Once there at the carrosserie, she stayed with me as the Kunze family speaks no English, French or Italian. She insisted on staying to make certain and facilitate the receipts given to release my auto. She hovered on the scene for 20 minutes – concierge to the end. If there were awards for human kindness, patience – these awards are given out the same – with deeds and action and reverence.
She turned what could have been a complete disaster for me into a salvageable day. After leaving Kunz Carrosserie I made a firm decision to save the day, and discarded the notion of Solothurn’s busy Sunday of walkers and loudspeakers, and traveled direct to Oberdorf and up the Weissenstein, up the antique ski lifts, and ratchet my spirits up the cables. It was Sunday. I parked at the Oberdorf, and in defiance did not purchase my ticket to park.
The mittlewagon was waiting for me dutifully when I returned at 4:00 p.m.
The Weissenstein cleared my head fine and good. For 18 years I never took the time to venture here as something mysterious in this 11-citadel village kept me.
Leaving Oberdorf four hours later, there was a soon-to-be-married couple who were negotiating a grand ballroom at the Weissenstein for their wedding. Missing the last bus on Sunday, they were hitchhiking back to Solothurn from Oberdorf.
In the spirit of Marie-Therese, I stopped the auto, cleared the back seats and gave the fiancées a fun ride for Solothurn.
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