I am making chocolate chip cookies from scratch–improvised, of course, because Mrs.Field’s does not live in the Confederation Helvetique but, luckily, Nestlé Dessert 70% dark does–because it is my last morning in Switzerland and given my extraordinary time here, it only seems fitting to leave on a high note of chocolate chip cookie scented air wafting high through the pillars of this Muller farmhouse.
Accompanied, of course, by an early morning showdown of phantasmic proportion, eerily beautiful as the fog encases the woods, the fields, the house, the blue morning light, electric and pastel, turning shades of yellow grey and purple pink, a scene straight out of Hollywood with Nicole Kidman running from her Irish estate to find Tom Cruise in the land of opportunity.
And, churn, churn, churn, batch number two goes in to crisp as I pack my belongings, infusing them with memories of Swiss sugarplums and ferries, a laundry list of last minute to dos made all the sweeter.
I tuck a bag of cookies into my cousin Morgane’s bags, for she and her boy are off for a weeklong retreat to Vallorcine for post-exam decompression, and we bid bye bye à la Suisse, meaning with one-two-three cheek smooches.
Next up, it’s bye bye to Roland, then to Alix and Hermès, for Nathalie is kind enough to brave afternoon traffic to drop me off at the train station for my 17:00 Thalys to Paris en route to horseback riding. It’s a bit of a cluster, but we make it in time to down a cappuccino and to exchange the Swiss take on the Italian farewell of ciao, a rapid and warm, cho cho.
À toute, la Suisse–or so, I hope.
Merci pour tout.