ABSTRACT
By the following morning, much of the pristine white snow that coincided with my arrival in Bern is sliding from tree limbs and steep roofs, and the city's streets are awash with slush and muck, haphazardly kicked up by passing buses and trucks to speckle the jacket of the unsuspecting traveler. I am not unhappy to be quitting the muddy gutters of Switzerland and to be flying home to Washington.
