Swiss Watching Read online

  If all that wasn’t hard enough, there’s also knowing how formal to be. As mentioned above, German has two words for you: Sie and du. Well, it actually has three, but we’ll ignore the third one for now. If others introduce themselves as Herr or Frau So-and-So, then it’s Sie; first names from the start means it’s safe to use du. Saying du instead of Sie is unpardonably rude, but luckily for German learners the Sie form of the verb is the simplest so it’s easy to be very polite. At some point you might be offered (or be moved to offer) Duzis, or changing from Sie to du, a clear sign that your friendship has progressed by becoming less formal. After that, you must never use Sie again with that person, as that might infer a cooling of the friendship.

  Forgetting the rules is more trouble than it’s worth. Once, when offering an old lady my seat on a tram, I undid my good deed by inadvertently using du. Not only did she remain standing, she proceeded to castigate me for being so forward and impolite. Then again, I have undoubtedly offended countless people by saying Sie even though we had agreed to Duzis.

  If and when you have more than one Swiss friend, you then need ihr, the third form of you and the plural of du. Perhaps that’s why it’s hard to make friends in Switzerland; sticking to the formal Sie (which can be singular or plural) is so much easier.

  When it comes to chatting, the Swiss art of small talk is simple as it can be very small. Many Swiss people would prefer to sit in silence than chatter about traffic, or holidays or celebrity gossip. And they will certainly never ask, or expect to be asked, anything too personal such as marital status, religious views or the price of their house. Private and public lives are kept very separate, and anyone who freely mixes the two is regarded with suspicion. Polite yes, friendly usually, but sharing their life story in the first few hours (or even months) of meeting – never. As for breaking the ice with a joke, please don’t. Jokes are something to share with friends and family, not for strangers or business meetings. Swiss humour does exist, honestly it does, but like sex and money, it’s something best kept in the privacy of the home.

  Having stumbled through all that, you still have to master the farewells. Leaving a party is, in effect, the same process as arriving but in reverse. You go round, shaking hands as you say goodbye but – and it’s a big but – using the person’s name. After all, you know the name of everyone there. Trying to remember which name goes with which face feels like a Mensa memory test, so the trick is to wait until someone else starts to leave. As they go round you follow a step or two behind, carefully listening to each name. Then you come along with ‘Goodbye Herr Schmidt’ and ‘See you next time, Petra’ and get a gold star for remembering everyone’s name. This leaving process gives a whole new meaning to ‘saying your goodbyes’, with the emphasis on the plural, and can take anything up to half an hour. Nevertheless, merely thanking the hosts and then saying goodbye to the whole gathering is a big no-no; you might as well have ‘socially inept’ stamped on your forehead. I am still trying to scrub mine clean.

  TWO

  STEPPING BACK THROUGH TIME

  When it came to commemorating its 700th birthday, Switzerland chose a uniquely Swiss way of doing it: inaugurating a footpath. But the Swiss Path isn’t any old path; it’s one that involves every single person in the country. In 1991, in honour of the momentous anniversary, it was decided to create a 35-kilometre trail around a lake.1 In a country criss-crossed with well-beaten tracks, what makes this one stand out is that every 5 millimetres represents one person. Every one of the then seven million inhabitants of Switzerland became a 5-millimetre stretch of path.2 How precise is that! In a way it’s a fittingly Swiss memorial, combining as it does two great national passions: walking and attention to detail. No other country could come up with such a project, let alone execute it so well.

  But there’s more. To show the 26 different cantons, each has its own section of the path, the length of which is determined by that canton’s population in 1991. Smaller cantons like Schaffhausen get a few metres, while populous ones like Zurich get a huge chunk of lake shore. Stone plaques along the path mark the boundaries between the cantonal sections, which are placed in the order of joining the Confederation. Thus this 35-kilometre path symbolises both seven million people and 700 years of history, with each 5 millimetres representing not just one person but also about one hour of the past. And because the cantons appear in chronological order, it is in effect a walk through the history of the country. It’s like taking a stroll down Switzerland’s memory lane, and the apt starting point for the Swiss Path is the place where Switzerland was born.

  IN THE BEGINNING

  It all began when three men took a vow in a meadow. Not the most dramatic beginning for a country but one which rather suits the modern Switzerland: low key and peaceful, without any bloodshed, beheadings or bullets. The meadow in question, called Rütli, sits above Lake Uri in central Switzerland and is still only accessible by boat or on foot. It isn’t at all clear why they had their little oath-swearing ceremony there and not somewhere easier to reach like a town hall or someone’s house. In fact, not much of what took place on that day, 1 August 1291, is clear. The number of participants, the location, the oath and the date have all been questioned, but however misty the real history is, this act of allegiance is generally taken to denote the birth of Switzerland. And since 1891, Switzerland has celebrated its birthday with a national holiday on 1 August,3 one of the few non-religious holidays observed by everybody. Nevertheless, that’s not the best day to visit Rütli as it’s when the Swiss President goes to make a speech, along with, in recent years, far-right nationalists trying to muscle in on the proceedings. Far better to go on a sunny day in June and enjoy the scenery as much as the history.

  Look at a Swiss map and you might well not spot Lake Uri because it’s really just the final leg of Lake Lucerne, and that you might also miss because locally it’s known as Vierwaldstättersee. That’s a bit of a mouthful even for a German speaker, although luckily the hardest thing most English visitors have to get their tongue around is an ice cream. We don’t bother with ‘Lake of the Four Forest Cantons’, its literal translation, but take the easier option instead, which is just as logical given what sits at the northern end.

  Lucerne is possibly Switzerland’s prettiest city and definitely one of its most visited. The cobbled streets and squares seethe with camera-clicking groups, all peering up at the muralled buildings. It’s just as bad around the city’s most famous landmark, the Chapel Bridge, a covered wooden affair originally built in the fourteenth century. It’s a fair bet that few of the massed photo takers realise that this bridge is a replica of the original, most of which burnt down in 1993. New it may be but it is very photogenic, with the imposing stone Water Tower to one side and the not-so-distant hulk of Mount Pilatus brooding in the background. Right across from this picture-perfect spot is the city dock, where a handsome paddle steamer is waiting to go south to Rütli. With a long blast of the horn and a loud hiss of steam, it sets off across the clear blue water.

  There can be few more elegant ways to travel than in a gleaming white steamboat, its two large red paddle wheels slicing their way through the water, its wooden decks shimmering in the sun. It feels like the setting for an Agatha Christie novel or a Merchant Ivory film and I half expect Maggie Smith to appear, parasol in hand. From out on the water it’s hard to tell that this is Switzerland’s second largest lake, simply because its true size is disguised by all the kinks and fingers, bulges and bottlenecks that make up its weird shape. It actually feels rather small, especially further south where the cliffs and hills get steeper and higher, crowding in right down to the water so there’s barely any room for habitation.

  We progress at a stately, almost languid, pace, zigzagging to stop at villages on both shores, so that it’s over two hours before we round the final promontory into Lake Uri. Not that anyone notices; it’s not as if there’s a canal, or a border or a change in water colour. It is essentially all the same lake, but don’t
mention that to the good citizens of Canton Uri; they’re very possessive about their lake. Only three other passengers disembark; Switzerland’s Heimatort clearly isn’t a top attraction for most tourists, or indeed for many Swiss people.

  There’s no sign of a meadow; no sign of much at all apart from a lot of rocks, trees and water. The only way off the boat dock is via wooden steps to a switchback path that threads its way up the hillside. Ten minutes later I am standing in Rütli; and I’m rather underwhelmed. It is merely a long, misshapen patch of grass, and a sloping, lumpy one at that, although it is very bucolic, complete with grazing cows and protruding rocks. The only sign that it has national significance is a towering flagpole sporting a giant Swiss flag. If this were in America, it would have been made into a National Park and have a visitor centre, souvenir shop and café all on site; then again, you can’t get here by car, so maybe not. In Britain, it would be fenced off to protect the hallowed turf, but you’d be charged to look at it as you listen to an audio guide before buying a commemorative tea towel on your way out. So, on second thoughts, it’s rather nice that the Swiss haven’t made a big deal of it, meaning that, flagpole apart, it probably hasn’t changed much in the past 700-odd years. Certainly, the splendid lake-and-mountain view is timeless. Maybe that’s why those three men met here and not down the pub; as well as swearing an oath of mutual support against the Austrians, they wanted a nice day out in the countryside.

  Ask most Swiss people who stood in the meadow that day and few will be able to name one let alone all three. It’s not as if their faces have been carved into a mountain or put on the banknotes; that wouldn’t be very Swiss at all. But neither are there any towns named after them nor many statues in their honour; they are the forgotten founding fathers. So before their names are lost for ever, here they are: Walter Fürst from Canton Uri, Werner Stauffacher from Canton Schwyz and Arnold von Melchtal from Canton Unterwalden. These three men, the original Eidgenosse, stood in the August sunshine, placed their left hands together, one on top of the other, raised their right hands above their heads in a sort of elevated scout’s honour salute, and swore to help each other through thick and thin, in peace and war, for ever and ever, Amen. Even today, Swiss politicians are sworn in using the same raised, three-fingered salute – clench the two smallest fingers to your palm and stick out the other two with your thumb – and the words Ich schwöre or I swear. If most of what actually happened at Rütli is unsubstantiated, what is incontrovertible is that a pact was signed in August 1291 by the first three cantons, and that historic document now sits in its own museum in Schwyz; clearly an essential stop on this magical history tour.

  To do the whole 35-kilometre path in one go would take about 15 hours of solid walking, not forgetting that a height difference of 350 metres is involved not once but four times. For many Swiss that’s a stroll in the woods, but for normal people it realistically means doing a few sections, dipping in and out of both the cantons and the history on the way. Not forgetting being prepared with sensible shoes and a bottle of water. I leave Rütli and head for the first stone marker.

  ON THE TIME TRAIL

  Until about 1220 no one took much notice of the remote valleys and villages in what is now Switzerland. Then the route over the St Gotthard Pass opened, and everyone wanted to muscle in on the lucrative trade with the Mediterranean. To do that meant controlling the farmers, whose valleys had sole access to the northern approach to the pass, and they eventually sought protection from the Holy Roman Emperor himself. The communities of Uri and Schwyz were granted imperial freedom, meaning that the Emperor was their only boss, not some local lord or jumped-up duke, although this semi-autonomy wasn’t enough of a guarantee. Enter the Austrians as the bad guys in the form of the Habsburg monarchy, who sent in the bailiffs and threw their weight around to get what they wanted. All that did was push the Swiss closer together, culminating in the Rütli pact, one of many around at that time but the only one to have survived in written form.

  As none has a particularly large population, between them the first three cantons manage roughly 1 kilometre of path, but it’s a steady uphill climb, as it probably was for them too. The one big event in that kilometre’s time frame was a Swiss victory against the Austrians in 1315 at the David-and-Goliath battle of Morgarten. Losing there might have crushed Switzerland at birth, but victory encouraged Lucerne to unite with its lakeside neighbours. Then the big cheese at the time, the city of Zurich, joined the Swiss party, and suddenly a large chunk of territory belonged to the nascent confederation. And a lot of people. Lucerne and Zurich account for over 7 kilometres of path; what a pity it couldn’t have stayed a club for small cantons for a bit longer. It doesn’t help that not a lot happened in those early decades, so no great historical moments to relive during the two-hour walk. Instead I contemplate how many people I am walking on.

  Each of my size 42 feet is 26 centimetres long, which means that every step I take is equivalent to 52 people. I feel like a giant, especially when I then consider that if I were to lie down on the path, which would clearly be a rather strange thing to do, I would be lying on 366 people. For those of you bad at maths, that makes me 1.83 metres tall (or six feet, but this is complicated enough in metric so no more conversions). I could start measuring various body parts in terms of numbers of 5-millimetre people, but I’ll make do with one. I’ve never had anyone under my thumb before – now I can have six people all at the same time. Such power. This is a good walk for self-confidence. Maybe that’s the secret meaning of this path. It’s nothing to do with anniversaries and precision, but all about not feeling small in a big world. Very appropriate for the Swiss. Or alternatively, it could merely be about enjoying the scenery, which is spectacular from this level, with grandstand views across the squintingly bright turquoise lake to craggy mountains. Trust Zurich to nab the most scenic bit of the path. Not that there’s a bad bit, with the sections in the woods exuding their own sense of tranquillity and proximity to nature. It helps that, being a weekday and early in the summer, there aren’t many other walkers out today, just the odd few to exchange a nod and a Grüezi with. Come on a summer weekend and it’d be like rush hour, given how much the Swiss like a good walk.

  WHERE BOOTS ARE MADE FOR HIKING

  Walking and hiking are a Swiss national obsession. As soon as they can toddle Swiss children are taken on a walk, and it’s fairly common to see a gaggle of eightysomethings setting off for a hike, with the only walking sticks in sight being the sporty ones to help you up and down hillier slopes. At lower altitudes the walking happens all year long, but higher up it has to wait for the spring, unless you want to strap on some snowshoes. When the melting starts, the snow line slowly climbs up the slopes and the hikers are not far behind. Come peak season, from June to September, the popular paths are busier than Oxford Street at Christmas. As are the trains to the mountains; catch a 7 a.m. train to Interlaken on a sunny Sunday in July and it’ll be standing room only, with almost everyone wearing hiking boots and carrying sticks.

  It’s enough to make me feel tired seeing them all dressed up with somewhere to go, although it’s great news for the mountain resorts, who get two bites at the tourist cherry, skiing and hiking, with visitor numbers split pretty evenly between the two. The sports shops love it as well. A sure sign that winter is over is when their displays change, with boots going from giant ski ones to sturdy hiking numbers, and jackets shrinking from big and puffy to high-tech lightweight.

  Walking is definitely big business in Switzerland. More to the point, these marching masses are well catered for with 63,992 kilometres of Wanderwege, or walking paths4 (or sen-tiers, if you’re walking in the French-speaking part, though they’re not nearly as keen on walking as the Swiss Germans). This network of paths is almost as extensive as the national road system5 and the paths are just as well signposted, with little yellow indicators showing how long a walk it is to various places. When going up (or down) a mountain these can be very useful, especially as they
’re usually quite accurate, and these signs really are everywhere in Switzerland: in the city centres, on a windswept ridge, in the tiniest of hamlets and on many a road to nowhere. Of course, paths reach the parts that roads can’t – the mountains, with nearly a third of Swiss footpaths classified as mountain ones, meaning they are harder as well as higher.

  Fitness freaks and Sunday walkers, those on day-trips and hiking holidays, locals and tourists. The hills are alive every summer with visitors wanting to enjoy the magnificent views and the sense of solitude, assuming half the world isn’t up there too. But for many, the point is to be a hiker not a walker. For the Swiss, the difference is rather like that between a traveller and a tourist. One is serious, the other not, in the same way that trainers and a kagoule make you a walker, boots and sticks make you a hiker. If it takes less than three hours, involves negligible height differences (under 400 metres), doesn’t include at least one mountain view and has any part that is asphalted, then sorry but it’s just a walk, even if you are a panting wreck by the end of it. In Switzerland, boots are made for hiking.