Doing SFA in a no-horse town

To describe Rotschuo as a one-horse town would be a case of generous overstatement. There are no horses to speak of in this tiny village in central Switzerland. So there's really not a great deal to report.

Today I walked for an hour to the town and stopped on this bench to write some postcards.


Then I walked a little further, puchased seven stamps and sent my postcards on their merry way back to Australia.

I came back to the chalet, swam in the lake, then destroyed a few hours napping in this hammock.


Really, for the past few days I have been doing sweeeeeeeeet Fanny Adams. This is good and necessary, as a) I've been really tired after the sensory overload of Berlin, and b) I travel to Paris tomorrow to meet a gaggle of six girlfriends.

The last time I got to go on holiday with a couple of these girlfriends (two of the finest women to ever draw breath) we were in second year uni, and spent a glorious week on Rottnest Island behaving like megabogues by hijacking the jukebox at the Quokka Arms every night and screaming to Chisel. (You know who you are.) Eight or so years older, but perhaps not entirely wiser, I can't wait to wander around Paris with these stellar broads. Coordinating this transcontinental get-together has warranted a group email stretching back since February and consisting of 187 messages at last count.

So it's guten tag/bonjour/arriverci, baby goats. Viva la belle France!


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