Zurich, Part One

23 November 2013

I always feel so virtuous when the first thing I see as the trans-Atlantic plane begins its descent is a box of breakfast on my tray table, and I'm never interested in eating any of it.  It means that I slept through at least that much of the flight.

We stumble out of the plane some time after noon local time, six hours ahead of the east coast.  Breakfast, some three hours later, is in a tapas bar in the old section of Zurich.  Making sure there will be no chorizo in my tortilla seems somehow comfortably familiar.

Next to us, a man from Croatia shares that he's just seen the Edvard Munch exhibit at the art museum, and that we should definitely go.  It's only a ten minute walk away.

Two espressos later I'm awake enough to start taking in our surroundings.  The sun is already setting.

We're in the German-spoken region of Switzerland, which isn't narrowing it down much, as most of the country speaks German.  We're in the northeast corner, in a valley.  It's cloudy and cold.  Snow fell a day ago, which was enough to delay our flight by half an hour.  We can still see in the hills and on the grass here and there, but there's nothing in the streets.

Across from the tapas bar is a meat and cheese shop that reeks the way a fine cheese shop is supposed to reek.  They're selling deer (hirsch) buffalo (buffel), lama, and organic reindeer sausages.

Jack, who is smart enough to read a little city history before boarding the plane, informs me that Zurich is the birthplace of Protestantism.  Me, I simply assume that any church I see in Europe is Catholic.  We enter one, Grossmunster (which I translate into "big monster") with medieval architecture and modern stained glass windows.  Outside, I can aim my camera and hit three different churches at once.

Here's another one.

We're walking through Zurich's Old Town, cobblestone streets, few cars.  Jack says I have to go into a candy shop (the second one we've entered today); it's the rule, "cultural research," he says.  This time we load up on cheap penny candy.  We'll find real chocolate soon enough, I suppose.  Meanwhile, as I'm paying, Jack is looking at the jars of sprinkles, next to the ice cream counter, at the register.  He's figured out the German for sprinkles (streusel) from context, and he's worked out all but one of the sprinkle flavors.  The one that's stumping him, a fluorescent blue, is "schluempfstreusel."  I ask the cashier, "What does that mean?"

She smiles sheepishly, "Smurf," she says.

I burst out laughing.  "That's not even a flavor!"

We wander across Old Town to the Kunsthaus, the art museum.  First we see an Alberto Giaocometti exhibit (he of the lanky sculptures), and then it's on to the Munch exhibition.  It's huge, and as the fellow in the bar said, exhausting.  I don't have much museum oomph left in me by the time we get to the rest of the place.  I'm intolerant of naked angels, and I've seen quite enough depictions of Jesus and Mary.  But there's no escaping any of this at an art museum.

We find ourselves in the modern art section, where the architecture, bare cement as it is, is far more interesting to look at than the art it contains.  I sneak my camera around a pacing guard.

That's a skeleton, with its leg up, down there.

We finally sit down, at which point I set into gobbling down the chocolate raisins and chocolate almonds.  I'm wicked hungry.  That's when Jack mentions that it's 7:00.  Oops.

We do get dinner (or is it lunch?) eventually, at a cafe.  We've peered at many menus along the way, including the one at the hotel restaurant.  All are far more expensive for what they're offering than we're willing to pay, vacation or not.  The cafe is filled with college-age people, which is a good indication that we'll be able to afford it.  It's then that I realize, for all the ethnic diversity that we've seen today, that we've passed zero hipsters.

Jack has something called raclette, a Swiss specialty, consisting of a mess of cheesy goo in which potatoes, sweet pickles, and pickled onions are bathed.  Yuck. There are some vegetarian dishes that even a vegetarian would do well to avoid.

Ten hours of sleep and we're up at 9:00 a.m.  It still feels like 3:00 a.m.  It takes coffee to push the hours ahead.  Now it's well past noon, or barely time to wake up, or something.  Jack has showered.  We ought to get started on the day sooner or later.  "It's gonna be miserable," he says, barely above freezing and drizzly.  He has already located a fountain pen shop, an English language bookshop, and the restaurant where we have reservations with a friend of his tonight.  Today we'll walk around outside.  Tomorrow, Sunday, will be our museum day.

One more thing:  Yesterday, Jack found out that he got accepted for a fellowship at Oxford University for the fall 2014 term. He'll be there for at least 8 weeks, maybe 12 weeks.  We're already figuring that we'll travel over together, and that I'll visit again at the end.  Meanwhile, it'll be up to you FreeWheelers and my buds in the lab and in the 'hood to keep me entertained.  Fair warning.