out for me through my whole trip, and looking back on this story now I can see his hand in all the luck I had.


As I crawled into bed for the second time that day, I felt calm. I was in Switzerland, about ready to experience something so new and exciting, it was refreshing. I was embarking on an adventure that will surely change the way I think and feel and view the world forever.


Which brings me back to the title of my blog, a quote from Hans Christian Anderson and a kind of motto for my life: “Life itself is a most wonderful fairy tale.”