The Switzerland Adventure

Because I couldn't bear the extreme weather in Britain anymore, I decided to go to a country a generally milder climate—Switzerland. Uncertain whether my flight would be cancelled due to the severe weather I found myself at Bristol Temple Meads station on Wednesday morning at 11 am after a really lovely goodbye night with champagne and fizzy powder (don't ask). I have to admit, I kind of expected that it wouldn't really be worth rushing to the station for 11 because I did have experiences with the public transport in Britain. A delay would have really annoyed me though since my connection schedule was very tight. I had to catch the train from Bristol to London Paddington, find the right underground train to take me to St. Pancras (remember, it´s snowing under ground) and catch a train to Luton Parkway from where a bus would finally take me to the Airport. So I pretty much relied upon every means of transportation that was possible and that within one day proved to be a complete failure in this country when any kind of white stuff is falling from the sky. Nevertheless, on this day the planes were flying and the trains were running. Well, except one—the one that was supposed to take me to London.



Long story short, five trains and a bus later (none of which I booked or even had a valid ticket for) I found myself at the Airport, managed to get two extra kilograms of luggage without paying and used a very clever croissant trick to sneak two additional bags through the security check. At Luton Aiport (as some might know if they watch the extremely thrilling TV programme), there is a special security woman whose only job is it to make sure nobody takes more than one bag through to the people that then x-ray them and touch your genitals if they like your underwear on the screen. This woman is extremely observant. Beside my not so little hand-luggage suitcase, I carried a bunch of stuff in a carrier bag—like scarfs, gloves, my camera bag and croissants. Of course she wouldn't let me go through the pearly gates like that—I'm a threat to the nation. So I stuffed the empty carrier bag into one of my coat pockets (that were already very bulky), the gloves into the other, two scarves around my neck and my camera bag over my shoulder. Surely she wouldn't mind me holding some croissants in my hand while I walk through security. But she took issue with the camera bag. On previous flights from Stansted, Bristol, Berlin, Paderborn, Münster, Hahn and Düsseldorf the camera bag was never an issue. In Luton however a very grumpy looking woman points her finger at it and says "that needs to go into your bag". She obviously had no idea what my bag looked like inside, the zipper was about to burst. So I interpreted her request that she wanted my croissant—which I held in the same hand that she was pointing at—to go into my bag, not the camera. Good thinking. Opened the suitcase, removed the clear plastic bag of liquids in 100ml bottles, put croissants in its place and closed the suitcase again. Then the trick: part 1—this was an excellent opportunity to move the camera bag from the shoulder that was facing her when I walk past to the other shoulder and cover the whole thing with two scarves around my neck. Part 2—obviously airport security bag-checking staff is very well trained (after all they protect our nation) and this wouldn't be enough to trick her into thinking that I'm harmless and not a terrorist. So—distraction! — "Is this clear plastic bag with lots of 100 milliliter bottles of random stuff but obviously no explosives in an overall amount of under 1 litre alright like this?" — "Yes that´s fine!". And she wouldn't even ask why I look like a human lorry with all this junk stuffed into my pockets, let alone notice the extra bag. In the departure lounge then I could finally empty them into my carrier bag again and continue my journey. Aren't airports lovely and entertaining?



The flight was alright—well, EasyJet—and I left Britain with a nice view over devastated snow land. Landed in Zurich, where a beautiful Akzidenz Grotesk said hello and switched on my type and information design spotting senses. Rather critical is my opinion of the public transport maps and timetables or the design of it. It took some getting used to—nothing majorly wrong with it, but it could be better. The public transport itself obviously stands in a strong contrast to Bristol´s 'bus drivers turn up when ever the hell they like' system. Tickets—or Billets as they're called—are valid for everything: trains, buses, trams, ferries, cable cars and trolley buses. Yes, trolley busses—that´s a weird cross breed between a bus and a tram. Like a bus with overhead collectors, driven by the electric tram network. On a completely random note, luggage trolleys are called shopping trolleys in Switzerland.



A trolley bus took me to the youth hostel, where I was staying—in a student halls type of accommodation behind the youth hostel. I managed to secure this room for this month and also to negotiate pay in cash. If you want to completely freak out a cashier person at Natwest, go and tell them that you wish to transfer some money to a bank account in Switzerland. She actually showed a physical shock reaction, it was hilarious. Well, pathetic for a bank—but hilarious. Just like the customer "service" woman at Natwest thought I was a bit dodgy when I wanted to transfer my rent to a swiss bank account, the person that was subletting her room to me probably thought the same when I paid her in cash. Cultural differences, there you go.



It´s a reasonably large room, about two by six metres with a wardrobe, a huge desk, a chair that gives me backaches, a tiny bed that looks a bit dodgy, a sink and some shelves. It´s in a shared flat with 12 other people with two shared toilets, a shared shower and a big kitchen slash common room. I have found the swiss equivalent to student halls—although not allocated by the university and open for all type of students from colleges, universities, schools or apprenticeships. I have met two of my twelve flatmates: John(?) and Ali. Both turkish and they don't speak German. But they seem nicer than the turks I know from Germany.



After throwing all my stuff into the room I was shattered and starved. So I went to a traditional swiss restaurant and had some horse for dinner. It was delicious. Having returned to my room, I started with the joys of unpacking and finding out what I forgot to take with me. Here´s the list: bed linen, a backpack, a travel adapter for schuko plugs and an ethernet cable. Which means I had to sleep in a very very dodgy bed, carry more stuff around in my bulky coat pockets, don't blow dry my hair and scan the neighbourhood for unsecured wifi connections. Well, what can I say—two days and it works out well so far. It´s a bit cold though, because I have to open the window in order to get a better wifi signal—which could potentially lead to a cold when I do that with wet hair, but the extreme sunshine makes up for that.



Yes, it´s sunny in Zurich. Britain collapses under a snow avalanche and I'm enjoying the sun at lake Zurich and the river Limmat.



And tomorrow I'll buy some bed linen.