When I headed off to Zürich yesterday I imagined that tonight I’d be writing up a moderately interesting spiel about my first visit to Starbucks since the September quake in Christchurch and, perhaps some fashion and food pics. Um.. no.
Getting there (eventually)
The best way to get to Zürich from Liechtenstein is to take the train from Buchs, which is about 10 minutes drive into Switzerland (don’t forget your passport!). If you are car-less, then the Liechtenstein bus goes to Buchs Banhof (train station). The trains (Zug) leave pretty much every hour at quarter past the hour and you can buy a ticket at the machine, or from the counter (if you ask 'Sprechen Sie Englisch?, generally the answer is 'ja'). A return ticket will cost you 68CF or 34CF if you are eligible for a Swiss half-price fare, or know someone that is and that can buy your ticket. You may or may not have to change trains in Sargans; some departures go direct and some do not.
Our day begun full of promise. Excitable to experience an actual big city with real buildings that are not falling down, I was up early. As the temps have dropped below the level of my wardrobe preparedness, Sistasana gave me a pair of her post-preggy jeans that are now waaay too big for her. I didn’t waste much time feeling bad that I fit my sisters post-baby clothes because, in her usual form, even the skinniest of skinny jeans in the skinny jeans shop may be too big for her. She manages this feat by eating cheese and drinking full-fat lattes. Every pregnancy leaves her skinnier than ever. Life isn’t fair, but a pair of near-new Diesel jeans represents a certain level of poetic justice, yes?. They needed tacking up at the hems and I was multi-tasking by doing that and Skyping with The Programmer when I realized that I’d gone a bit too deep with some stitches and actually sown the two sides of the leg together. I had to re-do it, and this made us late for the 10.15, but finally we were out the door, BabyG was delivered safely to his Oma and Opi’s for the day, umbrellas were borrowed as the weather looked doom-laden and Sistasana, Miss J and I were on the train anticipating an awesome girls day. Surely it wouldn’t be raining in Zürich by the time we got there.
It rained. Mostly it just drizzled, but now and then it bucketed down. Occasionally the rain stopped and the sky offered a teaser of sun, but for most of the day, Zürich was a sea of sometimes colliding umbrellas. If you weren’t under one, you were in danger of being stabbed in the eye by the corner of one. We had bought an overpriced map at the Kiosk before wandering in to the Tourist Office and finding that they have better ones for free. While there we purchased 8.50CF Tageskarte tickets (24 hour unlimited travel) which cover the buses, trains and trams within the city. The nice man at the tourist desk asked Miss J how old she was as children under 6 travel free. She was so wowed by his interest in her age that she turned to me and said ‘he can be invited to my birthday party’ Everyone was charmed.
The (lack of) Navigation
In spite of the Tageskarte, the maps and the ‘Guide to Zürich’ booklet, finding our way around in the rain was ein bißchen challenging. As we had a child in tow, the plan focused on child-friendly things and shopping, rather than art galleries, churches and museums. Our first stop, however, was for coffee. Like any good tourist city, all roads lead directly to Starbucks, and and after wandering out of the station, down Banhofstrasse and around the soggy shopping area, we were glad to surrender to its generic cosiness. The guy serving was unbelievably friendly, giving us the ‘two-thumbs up’ for our coffee choices and dealing with a global mix of customers in their native languages. As the day progressed we found this helpfulness to be typical of Zürich people. I’d say they are least snooty we have encountered in Europe, often butting into our conversations in English to clarify something we were puzzling over or to offer directions. We needed their help.
The public transport system in Zürich is quite similar to a can of worms. Multiple above-ground lines snake all over the city in a manner designed to drive tourists to loud, public arguments and taxi usage. If any city needs a subway, it’s Zürich. After having failed to locate the Toy Museum while following the signs around town, we got one last soaking and decided to head somewhere dry – the Sihlcity shopping plaza. Tram 13 took us directly there and, on request from the youngest shopper, we headed straight for the Kinderparadies, which is a sort of short-term daycare where kids can do kid stuff while the adults shop in peace.
Intestinal Non-Compliance :(
About an hour into the gloriousness of mall shopping, interspersed with brownie-munchin' and kaffe-trinken, I began to deeply regret the ham and cheese roll that I’d eaten on the train (there is a pic of this suspect sandwhich as well as other foodcam over at Sanaworld). To be fair, I’d been strangely lethargic for a few days, so I can't really lay the blame squarely at the feet of said super-soft, room temperature railway sandwhich. In the mall, I started getting severe stomach pains, felt hot and dizzy and had to excuse myself frequently to rush to the ‘facilites’, which thankfully are a) clean and b) free. Most toilets in Switzerland charge you up to 2CF to enter. I hated to be the party pooper (bwahaha) but Sistasana sized up the situation and decided we should probably head home. It was already late afternoon anyway. On the way out we picked up a couple of bottles of wine and I put them in my Nike over-one-shoulder bag. You probably know the sort. It has one strap that attaches diagonally across the chest with a hefty piece of Velcro. The importance of the bag mechanics will become clear later.
We got back on the 13 and were getting seated when a small child started screaming outside, near the back of our carriage. It was screaming and crying at extreme volume as if it was being tortured. People started peering out the windows and a few people jumped out to see what was happening. The tram driver got out to assess the situation and police and medics started arriving. After a few minutes, the intercom announced something in rapid Swiss-German and we turned to each other, asking ‘what did he say?’. Even Miss J, who is fluent in German, was having difficulty. The woman sitting in front of us turned around and said that the tram would be delayed and everyone had to get off, so we did. There was a large crowd around a small child, 2-3 years old, that was lying on the ground being cuddled by a woman and attended by someone in a uniform. Police were asking questions of witnesses. I’m not sure what happened. The tram was stationary, so I’m guessing some sort of incident when they were disembarking? The doors could be pretty vicious if you got caught in them. I’d love to know what occurred, but probably never will. We got back on the tram, waited a bit, then another indecipherable announcement in Swiss-German and everyone got off and started walking in the same direction. We followed, eventually coming to a bus stop where again, we were trying to decode the map and the signs when a woman started talking to us in English and put us on the right track, almost.
Velcro Incident at the Wrong Banhof
Having gotten on the bus that apparently would take us to the Banhof, we were surprised to find that, actually, the building we were delivered to was not the one we had arrived at earlier in the day. We were at Banhof Enge, but needed to be at the Hauptbanhof (Zürich HB) to get the train back to Buchs. It probably says something about my stomach fluey state of mind that it took a full 10 minutes to deduce that one Banhof should lead to another, right? The departure board confirmed that there was a train to the Hauptbanhof in exactly 8 minutes.
We started to run down the stairs to the correct Gleis (platform). It was at this exact moment that the Nike bag strap made a rrrrrrrrrppppp! noise. The bag fell heavily on to the concrete behind me with a sickening crash and immediate spreading pool of redness that looked alarmingly like blood, but smelled like a night on the turps. I zipped the bag open and began retrieving essential items like my iPod, passport, money, credit cards, mum’s camera and the borrowed umbrellas. Everything except my passport was thoroughly soaked, and Sistasana and I quickly got the electronic items out of their (wine-soaked) cases, in the process getting quite soused ourselves and ensuring that we would spend the entire train ride home smelling like wino’s and attracting disapproving looks. I couldn’t think of a single thing to do except grab the dripping bag and all its remaining contents (including the broken bottles, various snack bars, tampons, notepaper, the maps...) and dump the whole lot in a nearby trash bin. The umbrellas were totally dripping with nice vino so we made for the WC and tried to wash them. You’ll be proud that there was no umbrella sucking going on; we certainly could have used a little something right about then… I did my best to dry them in the hand drier, but the end result was still wet, stanky umbrella’s that had to make the trip back with us.
Believe it or not, this whole panicked procedure was completed in less than 8 minutes and, guiltily running past our massive wine stain on the previously clean steps, we made our train. Did I mention that everyone on that train, and the subsequent one, must think we are irresponsible foreigners, obviously tanked to the gills while in charge of a sweet little girl? This day shall live in infamy, right up there with the day I left my passport and tickets home in a taxi and had to traverse Rome in a highly jetlagged state to get them back. But it does not end there, oh no.
That was yesterday. What have I done today? Nothing. Oh, ok. I spent time getting to know the little details of Sistasana’s upstairs bathroom. It’s nice in there; it’s designer. The tiles are marble, the mirrors have side-lamps, there are two sinks, it is connected to the sound-system, there is a bidet…as nice a place as any, I suppose. My energy levels have extended to sleeping, writing this post (which has taken all day) and watching a bit of cycling on TV. I’m still a bit feverish (which may be partly due to the exciting finish of the Tour de France - go Aussie!). I’m banking on the nice Medezinalbad, which the BIL swears will cure anything (at first glance it appears to feature four floating Barbie dolls), to ensure that I wake up feeling something like my usual self. I’ve got shopping to do! Hanging out in the bathroom did not feature heavily in my travel plans, best laid or otherwise.
:( Hope your poor tummy recovers quickly.
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