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| Basel Town Centre (Wikipedia) |
Shortly after my detour to Pelouses Sonores 2019, I collect mum from Étoile Bourse coach station. It’s a bright and warm Sunday evening. Mum seems to take good weather wherever she goes (cue the Crowded House tune). Her presence will prove a boon in more ways than one. Her middle name means 'favour' in Ewe. By name and by nature.
The visit starts in earnest the next day with an afternoon trip to Basel. The whole world and their [insert close relative] has been raving to me about the Swiss city. It’s on my doorstep but up until that point, I’ve never ventured past the airport. I find cheaper-than-chips coach tickets that’ll give us a few intense hours in the town before having to return to Strasbourg. I’ve been warned of prohibitive costs so, on the advice of a good acquaintance, we take a picnic. In the end, although we do see some ludicrous prices, it’s not as bad as forewarned. The packed-lunch turns out to be a good call nonetheless.
I have been uncharacteristically lax and not done much Basel-related research. The night before I read a few day trip accounts. I don't use a smartphone and mum isn't in the habit of checking her GPS. I’m hoping to pick up a map from the tourist office on arrival. If we can find it.
I ask the assistant coach-driver how to get to the town centre. He shrugs.
No idea, sorry.
I try to make an educated guess. I spot a church steeple in the near-distance to my left. There appears to be more life in that direction too. We end up in the garden of the church with barely a soul around. It’s thanks to an English-speaking passer-by that we learn we’ve walked in the wrong direction. The coach stop looks deceptively isolated, when it’s just the other side of the train station.
By the time we recover our bearings, we’ve already lost some important site-seeing time. (In our haste to make up for it, we walk past the tourist information point; only to realise on our way back to the bus station to board the return coach.)
We settle down for some grub in the shade on an inviting green. On est bien, là. Basel is also in the throes of a heatwave; the same temperatures in the high 30s as Strasbourg but less oppressive. (Not that I wish to complain about having more sun.) The hours are flying past, chipping away at more of our site-seeing time. I’m enjoying the respite but torn by the desire to see more of this chic city.
It’s certainly more cosmopolitan than I anticipate. I hear the best way to discover Basel is to wander aimlessly. That suits me. Unfortunately, time is not on our side. Mum starts to get antsy over the idea of missing our coach. Despite my protests to the contrary, she’s convinced the bus might leave from a different spot from where we arrived. We bicker a little on the way. I want to see the quirky red town hall I’ve heard about. This meandering lark isn’t yielding the fortuitous fruit I’m used to. I admire some of the pastel coloured buildings and expanses of green but it’s time-sensitive. In the end, we make the coach; even if it feels like we haven't seen much of Basel. It goes on an ever-growing list of future activities for mum’s next visit, whenever that might be.
On arriving home, to my distress I discover that I’ve lost my gratitude journal. I’m more distraught by it than the occasion warrants. The evening is a write-off from there. Mum insists on me making dinner despite the picnic. I am not in the mood. She's lukewarm about the results, much to my consternation.
I don’t have any more outings planned until the end of the week. Apart from my usual Monday off and a half-day’s leave that Friday, it’s a normal working week. Fear not reader. Mum doesn’t feel abandoned. She welcomes the chance to rest. Between a stressful, public-facing job, chores and other commitments, she would not have an opportunity to lounge in the UK. I leave her with a transport pass and the spare key so she’s sorted if she wants to pop out. She spends much of the time however, catching up on sleep.
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