The lakeshore: a goodbye song

I write these lines strolling along the shores of the Lake of Lucerne which has brought me unending joy. Evenings walking by the placid lakeshore, watching the gentle soaring of the seagulls, enjoying the evening perfume of the countless flowers that bloom during various times of the year, listening to the horn of the steamships that lazily criss-cross the horizon, their gigantic flags fluttering behind as if demonstrating the strength of their craft, the power of the nation; the boss always, the wind.

I walk along the shore of this lake that has given me enormous comfort and solace, resting under the shade of the mountain giants, the mountains that I beheld early in the morning while shaving, at night slumbering to sleep. Every cardinal point of this lake is familiar to me.

I cannot quite fathom the fact, that it has already been 40 years since I first happened upon the shores of its iridescent waters, the so-called ”Lake of the 4 Regions”, photographed myself next to my parents, as they took the family on a sojourn to Europe, wondering what it would like to live on the shores of such a majestic landscape.

Then again, as destiny would have it, it has also been almost 10 years since I moved to this Helvetic republic, blessed with deep valleys, gargantuan peaks that adorn its geography. There is no limit to its topographic complexity. Switzerland’s surface has inmesurable ruggedness, as if demonstrating that small is no topological restrain, that the tiny geography can also encompass eternal snow, reaching heights, as if proudly but quietly suggesting to the admiring world, that the human spirit shines brightest when its resilience is somehow maximally challenged. The Swiss mountain people have surely not always had it easy.

The craggy roughness of the landscape has been stamped upon my eyes after years of living here. It has been almost 10 years since, following the dreams of my then wife, I moved to this country, so blessed with natural beauty.

The move from the United States to Switzerland 10 years ago was alas a harbinger of foreignness to me, and entry into the unknown, a nightmare of sorts. What seemed familiar at first, alas turned out to be a path of full of thorns.

Ten years ago, when my wife pursuaded me to move to Switzerland, I was not sure I wanted to move to this country. I knew next to nothing about what it was like to work here as a physician in an entirely new system. I was to start, 10 years ago almost, on a new, entirely different way of life.

The Swiss landscape and its endless tourism possibilities had been all too familiar to me from the many Summer vacations spent near Lucerne with my children. To me Switzerland had ancestrally been a superb vacation land, not quite the country where I would consider submerging myself thoroughtly as a breadwinning, hard-working, integrated physician. Ten years ago, as we, a family, embarked on this transatlantic move, it seemed then like we had chosen a high-risk, high-stakes, some would say crazy adventure. Professional life in Switzerland presented challenges that seemed like extreme hurdles to me, not the least of which was the two-tier language system which marks the norm of the daily routine, nor the starkly different approaches to health care. Learning not one, but two new languages in mid-life - German and its Swiss German cousin dialect - is not for the faint of heart. Dominating these languages to reach a high-enough level to be able to practice medicine, give lectures, and understand complex patients in their regional dialects, and deal with hospital administration at a high level, is a matter left only, I should venture to say, to those who have a slight masochistic nature, at the very least. Needless to say, learning a new language in mid-life, be it German or any other, is a good cognitive stress-test of the highest level, to be sure.

My then wife wanted to move to Switzerland at all cost, and I followed her dream, hoping to make her happy.

Sadly, the move and the mentioned hurdles created stresses which I could no longer hide; difficulties and frustration forced my head down, a dark mood settled within me and nearly paralyzed me. Switzerland's highly regimented medical system, which proudly models itself after the germanic traditions of medical education and practice, sports a steep hierarchy in its ranks. Every movement is codified, every algorhythm is written and adhered to, every rank is established and accepted. Both vertical and horizontal hierachies are stiff and executed at maximum efficiency to enable a very lean system, which maximizes time efficiency using the least possible human resources. The system is thus more profitable. Institutions rarely write red in Switzerland. Every position in the hospital is strictly defined, its job-descriptions carefully laid out and followed, and its lateral and vertical hierarchical relationships respected - as well as inherently feared - by all. Everything has its place, every move has its choreography. Every job type has its uniform. Employees wear an identification badge with their position clearly marked in bold. It is the way it has been and I wasn’t going to change anything with my friendly American ways.

The move to Switzerland signified a great sacrifice to me, and it ultimately cost me my marriage. My then wife, mother of the children I adore, could not understand why I could not help my kindergarten-aged child with his homework. I just didn't speak the language well enough. She demonstrated maximal impatience and became indurate, bitter at the slowness of the pace of my integration. Drifting away brough a cascade of deep sadnesses, which has alas left an indeleble mark in my spirit, forever reminding me that with some individuals, no good deed goes unpunished. Lessons learned.

After a period of shock, denial, then mourning, I became accepting of my fate, though found myself a man alone in a new country I succeeded in learning the new language, the language of the mountains, of the farmers and the people of pachydermic skin, who have lived in the geographical heights for centuries.

But today, many years after the crisis, I look back and feel like a sort of Phoenix, having risen from the ash of time.

But what is it that I feel today, the day I say farewell to the land that brought me deep sadness and subsequently tremendous joy?

In this country one could feel the thick accent of the mountain man, proud of its style, immensely satisfied with the complexity of the multitudinous dialects. We, the transients, are tolerated with an occasional smile. The Swiss people are often derided as being cold, rich, calculating, unfriendly. This they are. However, as I have learned in the last decade, they are also deep, thinking, modest, intelligent, and occasionally tolerant with us, the expatriors who essentially rent space and time in the Confederation. As friends they are deeply loyal. And they love their country to a fault, though they constantly critizise anything that is not perfect and complain about everything, especially the weather.

Here I am, walking along the shores of the lake that I have grown to love, the lake whose waters healed me. I am watching the thick gray clouds flying overhead, low over the lake, above its moving waters, foreboding and yet also gentle, remembering the times that I have touched these waters, drank its fluid blue, the laughs, the long afternoons, the sunny days swimming with my sons along its shores. The lake has always been inviting to me, it has never disappointed. Its pleasant nature represents the elixir of countless memories to me, of mixed emotions, of bittersweet moments, of occasional ecstasy.

I am reminded today, as I bid this waterfront farewell, of the time I moved to Lucerne, after my divorce, downtrodden, discouraged, unable to appreciate the beauty before my eyes. And then, gently, slowly, the mellifluous waters, the mountain peaks ever present, the flying clouds, beckoned my more positive sides, and I grew, I surmounted, allowing joy to prevail.

Almost 10 years ago I came to this country, and I leave it today with so many broad emotions. But just as there is a time to embrace and greet, there is a time to take leave. That time has come. To depart. My children no longer wear their childhood shoes. The toys which once marked our daily routines have been replaced by significant-others, by books, trips to universities and higher training. They have set their own paths. I feel that I must continue on mine, and return to a road whose direction I had set for myself many years ago, and which is the correct path to follow at this juncture. I return to my ancestral academic cradle, knowing that I now have two homes, perhaps even three. I thus bid farewell, a changed man, more gentle of spirit, less exasperated by failure, accepting of fate yet not unambitious, a man with many homes, many ports from which to sail, with a new bag of tricks, new languages learned, in which to think and ruminate, changed, yet solid, encouraged, accompanied, happier, more wholesome.

I thank destiny for having brought this lake to my life, the lake that has taught me to love again, to accept again, to keep the head up and at the same time gracefully accommodate the destiny that has been traced.

Farewell, beautiful Lake of Lucerne.