It started with a glove...

"Every second of every day you're faced with a decision that can change your life” (from the movie 'Run Lola run')

It was early December. The whole country was in chaos. It had been snowing for days and it was extremely cold. Many people intended to move across the country that Saturday. It was the weekend of Sinterklaas, while for others this weekend was important because of an important football (soccer) match in Amsterdam.

I was only a few days in Amsterdam. I wanted to go to Oss, I had not seen my family in quite a long time. Warmly dressed with shawl, snow boots and gloves I walked to the tram stop through snow covered streets that looked like a black-and-white photographs. While waiting at the deserted tram stop some colour appeared on the bridge. Two ‘zwarte pieten’ presented a stunning visual effect which I wanted to document. I took my camera out of the bag and removed one glove to take a photo.

A hunched middle aged man appeared out of no-where.
"Are you looking for a black glove?" he asked.
I was not aware that I was missing a glove, but, indeed, I only had the one glove that was on my hand. I must have dropped the other. But there was no glove on the ground!
“Did you see the glove?" I asked the man. "Where is it?”
The man started to walk in circles on the sidewalk next to the tram stop, looking at the ground. I asked him again. He did not answer... It was so silly, how would you not see a black glove in the white snow?

A tram turned up and the man hurriedly jumped on the tram. I was puzzled and could not make sense of the situation. Had he taken the glove? What would he do with ONE glove? Completely confused I started to walk in the direction from where I had come, all the way back home. And again back to the tram stop. Of course no glove to be found... but it was so bizarre that I kept looking.

It must have been at least half an hour later when I finally boarded a tram..... But five minutes later the tram stopped in the middle of the road. People remained patiently on board – at least it was warm inside - until some time later it was announced that people should leave the tram.... Outside there was a long row of trams, like the wagons of a train, motionless stuck in the snow.....

I arrived by foot at the train station where in the previous two hours no train had been able to move in the direction that I wanted to go. The platforms were crowded, people with bags full of presents in coloured wrapping paper. I called my sister Pia saying I was delayed. She said I should not come if it is such a hassle, but I replied I would find a way to get to Oss, no matter what. I boarded a train that according to the signboard would go somehow in the right direction though it would involve more changes than needed. Soon it became clear this train would not leave the platform. I descended, walked to another platform where, lucky me, another train actually was about to leave after it had been standing there for almost two hours, this time in - for me - exactly the right direction!

So I got reasonably fast to Oss after all, during the last section of the train journey joined by a group of frustrated football fans who never made it to their match in Amsterdam and who now were returning home. Pia waited at the train station in Oss and we drove to my mother and Henk’s place. I told the story of the glove and asked Pia to join me to the nearest department store to buy a new pair. She protested: I had only just arrived! But it was almost closing time; the next day the shops would not be open and it was too cold to be without.

Together we went. It took me some time to make my choice between a red and a black pair, and as thanks for her patience I bought Pia also a pair. The line of people at the cashier was long. Finally we headed to the swinging glass doors to leave the store. Pia held the door open for two men who were behind us with bags full of toys.

“Hey we should have done that instead of you!” the younger of the two said.
They older chipped in “She is worth it.”
Whereupon Pia looked at the young man and responded “That is mutual!” She added “I’d better be candid about it because it is not written on my forehead that I am available.”
“Is he available?” Pia addressed the older man who evidently was the father of the young man.
“Actually, yes, since recently,” the father replied.
“We should have a drink together, one day,” said the young man to Pia.
“Good idea, let’s swap phone numbers before we forget”, said Pia while taking out her cell phone. And that was how it all started.....

It is really a little miracle. Pia, divorced since 17 years, had not been lucky in love in all those years. Now six weeks after they met, the two have been together almost daily. They are madly in love. And every time when they pass the swinging doors of the department store they kiss, because for them that's how it started.

To come back to Lola’s theme above: Did it happen because of the clumsy swinging doors? Or was it because of the hunched guy who probably nicked my glove? Was it my persistence to find the glove? Or to buy a new pair on that same day? Or was it my decision to take a photo of the 'zwarte pieten' in the snow; to not be put off by the public transport chaos; or the queue before the cashier, or any of the other things?

From my point of view it all started with the mysterious disappearance of a cherished black suede glove. If you believe - like I do - that everything is for a reason, you know that it is sometimes hard to see that reason. Not in this case. The very reason for the loss of my glove is now crystal clear to me. Though admittedly, without any of the other events this love story would not have happened...

PS. The next day I returned to Amsterdam. The snow had melted. I couldn’t help going back to the tram stop to look again for the glove. I found at least five wet and dirty gloves in the messy muddy snow within a 25 meter radius of where mine had disappeared. Needless to say, my glove was of course not among them ....

Saving one life at a time

Yesterday I was at a one-day meeting in Vienna. The meeting organizors provided a light lunch in the hall of the majestic building. Andrea*, a colleague, stood next to me, close to the table with finger food, sampling among the choice of mini meat skewers, wiener schnitzels, pizza rolls and so on.

I turned to her to say something and to my horror there she was clutching her throat, not able to bring out one sound but looking at me with big scared eyes trying to indicate she is choking. I did not wait a second. I grabbed her around the waist and bend her over slapping her hard on the back between the shoulder blades. She was like a rag doll hanging forward, not a sound.... It seemed endless. There were other people around us but I lost every notion of the surroundings. I just focussed on helping Andrea and went on and on.

Suddenly a piece of chewed meat dislodged from her throat and fell on the floor. But her tiny body remained floppy and she still did not utter a sound. So with even more force I alternated pushing up her diaphragm and slapping her on the back, trying to remember my first aid course, but knowing at the same time that every second counted and that I should not stop.

A few seconds later a bigger shred of meat dropped out of her mouth and, yes, thank god, she started breathing again.

Andrea stammered that she knew what was happening as soon as it occurred. She thanked me.

"Lucky I was next to you," I said, trying to take some weight off the situation.

"Andrea, I had never thought I would get an opportunity to beat you up!" I added jokingly.

A woman showed up with a mop to clean the floor and the situation turned back to normal.

I suddenly realized that from now on my relation to Andrea would never be the same. I had saved her life!

Later that day, after the meeting, I had a flight back to Switzerland.

It was almost midnight when I took the train from Geneva airport to the city centre. The Cornavin train station is the most dangerous place of Geneva, especially at night, and as usual several obscure figures, possibly robbers and drug dealers were lingering in dark corners.

The travellers who descended from the train rushed to the station exit and nobody paid attention to the ordinary looking man who was sitting against the wall in the hall, frantically trying with a paper tissue to wipe off the blood that kept oozing out of a wound on his forehead. A scooter was lying on the floor next to him. I could not help myself but needed to go over to him to find out if he needed help, while continuously scrutinizing the area behind and around me to make sure that this was not a trick and that there were no thugs closing in. Fortunately the dark figures in the shadowy corners did not move.

"Do you need help? Is there anything I can do for you?" I repeated my question to the bleeding man. "Should I call anyone?"

"No, thank you. You are so kind," he replied in a soft voice. He managed a weak smile.

I was not convinced he was ok, but I did not want to hang around any longer in that station hall and thus accepted his answer for what it was. I had already saved one life today, and maybe I saved my own by quickly making my way to exit of the station, which now felt unnervingly creepy with all the travellers gone....

*Name changed for privacy reasons

Happy Year of the Rabbit 2011 !!