The Toblerone Factory

The factory that produces 'Toblerone' is in Bern, Switzerland. In Grade Five we rode the Eurorail train from south western Germany to ski in Switzerland as a school trip for like ten days. (I KNOW! - What the hell kind of childhood dream world did I grow up in?)

I remember sleeping in the train cars and the two opposing bench seats connected to make one bed that filled the room from window to door which was a two part half door. They actually put two boys and two girls together because the four of us were the last ones remaining after they made all boys and all girls train cars. It was more appropriate than having us share a cabin with teachers or chaperons.

At first I was mad that we had girls in our 'clubhouse'. All the other boys didn't have to share. But it became cool to be 'stuck' with them.

It's funny how fast your attitude changes when you wake up to the smell and feel of a girl's long brown hair in your face because it was cold on the train and you woke up huddled together under two blankets like four wolf cubs from the same litter.

They served us peppermint tea and I remember that morning every time I have tea of that flavor. I passed the 'little brown headed girl' a cup before I had mine and she smiled at me with those eyes and that uncombed mess of hair and it just about melted me. You guys know what I am talking about.

(I will tell the ski story (in the shadow of the Matterhorn no less) another day but it all hinges on the words of my eurotrash ski instructor, with his broken English, and the humiliation my lack of skill brought to his Aryan reputation that he pushed me off the ski lift prematurely once and then skied up to me while tauting "You fall, boy, you FALL".)

At the end of the week we went to the Toblerone factory to see how they made the chocolate and learn the 'secret' on the package's label. (there is a bear hidden in the mountain for the city, Bern, which means bear - see, you learned something today)

They dressed you up in the booties and the hard hats and the lab coats. I wonder if others like me thought about just slipping away from the tour and blending in with the workforce. Hell we were dressed just like them already.

At the end of the tour they gave you this plastic lunch pail like thingie and hustled us into what I called 'The White and Brown Room'. (when you say it to yourself please use a hushed, reverential tone).

This was the place all the pieces broken in production came. It was sad that they would never become part of the glorious golden packaging. At that moment the concept of 're-melting' never occurred to me.

So they lead us in the room and we could rummage through the plastic bins to fill up our boxes but we couldn't eat just then. I remember running up to a bin and going nuts. Then I caught sight of the two girls we travelled with and they motioned me over to the bin they had found.

To this day, what they did after taking my box from me and dumping into the bin the pieces that I had haphazardly packed, is on my top five list entitled "Why Girls Will Always Be More Awesome Than Boys". I will let you figure out the other four reasons. (YES, boobies and the ass/thigh combination are in there ya freaks).

Anyway, those two beautiful geniuses had figured out that if you pack the plastic case correctly you could MAXIMIZE your chocolate haul. It's all geometry and spacial relations, you know?

I think it was the same pre-mammalian lizard brain thinking that allows a woman to get ten pairs of shoes into a carry-on bag.

After they handed me back my box to close I stood there for a moment and looked at those two. I swear they glowed like the angles but that could have been the harsh post-war European lighting.

I left that room with twice what every other person boy manage to salvage. Guys, let your gal pack when you travel ANYWHERE. Arriving in the tropics with two pair of socks pays off more times than you will realize.