Swiss Watching Read online

  For example in Bern, you can walk past a health-food shop, Burger King and cheap-and-cheerful Tchibo, only to find a very fancy shop indeed, Gübelin. Behind its plate-glass windows are baubles that would look more at home on Bond Street or Fifth Avenue, not just around the corner from lap dancers. The most expensive watch on display is from Patek Philippe with a jaw-dropping price tag of 38,500Fr. A sign beside it says ‘Complicated Watches’, which could be a justification for the astronomical price but is actually a Patek Phillippe series of watches, all with prices that make a 5000Fr Rolex seem quite reasonable. Gübelin has branches in six other Swiss cities,28 which is truly mind-boggling. Seven places in Switzerland, none larger than Bristol, can support a shop selling 38,000Fr watches. The bigger issue is: who buys them?

  My favourite watch shop is Christ, which is far more affordable than Gübelin and far less intimidating to go into. Its prices are almost sane, with many under 1000Fr, so that you don’t feel like you have to flash a platinum card to get through the door. Prices aside, I like Christ purely for its name, which in German has a short i, as in mist. There are 13 Christs in the Bern phonebook, not including the four branches of the watch shop or Christ International Furniture Transporters (how apt), but what makes me smile is that the shop fascia has three words on it: Schmuck Christ Uhren. This merely means that the shop sells jewellery, Schmuck in German, and watches, or Uhren. Heaven knows what an American visitor from the Bible Belt thinks about having the Son of God next to a slang word for an idiot. To make things worse, according to my dictionary schmuck is derived from shmok, a Yiddish insult meaning penis. Of course, for a German speaker the two versions of schmuck are worlds apart thanks to a subtle vowel change. The American schmuck rhymes with ‘luck’, whereas the German Schmuck is closer to ‘look’. Tomayto, tomahto, you might think, but vowels are very important in German.

  BORN TO BE SWISS

  The one saving grace in having Christ as a surname is that the Swiss don’t go in for naming their boys Jesus. Half of them may be Catholic, but this isn’t Spain. Even if it were, Herr and Frau Christ would most likely not be allowed to call their son Jesus (see below for more on that). They would probably choose Leon instead, a popular boy’s name in German-speaking Switzerland; if he was born in Ticino he’d be Alessandro, or in Romandie then it’d be Nathan.29 The regional name variations are much more marked than in most other countries because of the languages. Those three boys’ names, each popular in their own linguistic area, barely get a mention in the other two. Leon is very definitely a German name in Switzerland, along with Jonas, Nils and Tim. French speakers are more likely to be called Loïc or Maxime than any of those, and Ticinese boys Leonardo or Mattia.

  What makes Switzerland interesting is that a man can have a very Italianate name but have been born in Zurich and speak only Swiss German. The newspapers and television are littered with Matteos, Fabios and Nicos, most of them Secondos who have probably never set foot in Italy. But some boys’ names cross the linguistic divide: David and Luca are popular in all three regions, and for the country as a whole, Noah is number one.

  Girls’ names show a bit more continuity across Switzerland. For sure there are the regional quirks, such as Chloé or Anaïs in Romandie, Giulia or Valentina in Ticino, and Leonie or Luana in the rest of the country. But alarmingly similar names – such as Lara, Sara and Lisa – are popular in all three regions.30 Nevertheless, looking through the Swiss official list for 2010, you have to wonder why 32 girls were called Océane. Perhaps being so far from the sea made their parents wistful. Or vindictive, except that wouldn’t be allowed.

  Names, like everything else made in Switzerland, are taken seriously. When you decide on your child’s name, it has to be approved by the civil registrar. If it’s deemed to harm the child’s well-being or be offensive to a third party, you can’t have it. For once there are few set rules, but shocking, insulting or laughable names are forbidden31; if this were transplanted to Britain, Richard Head would be a no-no and Mary Christmas might not make it either. You also can’t give a boy a girl’s name or vice versa, and surnames can’t be used as first names. Biblical bad boys Cain and Judas are both persona non grata, as are any names that are places (such as Brooklyn or Paris) or brands (Pepsi or Armani).32 As for making up a name just because it sounds nice, that would be far too free-spirited and creative. Not forgetting that sticking out from a crowd is not something most Swiss strive for. Better to be a Doris Müller among the many with that name than to be the only Gaynor in the village.

  ONE BRAND THROUGH TIME

  Name recognition means everything in the watch world. A few brands achieve such a status that they stand out. Omega is one of them. Thanks to its being the official watch for the Olympics, Nasa and James Bond, it’s often seen as the archetypal Swiss watch. And rather handily for me, it has a company museum that you can visit for free, although by appointment only. It wouldn’t do for just anyone to turn up whenever they want; that would be so very un-Swiss. Despite my best efforts, no watch company was willing to show me round its premises; industrial espionage and all that. So I settle for a tour of the Omega museum in Biel, having duly booked first by phone.

  If I thought La Chaux-de-Fonds was ugly, I changed my mind once I got to Switzerland’s Slough, as Markus memorably described Biel. Or more correctly Biel/Bienne, the largest officially bilingual town in Switzerland.33 Everything comes in French and German, making all the street signs, timetables and adverts that much bigger. To be fair to Canton Bern’s second city, it’s only the postwar bits that are depress-ingly unattractive. Biel/Bienne has two assets that Slough could only dream of: its own lake (Bielersee/Lac de Bienne) and, hidden in the middle of all that architectural mediocrity, a true pearl of an old town. This is the city’s secret heart, straight from the pages of a novel and filled with ochre-painted buildings, carved fountains and creeper-clad bistros.

  Omega and the other watch companies didn’t relocate here for the lakeside ambience. It was all about transport, particularly rail, which made Biel (it’s easier to stick with one name) far more accessible than La Chaux-de-Fonds up in the hills. Omega set up shop in an old spinning factory in 1880 and is still there, a five-minute trolley-bus ride from the centre. Its museum may focus on one company, but essentially it’s a timeline of the whole industry, from the intricate early pendant watches right through to high-tech ones that can cope with being 1000 metres under water. Quite why that’s necessary isn’t clear; I’m happy if mine survives an inadvertent swim or shower. You can see how a company founded by Louis Brandt in 1848 eventually chose a brand name with a more international feel (1894), which led to the first fake (Onega in 1908). Or how little adjustments came along, such as the winder on a wristwatch switching from the left to the right, or the second hand being added in the 1940s.

  But it’s the modern era in which Omega shines. Where else can you see the watch President Kennedy wore at his inauguration or the one that was chosen to go to the moon? Incidentally, the astronauts wore their watches over their space suits, fixed with a giant strip of Velcro; one Swiss product helping another. Perhaps the most useful thing I learn from my guide is why all the watches in the museum, and in most shops, are set at 10 past 10. It’s simply to avoid anything being obscured, such as the date window or tricksy little dials or, most importantly, the company name. It really is all about the name.

  Watches and penknives, along with cheese and chocolate, are perhaps the best-known products to be made in Switzerland. Part of their success has been that they come with that ‘Swiss made’ label, guaranteeing quality and reliability. For the Swiss themselves, it’s no different. If anything, such a label encourages domestic sales, despite the higher prices that usually come with it. The Swiss love to buy Swiss, which is possibly why such a small country with few natural resources can sustain a manufacturing industry. Some Swiss companies, such as Logitech for computer mice and Sigg for water bottles, flourish on the world market, but many brands are household names only
nationally. While you’ve probably never heard of Freitag, Kuhn Rikon or Riposa, almost any Swiss person would recognise them as makers of shoulder bags, kitchen appliances and mattresses respectively.

  A recent study of brands in Switzerland showed that of the Top 20 most popular, 13 were Swiss,34 and I’m guessing that Ragusa, Thomy and Zweifel mean little to non-Swiss readers (they are all food brands). What’s noticeable is that apart from Swatch and Toblerone, the Swiss brands you might expect to be there aren’t. No Nestlé, no Omega, no Victorinox. And no Rolex, which does however appear in the Top 20 in Britain – a list that’s almost the opposite of the Swiss one, with 12 foreign brands against 8 British.35 Perhaps Brits just aren’t as patriotic as the Swiss when it comes to shopping.

  That so many Swiss brands have conquered the world is thanks not to industrial might but to technological know-how. Although Switzerland might be small, it thinks big in terms of research and development. It has 25 Nobel prizewinners, mainly in the fields of science and medicine; per capita that’s far more than most other countries. The Swiss may debate everything to death and take years to accept real change, but if they can see a material benefit, then often they are first in line. Maybe knowing that their society and economy are so stable gives them the impetus to try new ideas in other fields. Certainly something has helped make this quiet nation of conformists come up with more than its fair share of inventions.

  Made in Switzerland is such a hallmark of good craftsmanship that everyone wants to mimic it. A fake Rolex, a copycat Toblerone and an ersatz Army Knife can be found all around the world, and even in Switzerland itself. But the real things still maintain their standards, and their appeal, without compromising on quality or perfectionism. Rather like the Swiss themselves.

  SWISS WATCHING TIP NO 7: A YEAR IN THE COUNTRY

  Life in any country is all about the rhythm of the year. Not just its seasons, but its festivals and customs, holidays and traditions, all of which combine to make the year as individual to a country as its flag. In Switzerland, where so much happens at community level, festivals aren’t mere footnotes on a calendar, they’re part of everyday life. Well attended and well organised, they are hard to miss (not that you’d want to) and every town seems to have its own.

  For example, in April’s Sechseläuten Zurich celebrates the end of winter by burning a giant paper snowman. Bern’s big hurrah is Zibelemärit, or onion market, in late November, with every possible way of selling an onion and running confetti battles in the streets. In December Geneva commemorates the Escalade, a failed Savoyard invasion of 1602, with torchlit processions and vegetable soup (it’s a long story). Then there are the cheese-sharing, cow-fighting, bell- ringing and flame-throwing festivals, to name just a few, that show how widespread such celebrations are, as if they are an affirmation of community spirit. Local knees-ups aside, the country follows a similar annual pattern.

  Silvester, as New Year is called (referring to 31 December being St Sylvester’s day), starts the year with not so much a bang as a damp squib. Few fireworks, no midnight chimes, no Times Square countdown, in fact not a lot. Swiss television largely ignores it, either showing celebrations from abroad or something as mundane as a quiz show. To those of us used to more, it’s a big anti-climax.

  Many Swiss festivals have their own particular food, and the first is Dreikönigstag or Epiphany on 6 January, when a special sweet bread is sold in almost every bakery. The seven-part cake looks like a child’s drawing of a daisy, with six petals and a central round. One part has a little plastic king baked into it – whoever finds that gets to be king (or queen) for the day. I’m still waiting.

  Perhaps the biggest annual event is Carnival, or Fasnacht. It’s the one time when the Swiss really let their hair down, wear outrageous clothes, get ridiculously drunk and generally behave like the rest of Europe. Many towns and cities, Catholic or Protestant, get in on the act with fancy-dress parades, marching bands, confetti cannons, paper lanterns and food stalls. This is February (or March, depending on Easter) and it’s Switzerland, not Rio, so costumes are more substantial than a dental-floss bikini and gold body paint. Basel takes Fasnacht very seriously, beginning at 4 a.m. on the Monday after Ash Wednesday, with drummers drumming and pipers piping to kick off three days of celebration that take over the whole city.

  After all that excess, things are quiet with everyone too busy eating fondue, skiing at the weekends and waiting for spring. One sure way of judging when winter is over is to visit a newsagent. Since October, the postcard racks will have been filled with winter wonderland scenes and snowy extravaganzas; as soon as they’ve been replaced with snow-free cards you know that spring has sprung. I’d never seen seasonal postcards before, but the Swiss view them as a logical extension of the distinct seasons. Another sign is supermarket shelves full of massed ranks of chocolate bunnies in cellophane packets. Swiss Easter eggs tend to be half shells filled with pralines; hollow bunnies of all shapes and sizes are more common. As delicious as they are, there’s something vaguely sinister about hundreds of bunnies looking at you with chocolate eyes. No wonder I bite their heads off first.

  By May, the cows are up in the high pastures, the shops are packed with asparagus and everyone has put their winter coats and boots down in the cellar. It’s a May Day tradition to have a workers’ demonstration in cities like Zurich and Bern, but recently the demos always ended in attacks on McDonald’s and battles with the police. Not something you associate with the Swiss, but the anti-capitalism, anti-globalism, anti-Americanism, in fact anti-anything feeling has grown quite strong in a country that traditionally sees itself as pro-individual.

  Summer in Switzerland can feel like one long walk-and-grill season. Everyone seems to spend every spare moment up a mountain or down by a lake, inevitably ending up in some sort of open-air meal. The Swiss like nothing more than sticking a sausage on a stick, grilling it over an open fire and eating it with a hunk of bread, a squirt of mustard and a can of beer. If they’re not doing it out in the woods, they’re barbecuing in the back garden or on the balcony. Peak sausage season is July when the schools, and much of the country, are on holiday. Even in busy centres like Bern, some shops and restaurants close for their annual break despite it being high season for many tourists. But the best part of a Swiss summer is the swimming – not in the sea but in rivers and lakes. When it’s hitting 30°C, there’s nothing better than jumping in cool water and it isn’t just a countryside activity: in Zurich, Lucerne and Geneva, people dive into the lakes to cool off. In Basel, it’s the Rhine and, best of all, in Bern the crystal-clear Aare. You don’t even have to swim as the river’s fast enough to carry you downstream; it’s rather like being on a liquid travelator.

  On 1 August or Swiss National Day the whole country seems to partake in a giant walk–grill–swim fest that culminates in huge firework displays. After that it’s back to school, with posters going up everywhere to remind drivers that children are back on the streets – most Swiss children walk to school, often unaccompanied. Once the cows have come back down from the high pastures and the last of the near-daily thunderstorms has rumbled off, then summer really is over.

  The tastiest season is autumn when the Swiss go wild for anything with pumpkin, venison and chestnuts. Especially chestnuts, which by November are being roasted and sold from little wooden huts in every town. The bags they come in even have a little section for the empty shells. So very Swiss. As winter returns, so do the snow and the fog, which can envelop whole valleys for days on end. The only way to escape is to take a cable car up above the fog line and sit on a sunny mountain top. At 11.11 on 11 November, when much of Europe is commemorating its century of loss, the Swiss get out their brass bands and garish costumes. This marks the traditional start of the Carnival season, which culminates in the festival itself the following spring.

  Advent is, in many ways, bigger than Christmas itself. Advent crowns, with four candles, can be found everywhere, Christmas markets pop up all across the country, s
hopping is often allowed on two Sundays, and every child gets an Advent calendar. These can be glittery cardboard affairs, but are more normally a series of 24 little boxes or pouches, each containing a gift. All through Advent, Swiss kitchens are full of people baking mini-cookies, ready to offer to guests or take as presents. By Christmas, everyone seems rather glad to have a quiet time around a tree with real candles. That’s right, no fairy lights but proper candles in clip-on holders. Health & Safety would have a fit. There’s no traditional meal, no TV marathon, no getting legless and no crackers – one thing many Swiss people have never pulled. And of course, there’s no ten-day holiday. It may be Christmas, but everyone still has to go back to work.

  EIGHT

  THE HOLE TRUTH

  Life in Switzerland may seem like the epitome of modernity, with all those precision products and hyperpunctual trains, but actually it’s not. Tradition is as important as technology, and the Swiss love nothing more than combining the two. You can download some yodelling onto your MP3 player, text your friends in Swiss German (normally a purely spoken language) and have your say in the referendum online. And when it comes to that most traditional of Swiss products, modern machines have been seamlessly grafted on to centuries-old methods. Cheese is where tradition and technology really do come together.