Swiss Watching Page 6

  As years go, 1863 was a notable one in world history. Clearly not on a par with 1492 or 1945, but certainly more interesting than, say, 1329 or 1754. For a start, roller skates, the fire extinguisher, the Football Association and the world’s first underground railway (in London) all saw the light of day. As did the name Mark Twain (as a pseudonym of the then 28-year-old Samuel Clemens). A certain spa in Vergèze in southern France also got an imperial decree declaring that its water was of the natural mineral variety; a few decades later the name was changed to Perrier.12 So much for the good news. In the US it was mostly bad, as the Civil War reached its apocalyptic peak at Gettysburg. As busy as he was, President Lincoln found the time to make three historic pronouncements: the Emancipation Proclamation, the Gettysburg Address and fixing Thanksgiving Day to the last Thursday of November. Americans have been remembering all three ever since.

  For the Swiss 1863 was a momentous year, though they may not have realised it at the time – and possibly still don’t. In that year not only was the Red Cross founded in Geneva, but a certain Mr Thomas Cook conducted the first package tour of Switzerland. And so the modern image of the country was created: a champion of neutrality and fair play, as well as a pretty, peaceful place to go on holiday. The Swiss have been cashing in on that ever since. As an early tourist, you could admire the scenery, buy a pocket watch and be comforted to know that if war broke out, Switzerland wouldn’t take sides. You couldn’t, however, taste some milk chocolate or take a mountain train, as neither invention, both Swiss, would appear until the following decade. Those two very modern delights helped fuel a boom in Swiss tourism (and the Swiss economy) right up until the world collapsed in 1914.

  THE END OF TIME

  While the Swiss Path can be seen as a 35-kilometre-long microcosm of the country and its history, the twentieth century hardly features because Switzerland remained uninvolved. For Swiss men this meant business as usual; for Swiss women it meant being left on the sidelines. No boys off fighting meant no jobs for the girls back home, so no impetus for reform. Despite the whirlwinds of change that ripped through Europe, Switzerland survived untouched by being in the eye of the hurricane and letting the storms blow themselves out elsewhere. Only once, when surrounded by the Axis powers in 1940, was the Swiss position threatened, although Nazi Germany baulked at the prospect of facing an army of sharpshooters and guerrilla warfare in the mountains – or that’s how the typical Swiss version of the story goes. Switzerland’s survival has become almost as mythical as Britain’s in the same conflict, with both countries guilty of viewing the war with heroes-tinted spectacles. In later chapters we’ll look in more depth at Swiss attitudes to war and peace, particularly in relation to the Second World War.

  When change finally came, it came from within. Almost every European country has its domestic discontents: Germany had its Baader-Meinhof gang, Italy its Red Brigade, Britain the IRA and Switzerland Les Béliers. These separatists wanted Jura, then part of Canton Bern, to be a separate canton, but this being Switzerland there were no car bombs or assassinations. The battle was fought with the ballot box not with bullets, though it was sometimes accompanied by riots and petrol bombs. It took a while, and a few referenda, but in 1979 Jura finally became the newest canton. That means its 70,000 inhabitants make up the last section of Swiss Path before it ends in Brunnen, the town at the junction of Lakes Lucerne and Uri. The boat docks and connects seamlessly with a bus for the 10-minute ride to Schwyz, my final stop.

  Considering it gave its name to the whole country, Schwyz is an understated town. Its most prominent building is the painted Rathaus, or town hall, which has nothing to with rats or some Pied Piper legend, but is as simple as Rat meaning council in German. This one is decorated with murals telling the story of early Switzerland, including that victory at nearby Morgarten. Another piece of the story is housed nearby, the last resting place of Switzerland’s birth certificate. The Rütli charter sits in a large flag-lined hall, which is maybe why it seems so small – a pocket handkerchief of a document compared to the beach towel that is the American Declaration of Independence. The yellowed parchment is covered with exceedingly neat and dense Gothic script, making it look like something from a Tolkien novel, and two wax seals hang like chunky tassels from the bottom; sadly, the third, that of Schwyz itself, is missing. It looks far too small and delicate to have survived the boat trip back from Rütli, let alone started a country.

  This history tour has now come full circle: having begun in a field where an oath was taken, the time trail has ended with the charter that vow produced.

  The past isn’t another country, it is what makes any country the way it is today. Even the briefest look back in time helps us to understand the present, and that is as true for Switzerland as any nation. Over 700 years after three men met in a field above a lake, it’s still easy to see the result of that pact. For sure there have been changes, for better or worse, but that initial union of three free communities is still at the core of modern Switzerland. Thanks to conflict and compromise it is now a more perfect union than in 1291, while it has shown that success isn’t dependent on size or might. Against all the odds, this small country at Europe’s heart has survived where greater empires and other republics have fallen. Not bad going for a collection of farmers and mountain herders. It helped that they controlled the crossroads of Europe, the mountain passes that other countries wanted but, more importantly, didn’t want anyone else to have. The Great Powers have been content to let the Swiss hold the ring, to the benefit of everyone involved. And a common enemy, be that the Habsburgs, Napoleon, the Nazis or Brussels, has consistently kept the Swiss focused on the benefits of remaining united. There’s nothing like an external threat to keep internal divisions at bay.

  The Swiss don’t wear their history on their sleeves. There are few statues of past heroes, few monuments for forgotten battles and few memorials to the dead. That’s not to say that history is ignored, more that the focus is on other parts of the past: traditions are defended, customs are cherished and buildings are restored, all with a passion that outsiders don’t expect from the Swiss. They are proud of their history, even if they are prone to ignore the less savoury or more uncomfortable bits. Then again, what country doesn’t?

  It could be argued that this isn’t living in the real world, where the past isn’t romantic and the present can be just as bloody. The truth is that the Swiss haven’t been living in the real world for some time, haven’t been part of the recent history that has helped shaped their country. Being neutral isn’t always easy, but it’s often a lot easier than taking sides. Perhaps the Swiss have been sitting on the fence so long that they have forgotten what it’s like to have to make a choice, and then live (or die) with the consequences. Their history might have made them complacent, even arrogant, about their position in the world, but it has also given that world a model of how a country can succeed through consensus, despite having the same fault lines as any other. If there had been more Switzerlands in the past, maybe the world today would be a better place.

  SWISS WATCHING TIP NO 2: THE RED SHOE BRIGADE

  If you want to look like a local, then wear a pair of red shoes. It may sound daft, but I have never seen so many red shoes as in Switzerland. Men, women, old, young, posh, scruffy, town and country – everyone seems to have a pair. It’s hard to walk down the street for more than a few minutes without seeing red. It seems to be a bit of a national fetish, though having asked many Swiss people about it, none of them seems to have noticed. But I have.

  The first time was on a shady bench in the elongated square in the heart of Bern, roughly marking the position of the old city walls. After a few minutes, it dawned on me that every tenth person or so was wearing red footwear. Boots, sandals, trainers and high heels. Suede, canvas, plastic and patent. Every possible shape, size and shade of scarlet. Ever since then, red shoe spotting has become a favourite pastime while out shopping, walking or sightseeing. No matter where you are in Switzerland
, summer or winter, it never takes long to see a pair. On one occasion, standing in Bern station waiting for a train, I counted 28 pairs in ten minutes, which is my record so far. It felt like there was a red shoe convention going on that no one had told me about. Now, you might think that anyone who decides to count red shoes can’t be normal, but I’m convinced I have stumbled across an interesting cultural phenomenon. Back in Britain, I tried the same experiment. Dismal. A busy day in Edinburgh and only eight pairs. A morning shopping at Gunwharf Quays in Portsmouth and a pathetic three pairs. I can see more than that in Bern just popping out to buy some milk. Even ten minutes sitting on a bench in Oxford Street and not a single pair.

  So what’s with all the red shoes in Switzerland? I have various theories, of varying degrees of plausibility:

  Theory No 1: The Swiss are very patriotic. The national colours are red and white, and as the latter isn’t a practical colour for footwear, that only leaves red. Certainly, Switzerland is a patriotic nation. Apart from in the US, I have never seen so many national flags on display as a matter of course. They hang from balconies, flutter on car aerials, stand guard over allotments and adorn building sites. On high days and holidays buses and trams have little flags on the front, while come Swiss National Day (1 August) the whole place is a sea of white crosses on red flags. But reason enough to wear red? Maybe not.

  Theory No 2: The Swiss are friends of Dorothy. It feels traitorous, almost blasphemous, to say that in the land of Heidi, but maybe subconsciously they want to wear ruby-red slippers, even the men. Trouble is The Wizard of Oz doesn’t have the same cult following in Switzerland, largely because it isn’t on television every Christmas.

  I know people who have never seen it! Imagine.

  Theory No 3: The Swiss don’t know how to accessorise. Almost half the red shoe wearers I see are either wearing nothing else in that colour or, heaven forbid, wearing things that positively clash with it. I’m not suggesting they all have to be perfectly coordinated all the time, but do they not look in a mirror before they leave the house? There’s a limit to what goes with red footwear.

  Theory No 4: The Swiss are colour blind. This would mean, however, that they all think they’re wearing green shoes, and I’m not sure which is worse.

  Theory No 5: The Swiss are all devout Catholics. Until the funeral of John Paul II (in Switzerland it was shown on 19 channels in six different languages), I hadn’t realised that the Pope wore red shoes. Apparently that’s his traditional footwear. But only 42 per cent of Swiss are Catholic, and I’m sure that a fair few non-Catholics sport the occasional scarlet slipper. I wonder if they know about the Pope’s red shoe fetish.

  Time to ask Jane, an English friend who has lived here far longer than me and so might have a better insight into the Swiss shoe psyche. Being a woman might also give her inside knowledge that I am not party to. After some thought, she came up with Theory No 6: The Swiss need to rebel. In a society that’s big on conformity there aren’t many ways to be different without drawing too much approbation. Ditching the boring brown/black/grey shoes in favour of red is one way of showing you have a mind of your own, and is certainly more socially acceptable, though less daring, than punk hair or a tongue stud. Discreet non-conformity is a very Swiss concept.

  Perhaps all the theories are wrong (sorry Jane) and it is merely a case of national taste, rather like the French wearing white socks with anything, or Brits of a certain age believing that highly patterned jumpers are stylish, or Germans thinking the mullet is still the best hairstyle around, or all those Americans wearing socks and sandals. And that’s just the men. At least the red shoe brigade in Switzerland is far less offensive on the eye.

  THREE

  IN THE LAND OF COCKS AND CROSSES

  Imagine it’s Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, the opening round. Nine other contestants in the circle. Your finger hovering over the buttons. The challenge: put these religious holidays in the correct order that they appear during the year.

  A: Pentecost

  C: Corpus Christi

  B: Feast of the Assumption

  D: Good Friday

  Could you get it right? Most people would struggle, unless they are churchgoers or live in a Catholic country. In an effort to become all inclusive, countries like Britain have made public holidays non-religious, apart from Easter and Christmas, and some would argue that even they have lost their original significance. It’s a state of ignorance aided by the state itself. But in Switzerland most public holidays are still religious ones, with their traditional names and meanings. It’s not that the Swiss aren’t politically correct, though that is somewhat the case, but more that religion has an influence, more noticeably outside the main cities.

  There is no national state religion in Switzerland, but cantons are nominally Protestant or Catholic, though some are much more mixed than others. This amicable separation is taken for granted by the locals, even though it took three centuries of bloodshed before the Swiss came up with a solution that lasted.

  By the way, you might like to know the correct answer: D, A, C, B. The easy one is Good Friday, the day Jesus was crucified, followed seven weeks later by Pentecost, also known as Whitsun, when the 11 remaining Apostles received the Holy Spirit. Ten days after that is Corpus Christi, which celebrates the Eucharist rather than a specific event, and finally comes the Feast of the Assumption on 15 August, when Mary went up to heaven. Not all are celebrated everywhere in Switzerland, but which ones you get depends on where you live.

  Since the Reformation Switzerland has been split between Protestant and Catholic, a conflict that used to be all about war and martyrs; today the biggest argument is about who gets more public holidays. As with everything else, the Swiss holiday calendar is the product of years of negotiation and consensus building.

  HOLIDAYS AND HOLY DAYS

  Visit a Protestant city like Bern on 8 December, and it’s likely that the streets will be packed and the Christmas market full. That’s not because it’s a few weeks before the big event but because that date is a Catholic holiday, celebrating the Immaculate Conception. In my Anglican ignorance, I thought that meant something to do with Mary getting pregnant. Admittedly, it would have meant a miraculous pregnancy of only 17 days, barely enough time to have morning sickness let alone get to Bethlehem on a donkey. But when God’s the father, anything is possible. However, it’s not Jesus who was being conceived, but Mary herself. This is a holiday to celebrate Anna’s impending motherhood; what made it immaculate isn’t too clear. Maybe it was just very tidy, with no spillage, or perhaps Anna was Swiss – everything’s immaculate here so surely the conceptions are too. What is certain is that Swiss holidays mean the shops are shut. In this case, the Catholic ones.

  Canton Bern is rather like Elizabethan England, a Protestant island in a sea of Catholics, with almost all the surrounding cantons closed on Catholic holidays. And when the Catholics have a holiday, they go shopping in the nearest Protestant canton. Mary is conceived, go shopping. Mary ascends to heaven, go shopping. Mary had a little lamb... or maybe not. When it comes to public holidays, it pays to live in a Catholic canton, no matter what you believe. It may sound clichéd but Protestants work more, though possibly only because they have to.

  Let’s look at the two half-cantons of Appenzell which, having voted on the matter first, split over the Reformation back in 1597. Live in Ausserrhoden, the Protestant half, and you get four fewer public holidays than your Catholic cousins over the border. As a hard-working Protestant you only get eight days and miss out on celebrating the aforementioned Immaculate Conception as well as Corpus Christi, the Feast of the Assumption, and All Saints’ Day on 1 November. Great news if you own a business catering for all those Catholic day-trippers; tough if you work in an office. It’s a wonder the Aussers put up with it. Can you imagine folks in Norfolk agreeing to work four days more than those in Suffolk? I don’t think so.

  However, the best canton to live in is Ticino, the Italian-speaking one south of t
he Alps, and not just for the food. The rest of Switzerland may cast aspersions on the Ticinese work ethic, or lack thereof, but it’s surely no coincidence that this is the canton with more public holidays than any other. In addition to the seven recognised nationally, the Ticinese get another eight to enjoy. That’s fifteen in total.1 They have the same four extra days as those fellow good Catholics in Appenzell Innerrhoden, but they also need to celebrate Epiphany, St Joseph’s Day, Labour Day and the day of St Peter and St Paul, the canton’s patron saints.

  The interesting holiday is Good Friday, which isn’t universally observed. In a typically Swiss compromise, for Protestant cantons it’s the trade-off for having fewer holidays overall. Some Catholic cantons, such as Fribourg, observe Good Friday along with all their Protestant neighbours, but for others, such as Valais, this is unthinkable as it would mean celebrating the crucifixion of Christ. And for once, Ticino is in the workers’ camp. Just as well or the Ticinese would rack up another day off. It’s a similar case of compromise for observing St Berchtold’s Day, which is largely a Protestant holiday; not because they think he was anything special but because his feast day is on 2 January. Those canny Protestants may work more, but they still managed to create a longer holiday by tacking an extra day off on to an existing one; clever or what? Nevertheless, the holiday calendar isn’t the only reminder of a past religious divide.

  BELLS, SMELLS, COCKS AND CROSSES

  Most tourists rarely notice the difference between Catholic and Protestant cantons; it’s not as if the former all eat fish on Fridays or the latter are all workaholics. It’s only when you’re in a Catholic city like Lucerne on one of its extra holidays, when everything is shut, that you might realise something odd is going on.