The adventures continue…I am now in Bern, Switzerland. Getting here was a trial, but I made it. If you know me, getting lost is something that I do very well, and finding my way somewhere without a glitch is not.
I got on the plane from Barcelona without any problem. Then, I was arriving in Zurich before I even knew it. I had been up since five thirty a.m. and was exhausted, but I knew I only had a small bit of the trip left. All I had to do was follow the masses to the train station, which is attached to the airport. This was not too difficult, and I managed not to get lost. When I got there I saw the ticket machines, and thought I could manage. I saw the word “Welcome” on the main screen, so I figured they would help out a little-ole-tourist like me by having English as well as Swiss German. This was not the case. A few minutes later I gave up and wandered over to the surprisingly short ticket line. I didn’t have to wait a full minute before I was getting helped. The orderliness and efficiency of the Swiss is something I greatly appreciate.
I was helped by the distant, but helpful, Swiss man behind the bulletproof glass window. I bought my ticket and to my surprise it turned out to be only eight dollars. I was dumbfounded and kept on rambling in a friendly way to Mr. Straightface about how I thought that it was going to be closer to 50 dollars. Man was I pumped! Switzerland wasn’t going to turn out to be as expensive as I thought.
I wandered in a wide-eyed way down to the track that I needed to be on to catch the next train, and as I was standing there I was trying to soak up my surroundings. My eyes passed over many beautiful people (the Swiss, in my opinion, are incredibly good looking folks), they passed over the pastel grey concrete platform, the salmon pink ticket in my hand, the train destinations, the ticket in my hand, the train destinations, the ticket in my hand…
Blanch.
I was going to Zurich main station. Why was I going there? Why had I asked for that ticket? What the heck…eight dollars down the drain. I needed to go to Bern. A fair bit of bumbling around followed which I will not describe because it was neither fun nor funny. What I will say is that the “less than one minute line” had turned into a “more than 15 minute line,” and now my credit card wouldn’t even work in the ticket machine (I got help from a nice Swiss girl to push the right buttons). I decided just to go to the main station and get the right ticket there.
I got on the train, which was very full already and wiggled my way through the aisles looking for a seat that was open. By open I mean not containing a person or a bag. People were not inclined to move there stuff out of the seat next to them so I could have a place to sit, so I wandered down, and down, and down and then finally, I saw a spot across from two little old ladies. My backpack weighs about 7 tons because it was the only piece of luggage I was allowed to take for free on the airline I took, and so it contains about half of my wardrobe rolled in to tiny little balls, my laptop, and all the various electronic nonsense that I need for my various trinkets. I was really eager to get this monstrous bag off of my back, so I plopped down heavily into the seat and smiled a big smile at them to be friendly. I was not expecting the reaction I got. Let me tell you what “stank-face” is just in case you don’t know.
Stank-face: noun
1. A frown that involves raising the upper lip in a way that suggests a bad smell is present in the air
2. A look of disgust common to people of bad humor, usually executed in a way that makes the receivers of this look very aware of their shortcomings
So, I got a full powered stank-face from each of these ladies. I wasn’t sure what I had done wrong exactly, but later I came to find out the social custom is to ask to sit down. I was now a social reject.
Socially rejected, unable to speak a lick of the language, tired and smelly I finally arrived at the main station. I got off the train, tried one of those machines again to no avail and hopped in the line to get my ticket from a real person.
Speaking of the high cost of travel, I had been wrong to get excited about the 8 dollar trip. I bought my ticket for Bern, which turned out to be almost 70 US dollars. The city bus turns out to be five dollars each ride. I want to SEE Switzerland since I made it all the way here, but if a 1.5 hour train ride costs that, I won’t be taking any day trips. Helena and her mother helped me find an 8 day tourist pass which is a very good deal. For just a bit less than 300 dollars I can travel free on almost any form of transportation here in Switzerland for eight days straight. I will get that tomorrow and also wave goodbye to my social life for the next year, and become a slave to my credit card bill as so many other Americans are.
I got to Bern and ran into Helena as she was walking down the other side of the walkway in the train station. I snuck up on her and we hugged for years. Teary eyed smiles and a billion happy exclamations later we finally made it upstairs to the open air where her sister was waiting with the car. I cannot explain to you how much those two laughed at me for the small amount of stuff I had with me. They could not wrap their heads around how I was going to travel with that one tiny backpack for three weeks straight.
We were driving to their house, which is right outside of Bern, and I was checking out what the houses looked like. They are so wonderful. Nothing like the houses from the US or Spain, obviously, they have a ton of windows, are usually built up on hills and they have wonderfully lush gardens. We got to her place and the cobbled staircase to get up to her house was literally so long that my cheeks were all pink and I was panting, but it was like walking through a green hallway of plant life. Something you might read about in a fairy tale. The house itself is my dream house. Almost one entire wall of the house is just windows. There is so much open space and light. The architecture is like nothing I have ever seen before. The only way I can describe it is, refreshing.
That night we had tea and chatted and then it was time for bed because Helena had an exam the next day and I was exhausted from my travels. The next day was a very relaxed one. We got up and had a leisurely breakfast, Swiss style. Lots of different types of granola were set out with yogurt. Espresso. Fruit. Jam. Then, there was this bread. An entire loaf is about the size of your spread hand, but it is so dense that it probably weighs about a pound. It has entire nuts in it, and I fell in LOVE. Sorry Ricardo, but it looks like you are going to have to compete for my affections with a loaf of bread.
I spent the day lazing around and conjuring the rest of the last blog that I put up and later that evening Helena’s sister, Sabina, came home and invited me to go to a dinner with her and her friends. Afterwards, Helena came to find me (she had the exam and then had to teach tennis) and she took me to the bar where she works as a bar tender. There I met her boyfriend and some of his friends. After a while there we wandered on to a disco. It was very nice, and also VERY empty compared to the Spanish discos. I was extremely lucky and was treated to my drinks all night long by various people, but I don’t even want to think how much I would have had to spend otherwise. To give all of you an idea, a shot in Granada costs a euro usually, which is about the same as one franc. Here, a shot costs between 7 and 9 francs. A drink costs about 12 francs in the clubs, as opposed to the 6 that it costs in Granada.
We caught the moonlighter home, a bus that runs super late so the drunk clubbers can make it home safe and sound. There are so many options here for the people who have been drinking. There is never a reason to drive drunk. Ah, the US could learn a few things from the European folks.
An interesting thing about many places here, for example the airport and the clubs, is that they have a smoking room. It is a glass room where people go to smoke. I assume it is really well ventilated because it does not get cloudy with smoke inside as far as I could tell. I was talking to one of the friends of Helena and he told me that he is part of a special “smokers club.” What this means is that he pays ten francs a year to this club which is based in one of the Swiss “states,” and this way, when he visits that state he can smoke in any of the bars or clubs. He does not have to go outside or into the smokers’ room. All he has to do is flash this club ID if anyone asks about his smoking and he is then allowed. There are more than 110,000 members now, he told me.
This same guy also informed me that every Swiss household has a gun, basically. It is compulsory for Swiss men to go to the army for three months after they graduate their “high school.” After this training, they receive a gun, which they can bring home. The problem is that almost all of the murders committed here, are done using one of the army issued guns. There are many people trying to get them all recollected, however, the problem is that these guns were never documented and so no one has any idea how many there are out there or who owns one for that matter.
Today, we woke up late and had breakfast. It was mostly a lazy day for me once again, but Helena and I did make it into town. We rode bikes in, and let me tell you, my body was protesting every single one of those hills we had to go up. I thought my heart was going to burst. No wonder everyone in Switzerland has a super bod. Their cardio workouts last all day long.
I should be asleep now because tomorrow at six am we will get up to buy my train pass and head over to the mountain that the Toblerone chocolates are modeled after.
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