Tee sticks

The tables in the dining car of the Zurich-Lausanne train had lemony-beige starched table cloths. RB2 and I ordered our Fruhstück of brotchen and croissants. The menu said tee sticks. I selected the Ceylon. “What is it?” Rb2 asked.

I didn’t know, but the dark haired waiter brought my cup. The tee stick was in silver with holes, about four inches long and ¼ of an inch wide. It looked like a slick skyscraper but it made a great cup of tea as the Swiss villages with their chalets, a castle or two, lakes, mountains and a lightly falling snow brought us back into the French-speaking part of the country.

Although we were only away a night all the little details including changing languages in this tiny three-language country, made it seem as if I had been on a holiday.