Swiss Watching Page 3
Perhaps it’s this atmospheric disturbance that makes the Föhn an ill wind for the Swiss, blamed for causing migraines, suicides and generally unsettling everyone. More likely it’s just an extrapolation of the Swiss hatred of draughts in any shape or form. What to you and me is a breath of fresh air to many Swiss is the cause of every illness known to man. Most houses are hermetically sealed to avoid draughts creeping in; no need for sausage-dog draught excluders or heavy curtains in Swiss homes. Despite that, for a few minutes each day windows are thrown open to let out the stale air; apparently that’s not a draught, that’s healthy. As for opening a train window on anything less than the hottest day of the century, forget it.
It’s late July, the sky is blue, the thermometer is nudging 30°C and the sun is streaming in through the train windows. With the carriage feeling like a mobile sauna, you’re dripping and your neighbours are turning beetroot; there’s no choice but to open a window. You barely manage more than three gulps of mountain air before a Swiss woman comes over and suggests in no uncertain terms that you shut it. She even pulls her scarf tighter round her neck for added effect, though not tight enough for your liking. It seems the draught is annoying her, even though she is sitting four rows in front; must be a mighty strong draught to go against the motion of the train and whoosh across half the carriage. Everyone is watching with bated breath, possibly because of the lack of air, so you compromise and semi-close the window, earning periodic hard stares from the draught lady for the rest of the journey.
Of course Swiss newspapers and television have weather forecasts, usually in the form of a simplified map. And that in itself is enlightening. One look at a Swiss weather map and you can instantly see how the Swiss view their own country, at least in geographic terms.
NORTH AND SOUTH
A typical Swiss weather map is reduced to two halves, north and south, which doesn’t mean either side of the Alps. In Swiss shorthand, north means the bit where all the people live and south is where they all go on holiday; that is, the mountains. The latter might be the soul of the country, but modern Switzerland’s beating heart is to be found elsewhere, in the flatter foothills known as the Swiss Plateau. With so much wild open space you might not think of Switzerland as crowded, but the inhabited bit is, because everything – people, houses, factories, farms, transport – has to fit into the narrow arc of land between the Alps and Jura mountains. The Plateau stretches from Geneva, across Romandie18 (the French-speaking part) to Bern, then past Zurich and on to Lake Constance. It hosts all the major cities and two-thirds of Switzerland’s 7.8 million people, making it one of the most heavily populated areas in Europe, with 450 people per square kilometre.19 That’s a bit more densely populated than South East England20 and quite a lot more than the Netherlands.21 Strangely enough it doesn’t feel that overcrowded, possibly because many people live in flats rather than houses, so urban areas are less sprawling. But the fact that most Swiss are squished together might help explain why they keep a little distance; when living space is in short supply, private space is even more important, something to be cherished and protected.
The Swiss Plateau is high but not flat. It’s actually an undulating landscape of hills, rivers, lakes and valleys, all of which in many, flatter countries would present enough natural obstacles to hinder the building of an effective transport system. In Switzerland they had bigger problems in the shape of the Alps, but they conquered those as well with roads and railways that are the envy of the world. Ever since the opening of the Gotthard Pass in the thirteenth century, Switzerland has sat at the crossroads of Europe. And it still does. A high-speed corridor of intercity trains and motorways running through the Plateau intersects with the crucial transalpine routes tunnelling under the mountains. It may not be a member, yet, but ironically enough Switzerland is at the heart of the EU’s transport network. And all because of those mountains, which are the real north–south divide in Europe.
This Swiss concept of north and south is easy to grasp until you bring in the idea of up and down. For many English speakers up is synonymous with north, and down with south; you go up to Scotland or Canada and down to Devon or Florida. For the Swiss it’s about gradient not direction, making up short for uphill or upstream, which is logical for a mountainous country. So the Bernese talk about going down (north) to Basel but up (south) to Interlaken. With most of the country lying in or north of the Alps, the only part that is truly down south is Ticino, the Italian-speaking region; no wonder its residents feel cut off and sidelined from the rest of the country. But Ticino is positively integrated compared to Graubünden, the largest, least densely populated and most isolated canton. Sitting high in the eastern Alps, it is neither north nor south but has a place central to the Swiss view of their country.
Unless you like skiing in posh St Moritz or Klosters, or attend the World Economic Forum in Davos, you probably haven’t heard of Graubünden. Whereas most foreign tourists head for the mountains of central Switzerland, many Swiss go east for their holidays, to the wilderness (relatively speaking) of the Engadine and Switzerland’s only National Park. Nevertheless, as beautiful as it is, Graubünden is more interesting for linguistic reasons, because it’s the only trilingual canton, thanks to a living descendant of Latin: Romansh. Only about 35,000 people use Romansh as a first language,22 but even then it manages five different dialects and one authorised written version, Rumantsch Grischun. Since a referendum in 1938 it has been classed as a national language, though this being Switzerland, where nothing is uncomplicated, Romansh isn’t always an official language.
In a typically Swiss hair-splitting definition, it is only an official language when officialdom has to communicate with Romansh speakers. Federal laws and other official acts don’t have to be in Romansh, and outside Graubünden you rarely see or hear it. At a national level, twice as many people use English as their mother tongue as Romansh,23 but it does at least have a modern seal of linguistic approval – since 2007 Romansh speakers have been able to tschertgar cun Google and use Microsoft Office in their own language.24
Graubünden is, in many ways, like a mini-Switzerland, with its different languages (but German spoken by the large majority) and a clear but cordial religious divide. Until it consented to become part of Switzerland,25 Graubünden was once as fiercely independent as the whole country is today, and many of its inhabitants still call themselves Bündner before saying they’re Swiss. Then again, it is a fairly common Swiss trait to put canton before country. It doesn’t matter that your canton has fewer inhabitants than spectators at a Second Division football match, it’s your home canton and therefore a source of immense pride. So what exactly is this most Swiss of creations?
MEETING THE CANTONS
The 26 Swiss cantons26 are the size of British counties but have the power of American states. Each has its own constitution, laws, parliament, courts and flag; it also sets its own taxes, issues car number plates, and has its own police force and education system. In true federal style, the canton is both the basic building block of the country and a balance against the centre having too much power. And for the Swiss, the canton is emotionally as important as the country, if not more so. Of course, this being Switzerland, nothing is that clear-cut or easy to understand.
Six of the 26 are actually half-cantons, not because of their size (some cantons are smaller than these halves) but in political terms. The half-cantons are legally equal to the cantons, having the same powers in almost all aspects of daily life, such as taxation, except when it comes to representation. Then the half-cantons truly are half, in terms of seats in parliament and voting rights in a referendum. The Swiss political system is so different from any other that such fine distinctions are essential. For the six halves to become whole would require a constitutional earthquake and upset the delicate national balance that is the bedrock of Swiss government, not to mention go against centuries of history; if anything is more important than politics in Switzerland, it’s history.
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or example, the two halves of Appenzell, Innerrhoden and Ausserrhoden, fell out over religion back in the days when such things mattered. While the Aussers turned Protestant, the inner six parishes around the town of Appenzell itself remained Catholic, making a split inevitable. It was all fairly amicable, with both sides voting on the matter, and the six together became Appenzell Innerrhoden. It’s the smallest member of the Swiss federal system, with only 15,000 inhabitants. Compare that to the 1.3 million people who live in Canton Zurich and the disparity is clear, just as it is between vast Texas and tiny Rhode Island. Appenzell wasn’t the only one unable to stay together. Basel also suffered irreconcilable internal differences over reforms, this time of a political nature, and split into Basel-Stadt and Basel-Land. Each is more populous than quite a few whole cantons, but the historical hangover means that they remain halves.
Ten cantons have a distinct name, such as Ticino or Vaud, but the rest are named after the main town, making it necessary to distinguish between the two. Just as in England there’s a big difference between Derby and Derbyshire, so in Switzerland Bern is not the same as Canton Bern. At least the Swiss are logical about it. Haven’t you ever wondered what happened to the English towns of Berk, Wilt and Shrop? Their shires remain though the towns are long gone.
The cantons are so independently minded that it can sometimes seem as if there isn’t one Switzerland but 26 mini ones, all going in roughly the same direction but each doing their own thing. This is such a part of Swiss life that they have a word for it, Kantönligeist. The polite translation is that each canton has its own identity, culture and history; the more realistic is that each is as bloody-minded as its neighbour. And, as cantonal differences are fiercely defended, they’re unlikely to disappear any time soon. But it is exactly those differences that make Switzerland a uniquely fascinating place, sometimes making it feel like a country in name only.
Switzerland as an entity, both physical and emotional, is still a relatively new concept, even for some Swiss. The same goes for its capital city.
A TALE OF FIVE CITIES
For centuries the cantons were bound together by pacts but grew independently, rather like the Italian city-states. That’s why Switzerland never had one big capital, à la Paris or London, but a group of more or less equal cities. Even in today’s united country, each of the five large cities has its role: Bern, the federal capital, is the political centre; Basel, thanks to the pharmaceutical companies, the industrial one; Lausanne, home of the Supreme Court, the legal; Geneva, HQ for the United Nations, the international; and Zurich, the biggest of the five, the economic. It’s as if London were to be dissected and dropped off around Britain. Even then, each part would be far larger than Zurich, whose population is only 375,000. Take a walk along the pedestrianised, cobbled streets in the centre of Zurich and it doesn’t feel like a big city at all. Londoners and New Yorkers would say that it isn’t, but for the Swiss it’s a veritable metropolis. Or at least that’s how it’s marketed by its inhabitants, who like nothing more than to look down on everyone else.
Just as with the cantons, there’s a palpable sense of rivalry between the main Swiss cities, and not only on the football pitch. Zurich, as the economic powerhouse, sees itself as superior to the rest, who in turn view its inhabitants as brash and arrogant, with mouths as big as their heads. In contrast, the Bernese, with their rolling dialect and almost country-bumpkin ways, are dismissed as slow, quiet and rather old-fashioned. As for Basel, it’s famous for its carnival but remains a mystery to most other Swiss, as if being so close to the border makes it somehow odd. And no one likes its football team; even the Bernese would rather have Zurich win than Basel. All three cities are German speaking, so tend to forget about French-speaking Geneva and Lausanne. Perhaps it’s also because neither seems truly Swiss. Geneva is too international, and almost too French, while Lausanne is the closest thing Switzerland has to an alternative culture. That might not be much by other countries’ standards, but for the serious (German-speaking) Swiss it’s verging on racy.
One thing that all five, and almost every other Swiss town, have in common is that they survived the last century or so untroubled by minor annoyances like world wars, meaning that they have an intact mediaeval city at their heart. True, around them is usually a body of modern buildings, many of them carbuncles, along with the industry and transport needed by a western society, but compared with many modern urban spaces, Swiss ones are a delight. At first glance, the cities that pass by the train or tram window could be anywhere in Mitteleuropa. They’re definitely not British – there are far too few brick buildings and not nearly enough litter – and nor are they Mediterranean – the stone apartment buildings are too solemn and the traffic too well behaved for that. But somehow they don’t seem as dour as some German or as pompous as some French cities, almost as if the Föhn brings a whiff of something exotic over the Alps that infuses itself into the very fabric of the buildings.
Maybe this mix of northern solidity and southern vibrancy is why Swiss cities are so often rated among the best places in the world to live, though it might have more to do with cleanliness and transport. They may be expensive, even by Swiss standards, but Zurich, Bern and Geneva regularly make the top ten of the world’s most liveable cities.27 True, with populations well under half a million they don’t have the problems faced by Berlin or Chicago, but even if they did, knowing the Swiss a way would be found to solve them.
Switzerland became a country in spite of its geographical divisions, but it also became the country it is today because of those divisions. The mountains at its heart are the reason it grew up as a collection of distinct communities, and the reason those communities survived and prospered. As we’ll see in the next few chapters, this very localised geography has influenced and shaped Swiss history and politics over the centuries. The landscape, and especially the weather, also meant that the Swiss always had to be careful with everything. Surviving the winter took planning and prudence, while compensating for the lack of natural resources needed inventiveness and attention to detail – all pretty much traits the Swiss still show.
Cut off by the mountains, Switzerland has acted like an island for much of its history, living in splendid isolation from the world around it. Or at least thinking it did. However, just as Britain discovered at the start of the twentieth century, so Switzerland realised at the beginning of the twenty-first: no land is an island. Surrounded by the EU and confronted with a global market, the Swiss are slowly, and sometimes reluctantly, building bridges to the outside world. But in their hearts, and minds, they will always be a landlocked island.
SWISS WATCHING TIP NO 1: MEETING AND GREETING
A drinks party, or Apéro, is one of the best places to get to know the Swiss – not because they need some wine before they can relax, but because this all-purpose Swiss form of socialising is held at every possible occasion. Organising a leaving do for a colleague? Throw an Apéro. Want something less elaborate than a sit-down dinner? Have a stand-up Apéro. It can be merely a glass of something alcoholic with some nibbles, but most stretch to finger food, be that savoury tartlets or little cups of pumpkin soup. Supermarkets sell platters of cheese or meat, caterers offer themed menus and posh hotels conjure up gourmet titbits. All because the Apéro is a big deal in Switzerland. And once you’re at one, a very Swiss custom makes the introductions simple, as long as you know the rules.
Social disgrace is quite easily achieved in Switzerland within minutes of arriving at an Apéro. The moment you walk into the room is the moment of truth. It’s not about dress codes, because the Swiss rarely have those, or about being late, where a simple apology is enough. It’s all about saying hello. At any gathering in Switzerland, every guest’s first duty is to go round and greet everyone. Faced with a crowd of people, most of them strangers, you might be tempted to lurk in a corner until you spot someone you know, or wait for your host to make the introductions. Bad idea. What you should do before anything else, and that includes ge
tting a drink, is introduce yourself to everyone, regardless of how long it takes.
Going up to people with an open hand and your name at the ready feels so forward, so American. And so un-Swiss. But it’s not a question of being pushy, rather a question of politeness. How rude it would be to stand in a room with someone whose name you did not know. You may never speak to Stefan or Frau Weber again for the rest of the evening, but at least you did the right thing and introduced yourself. This custom is possibly the real reason most Swiss people are punctual. It’s much easier to stand around chatting or drinking and so make all the newcomers come to you for the introductions. This may feel like being in the receiving line at a wedding reception, but it’s better than arriving last. Do that and you face a long wait, and lots of handshakes, before you can relax and have a drink.
While this might all sound rather odd for a nation renowned for its reserve, for the Swiss it’s normal. And if you think that all the pressure is on the guests, think again. As a host of anything other than a sit-down dinner, you have to provide food that can be eaten easily and quickly; after all, guests need one hand for a glass and the other free for shaking. If both hands are full, there’d be no handshakes and Swiss society would collapse. Not much pressure, then. Maybe multiple greetings aren’t so bad after all.
Nineteen handshakes, nineteen hellos and nineteen name exchanges may sound exhausting, but to help speed things along there is a method in the madness. Just as there are various words for hello – Grüezi is the Swiss norm – there are different levels of hello. The most basic is with complete strangers: a handshake, a name exchange, with optional smile, before moving on. With people you’ve met before, it’s perfectly acceptable to linger a moment or two for a few niceties. But both of you know it would be unseemly to chat too long until you have met everyone else, so you part company. With friends, the handshake is supplemented by three cheek kisses (right–left–right) and a ‘How are you?’, safe in the knowledge that once your hellos are done, you can return for a proper conversation. It’s all second nature to the Swiss, who have been doing this since they were old enough to walk and talk, but for unknowing foreigners it takes some getting used to.