Wednesday October 30, 2013

I’m in Evolene tonight.

Have been tumbling versions of that line around in my head all day, trying not to giggle like a grade school boy at the double entendre.  Failed.

Truth is I’m in Evolene, Switzerland, the town after which Evolene, my new reporter was named.  Beautiful place set about 20 kilometers up the Herens Valley from Sion.    This is the end of our hectic road trip which started in Budapest, ran through Vienna, and wended its way through Austria and Northern Italy before landing here.  Tomorrow morning, early, it’s up before dawn to begin the journey home.  The whole trip will begin with dropping the car off at the Sion rail station, taking Swiss Tail to the Geneva airport, then a connecting flight through Amsterdam, and ending up with the ferry ride home.  Whole thing should take about a day and half to complete and about a week to get over.

Been an amazing three weeks, and the team at home has done an outstanding job of keeping the ship upright and steaming ahead.  Email reports tell me that Evolene has put out several editions of The Shoreline that have people talking and advertisers lining up.  If she keeps that up, I’ll be able to do a lot of sailing next summer.  Butkus is fine, of course.  He has this thing where he uses my absence to get fed two or three times as much as he would normally.  All in all, seems like I’m missing them more than their missing me.

Have learned some things while here, and hope to set them down in these posts over the next little while. 

For example, I learned how incredibly fortunate I’ve been.  Despite my whining about sometimes feeling trapped by my life and business in Midden Harbour, I’m well aware of my blessings.  Was particularly struck by the contrast between the course of my life and that of a Hungarian my age. 

On this date in 1956, a boy my age would have been surrounded by hope and growing enthusiasm.  His parents and neighbours were living a revolutionary dream, and the Hungarian people believed that freedom and self-determination were within their grasp.  Just five days later, that optimism was crushed beneath the treads of Soviet tanks as the Kremlin deposed Hungary’s democratically elected government, and imposed martial law. 

That boy, instead of growing up in a country where he was free to choose his government and his life course, grew up in a Communist dystopia, steeped in fear and stripped of hope.   The disparities between his life and mine are glaring and tragic, and it’s important to me that I never lose sight of just how fortunate I’ve been to have never had to go to war to promote and idea, never had to be silent out of fear of reprisal, and never had to compromise what I believe in.

Standing in Hero’s Square, looking up at monuments to those who sacrificed their lives to create a future for others, I was in awe.  All I’ve had to do is find a job and pay my bills.